Daily Archives: August 4, 2017
**Trigger warning, mention of abortion in this post, avoid if you are easily offended**
Not sure I am hypomanic today, but my thoughts are spinning and it’s less mania and more…I read an article that educated, surprised me, made me think there’s hope for mankind, and now…I am thinking. Thinking a lot. If you want to read the article, about how a hardcore Conservative Christian changed and started viewing things differently even if to her own programming and beliefs, go here. She made so many relevant points, some that even apply to me and how naive I am thinking I can even influence my friend R the tiniest bit on how harsh some his views are and how they clash with my own.
It makes perfect sense that people go on the defensive and become resentful when placed in a position that makes them feel that way. Especially when caught red handed, so to speak, with flawed logic and narrow minds. And me, trying to batter ram the concept of agree to disagree, when all I can really do is keep to my own beliefs and give it time and either I will make an impact and never be told because who wants to say that horrid thing “I was wrong”…or I can just sit back and let the truth will out, be it that Trump is the second coming and I was totally off base or the world disintegrates while he is busy Tweeting hateful messages about, well, pretty much everyone.
I know everyone is busy and politics are garbage, but it really IS a good read if you have a few moments and want to get another viewpoint. It taught me a little something about myself, too. Because back when I was a teen and in my early 20’s, I was violently against abortion. I always thought it was wrong because, hey I was born the very day Roe V Wade was passed and hey, knowing my dad wasn’t ready for kids because they cost too much money, if abortion had been legal prior to that…would they have aborted me? It’s murder, plain and simple!
As I got older and learned more and gained experience and found myself in situations where a child might have been born with debillitating or agonizing birth defects…My views started to change. I realized that men are involved in the process of making babies, but it is the woman who has to go through every other thing from pregnancy, invasing procedures, physical pain, hormonal changes, post partum depressions, a child with special needs, too little insurance or money…And so I went from viewing Roe V Wade as the evil thing that might have prevented me from existing and it become…
A basic human right for women. Not to be used wily nilly as birth control, but as a choice made with the free will our government and bill of rights allegedly afford us. Now that the political tides have changed and so many republican law makers are ready to quash Roe V Wade and criminalize abortion even in the case of incest or rape or even a woman bringing the pregnancy to term dying doing so…It’s terrifying. And no, I am sorry, men, you really don’t understand. I’d like to jump up on my soap box and preach about the uproar men would have if female legislators removed their right to Viagra or insisted a total removal of male genitalia if cancer is diagnosed there…But it won’t do any good. That Cracked article told me what I always knew…we are all crappy people even when trying not to be and all we can hope for is to be less crappy if we can manage to grow.
Frick, I jumped on the soapbox anyway. What can I say, I am a crappy person.
Enough of that. Just rarely I find an article informative enough that I would choose to reccommend reading it.
Agaian…spinning thoughts but I think that’s my brain waking up from depressive coma and starting to think again about more than ‘is it bedtime yet’. I know I have to be careful because the dual anti depressants could very likely cause the hypomania but after I had tearful meltdown last night because one of my cats is acting like he’s not feeling well and all I could see was burying more dead kittens after burying two this last week…If I were truly manic, it wouldn’t have touched me at all. Because that’s how mania is, it’s like a conscience-ectomy for as long as the episode last. THEN you crumble from guilt and grief. Fact I can still be thrown off kilter and cry…Likely not true mania.
I already took my kid to Hell-Mart and she…got her ears pierced. No tears, no drama, not attacking the employees who did it…Hell, I may be able to get her into a dentist without demanding they sedate her first. I am proud of Spook. She was so happy she asked me to take her to grandma’s so she could show them off and so I did. Now she is off playing with her little 5 year old friend (the one who introduced my kid to the term ’69’ with graphic descriptions) and I am just relaxing because…
Tomorrow is The Unblessed Hellride. (Only Black Label Society fans will get that reference.) Ugh. Hours in Bumfuck outside being eaten by bugs with my redneck faction of the family and random people I don’t know and…Ick. We’re riding with my sister so at least the anxiety of driving the car will be negated. And my sister is as livid about the whole thing as I am. Hopefully I at least get some decent pictures of the pony. The new phone actually has a decent camera and flash on it, I am hopeful. And pics of my kid, too, not to sound like a shitty mom who only likes pets. But my kid moves too fast to be photographed most of the time, the pony will be more cooperative.
