Been up since 7 a.m. waiting with a knotted gut and anxiety from hell because the landlord said he’d be by for his rent around 8:30 or 9:00 a.m. 2:23 p.m. and nada. Probably forgot or is waiting til the last minute which puts my plans on hold. I’d wanted to run into town for a few things today instead of waiting til tomorrow when helliday traffic will send me over the edge. I hate being beholden to other people’s idea of a ‘schedule’. It was so much easier paying the slumlord, at least he accepted debit cards and gave printed as well as book kept handwritten receipts. This new landlord tries to hit me with late fees for not paying by the first, there is gonna be hell to pay. He could’ve had his money Friday but nooo, paying early confuses him too much so he can’t keep his months and records straight. Which leaves me wasting gas trying to track him at home and calling, to no avail, only to reach him and be told he’d be by at a certain time and I put my life on hold and….GRRRR.
I know this probably doesn’t bother ‘normal’ people. But I’ve not paid my rent later than the third of the month in 10 years. It hangs over my head like an anvil. I need this done, for my peace of mind. And also, I never know when I am gonna lose the money order or the cat or kid might dump something on it. Nerve racking. Maybe my level of worry is neurotic but wanting to pay your rent on time like clockwork cannot possibly be considered a bad thing, ffs.
I was feeling decent this morning, raked the yard, picked up toys, pulled some weeds, even sat outside with my kid for bits and pieces. Which is misery due to my sinus drainage choking me to death inside and especially in the 80% humidity. Then I said screw it, the car needed gas and I needed out of the house and pacing nervously, so we went to the gas station…When we got back, I took my meds with a couple of pieces of beef jerky (it’s food!)…next thing I know, I am woozy, doubled over with stomach pains, running to the bathroom and trying not to hurl. Omg, this joy every single day in exchange for barely functioning? Yayness! Not.
I’m coming out the other side now that I’ve sat in front of the fan for awhile and let the nausea and gastro pain abate but I keep pacing, hoping to catch the landlord as he pulls up cos, yeah, that knock on the door thing freaks me out. Still salty that my plans had to be put on hold. And it’s not like we couldn’t run to town around 5 or so, stores we need are open til 9 or all night. I just need to get these lurking tasks off my plate so the anvil doesn’t remain dangling over my head.
I finally broke down and called the psych center yesterday about ya know, 5 weeks and no call telling me if I have a new doc or not. I am being shuffled to a new nurse practitioner cos the others are all booked taking on Dr. H and and Dr. B’s patient load after their departure. (Or word was I am such a pain in the ass they simply wouldn’t take me on, and I was a little relieved cos while nurse doc C was a truly sweet woman, she just missed every sign possible that my meds were what were making me act out and go stark raving mad with anxiety and panic.) Anyway, the new nurse is named Michelle but the soonest they can get me in is August 13th. Bloody hell! That’s technically only 10 weeks between appointments but I was told to come back in 4-6 weeks. It feels like I am treading water here when it could just take a 20mg increase in my Cymbalta to get me to a good place so they are robbing me of enjoying my summer with my kid with their scheduling issues.
I may look functional. That fools a lot of people. Out of bed and dressed? Feeding your kid, caring for them, paying your bills, keeping food in the fridge? Leaving the house? You’re super duper good!
Ugly truth about depression is that superficial functionality is necessary and sometimes I pull it off, sometimes I don’t. What bothers me so much is that for the doctor to consider me doing so well she didn’t change my dose…I haven’t bathed since Friday. (Yeah, disgusting, but hey, they make wet wipes and deodorant for a reason.) I have returned to my bedroom crypt, same as the trailer, because all the train noise and cars and farm machinery and lawnmowers are prevalent outside the living room windows and it was circuit overload. I need to feel safe and my dim crypt is my safe space. I’m not laying in bed all day crying, my kid is not neglected nor ignored, and I definitely laugh more now than say, 4 months ago…But this isn’t my idea of ‘fully functional.’
The misconception that depression means we’re all living in our pajamas under Fort Blankie, bawling our eyes out, 24-7, or otherwise we’re fine…Such rubbish. Depression manifests in so many different ways for all of us. For me, inability to focus on reading books or listen to music are soul killers as those are things that nourish my soul. Unfortunately, the depression demons don’t want my soul nourished, they want it underfed, puny, vulnerable, so they can keep chewing away piece by piece until I cease to exist except as a husk.
Someone noted that a lot of my posts seem very angry. And THEY TOTALLY ARE AND I TOTALLY DO NOT APOLOGIZE. If I spew all these vitriolic feelings here, then I am not at risk of going off on another person because I bottled it up til it explodes. I am bitter, I am pissed off, I am outraged about soooo many things. And by not beating down people and simply venting the venom here…I think I’ve found a healthy medium for myself to cope with all of the extreme emotions that come with bipolar disorder.
Honestly, just writing this post (and Xanax) have made me feel calmer, less knotted up inside, more lucid, and less angry. So if it works…I’m gonna stick with it.
Honestly, if I started to bottle up my venom I fear someone might try to milk me and sell it for a cure to snakebites without giving me a percentage.