Now..to all who actually read this post and were offended…Heed trigger warnings in the future. For those who read it, weren’t incensed but still think I am wrong…Agree to disagree. And if even one person read this and it sparked even an iota of thought about how your own views might be askew for whatever reason…
Then I am becoming the kind of writer I want to be.
What? What is going on? This many disasters in one family? How do you tolerate the stress of one after another, yet another, yet another disaster? The what if’s are always what kill me. I know there is no such thing as what if this had happened, because very simply, it DIDN’T happen. Of course when you survive disasters, you feel fortunate and grateful. But what if he hadn’t found his cat, what if he hadn’t woken up, what if a million times over! And not just what if, but also Now What? What’s going to happen a second from now, an hour from now, a day from now? I don’t want to, but I am living in fear and anxiety and so is my son. He doesn’t sleep at night and yesterday he was saying he wishes this spate of bad luck would end. He was seeing a therapist after the March attack but stopped and doesn’t want to see her anymore. I know she was helping him, so I don’t understand why he won’t talk to her. PTSD is a bitch, she attacks you when you least expect it, anxiety levels soar, fear punches you in your solar plexus, and the rumination doesn’t leave you alone, and being on guard, hyper vigilant all the time. Too much stress, too much anxiety and with my family history, I am afraid, very afraid.
Time for Ativan? Sure, I can dull my feelings of anxiety with an Ativan, but how will that make us safer, how will it stop these bad things from happening to us?
And this brings us to one more scary thing, how much control do you really have over anything in your life? At this moment, I would say very little.
And yes I know, what happens is not the important thing, Our Reaction To What Happens Is!
Yes I am grateful that, although things could have been far worse, we survived them. I mean I could have been lying face down in a stairwell in New York City, dead from a brain bleed when I hit my head against the pipe. But I survived. My son is unharmed. Fine and good, I know that. Looking at things positively doesn’t mean you have no fear, or anxiety, you do have those when bad things happen to you. And when a string of them happen, and seemingly keep happening, then what?
My fervent wish, my solemn prayer is that these strange, negative things stop happening to me and my family, and we live our lives in safety, peace, harmony and love. Amen.
A man was exploring caves by the seashore. In one of the caves he found a canvas bag with a bunch of hardened clay balls. It was like someone had rolled clay balls and…
So, yeah, Church Of The Flying Spaghetti Monster is a thing. For a religion parody, it’s absolutely dead on and sort of in the same hemisphere as “legit” religions.
And this just in…PANXIETY MONSTER is a thing too.
For anyone new or can’t remember: “panxiety” is my term for anxiety mixed with crippling paranoia. It is…yep…A Thing.
I am still a smidge hypo but Splat is coming. (Again, for the unfamiliar…’splat’ is my term for when bipolar ups/hypomanic episodes/manic episodes abruptly crash downward, this SPLAT on the ground. Also Splat is the brand of freaky hair dye I use when I can rarely splurge but neither here nor there.
Panxiety Monster started peeking through the mental curtains around 11 a.m. today, right after my whirlwind of getting shit done. Bad Thoughts. Reminders of my failure as a human and ineptitude as a parent. That is when the hint of blackened-ness in my mind appears. Then comes anxiety. Then comes paranoia. (I couldn’t even watch a show episode about a cancer patient, because, hey, I am in that mental space where I will also start believing I have cancer in spite of proof otherwise). Anxiety and Paranoia meet, breed, and mutate into…Panxiety. Yes.
Did not help at all when we went to run out and the car started turning over then sounding like it was dying, but then did start. OMFG. Other than massive crowds, car trouble is my next crippling terror, Because I am broke, I can’t afford a mechanic, my dad and his monkey wrench man-woman-girlfriend refuse to help, and R is so whipped he can’t make the time to help me or he’ll face the wrath of his wife…So one sign of car trouble and I am rendered…well, impotent. Not even Viagra can save me. In this small town, public transpo, even buses, is by appt only and costs more than it does to fuel a car for 2 weeks for a single trip…So yeah, my car ac ting ten kinds of wonky truly is cause for anxiety.
Not that my family or the psych professionals will ever validate that fear. Because, well they are elitists who don’t have money issues or they are simply soul-less cockweasels…But when you only have one car and no other options you can viably afford to utilize…It is terrifying.
Enter Sandman, as Metallica sang, and Enter Panxiety Monster, as scumbag brain says.
Not been an eventful day, not excessively stressful but nerve racking enough to make Panixety Monster darken my doorstep. And after a couple of days of hypomania, it’s pretty common for the splat to arrive. I have zero fear that I am manic, full blown or even more than sporadic hypo. Two anti depressants help with depression but they can occasionally tag team you and create a manic jaunt. I am not panicking over a couple of days.
Not to be redunant but again, I have been sporadically binge watching Nip/Tuck and am on season 2, episode 12, and Sean and Julia’s 8 year old daughter got head lice. And while mom Julia is all panicking and her bitch of a mother is critquing and declaring infestation after simply being in the same room as the lice suffering child…And her elitist methods seem to think trashng the bedding as opposed to washing is ‘better’ and oh, yeah, how does a kid whose parents live in *that* posh area and in *that* tax bracket get lice.
YES! THIS! I want ALL shows about how tough parenting is to include all the ugly itchy nasty moments and all the stigma that we, as parents of an infested child, have to contend with. I wanna see a 7 hour ER visit with a screeching doubled over kid being held down by three grown ups just for a simple blood draw…I want to see the kids who hate bathing and become combative and nasty when forced to bathe. I want REALITY. Are the difficult kids really “the norm”? Maybe not. But for a lot of us parents…difficult kids are the reality and don’t sell me ‘reality” based shows about perfectly behaved snowflake who never get lice and never mouth off and never manipulate and are respectful. Because also, for some of us, that is a phallacy.
Guess it speaks volumes about where my brain is when I relate that much to a fictional TV show. But really…Parenting is not all hugs and smooches and neon colored animal themed birthday parties with Straight A report cards and absolute adoration. I wish it had been that way for me as I have known such ‘perfect snowflakes’ in spite of less than perfect parents…The spawn lotto did not make me one of them. My kid has rebelled since she was in utero and the OB set up three different appts for the 3d sonogram and every…single..time…my kid was turned so all they could photograph was her bootie and no amount of tummy massage made her move an iota. I am reaping what I sewed, trust me.
For the moment…I am not freaking out but I am wary and walking on land mines around the panxiety monster. That thing is a cockweasel motherfucker. Offensive? Maybe but still an understatement on how awful panxiety is. Every time my kid starts guilt tripping me about just faking it and going to church for HER sake…I am reminded that I can’t even tromple my own panic disorder to attend a free concert for the very rock music I treasure and consider fuel for my soul. I am not like this because it’s who I am or what I want…
Panxiety takes from every area of my life and I fight it tooth and nail gun, but…Most of the time it kicks my ass. And I am not wasting another moment kicking my own ass for being ‘so weak’. That is sheeple thinking. I am anything but weak. 98% of the sheeple would never survive a week in my bipolar anxiety soaked shoes. Which makes me wanna go all Rebel Yell and fill the shoes with thumbtacks so the ass trash sheeple get a fucking clue…
okay, so maybe I lied when I said I was 333, only half evil. Turns out..I am 667, neighbor of the beast.
I rock the demonic horns.