Author Archives: morgueticiaatoms


My disorders, and the extreme cold thus my kid being glommed onto me due to school being cancelled, has me hanging by a thread. It takes every ounce of strength to just fix her cheese and crackers or a turkey sandwich. Vacuuming feels like futile because the thing spits out more than it sucks up and I can’t find any clogs. Dishes get washed and pile right back up. Finances took a bad bad turn so I can’t even afford to go to the laundromat, that is WHEN my car doors aren’t frozen shut.

To top it all off, after my sister’s brother in law’s suicide New Year’s Day…our uncle is in the hospital 40 miles away, with bone cancer, pneumonia, and the flu and his heart is failing, they don’t think he’s going to make it. Mom’s been living up there by his side as he is her last living sibling (of nine) and she is taking it really hard even if they barely spoke for the last 30 years.

I feel like an idget for complaining about my petty little plight, but depression gives zero fucks. I have actually taken to writing to stave off my own thought madness and finished an entire Jonathan Kellerman novel in 3 days. And now I have started a second one by him only…

All the psychology gobbledygook where the main psychologist character diagnosis everyone’s disorders…Now I am all paranoid about what my docs think of me. And what life maiming notes doc nurse put in my chart and how that will taint the new doc against me in March. Is it logical? The level of terror and paranoia (terr-anoia?) is illogical but human behavior dictates that most people, even professionals, will take the word of their colleagues in the form of session notes and possibly commit to that notion before giving a new client a chance to present.

That is my biggest fear.

The whole cognitive and mindfulness drivel is about living in the now, changing your negative thoughts and behaviors, yet if your past leads to problems in your present, it’s kind of hard not to beat yourself up.

Once I started reading about my meds and how alcohol can cause seizures with Wellbutrin…I got the message loud and clear. I fucked up by drinking. It was self medicating to dull the nerves and noise but I’d thought at worse it would make me sleepy and hells yeah, I want that. But seizures??? And the nurse didn’t even mention that even while giving me her disapproving expression. I guess what with my Google-itis before there was Google, just the desktop prescription manual, I should know every med and side effect ver batim but this one…I did not know. I’m not suicidal, I don’t want to die. I mean, I don’t much want to live these days but I have a kid and even a momentary lapse in working thru my misery and trying to off myself could mean they take her away from me….Irksome as her behavior can be, she is my heart and I don’t want to hurt her, me, or die, or lose her because they deem me unfit.

Unstable, sure. Were I stable I could handle a damned job and get out of this self esteem purgatory. Maybe even live a little better than paycheck to paycheck and getting food stamps. I TRIED, the whole thing with R and helping at the shop would get me a decent car…Once I hit my breaking point, he just swept me aside. His way or no way, as always. Not a word since I said no more. Some friend. But I did try! I was even thinking differently than I had in the past, thinking that having a routine of sorts, getting out of the house, helping out, gave me purpose and self worth. This was no small feat, me walking away from a better car. It was him and his bidding or me in a rubber room and I truly believe this even if doc nurse blew it off completely.

I am trying to be different. But with my spotty psych care and crap choices for therapy, it feels hopeless. And reading books where terms like “bipolar axis 2” and “thinking disorder” and “borderlines” are thrown around wily nily…I start going ocd with the thoughts that because I have some flaws and some quirks (I don’t want cured of my quirks, wearing black and liking skulls hurts no one) that I will always be written off as some behavioral problem who needs medicated and ushered out, tough love. Which was what doc nurse seemed to be giving.

I need to let it go but I’m not there yet. Which is another point, my therapists hated my process of holding a grudge for months and maybe years until I could let some stuff go. (I still haven’t quite let go of how the donor basically ditched his daughter, even though the counselor told me 6 years I had to let it go…I ain’t fucking Elsa.) All my insecurities and neuroses and self doubt start bubbling to the surface and maybe now is not the time to be reading a book on the topic of bipolar and personality disorders because obviously it’s been a trigger. But then isn’t the new tough love therapy about facing what triggers you?

Bloody hell! I am lost. I want to do well, be better, and yet I feel doomed. And it’s not merely circumstantial depression, this is full blown seasonal wish-I-was-a-hibernating-bear depression. I mean, really, bathing twice in a week is the best I can do? My idea of hygiene is deodorant and brushing my hair? I wear the same clothes 2 days at a time sometimes…All of this seems more of a red flag than one alcohol bender but the nurse doc..doc nurse…whatever the hell she is…


And again…not letting it go. NOT ELSA.

Though in the midwest this year I am frozen.

Happy New Year, Surprise, You Get A New Psychiatrist…again!

Twice this week I’ve been knocked for a loop by things I was never warned of. First came the landlord basically selling out to a management company. Today, after almost 6 weeks waiting to see Dr. B…The office called to tell me this was his last week there, he was gone from the practice, so my appointment for the 15th was off. I was told they’d provide me with refills but I’d need to choose one of their other doctors and the soonest they could get me in is…March. By then I will have survived 4 months of winter depression without any medication changes or psychiatric support.

I would have cried or had a meltdown but it’s become so goddamn common in this town…Find a decent shrink, they leave within a couple of years. Now I have to start over with a new one, a woman a friend reccommended (I figure if she got his chronic pot fried brain functioning properly, she must be a miracle worker) and once again, I am tasked with imploring this new doctor to see how troubled I am and take me seriously. And her only frame of reference will be the months of futility when I was seeing doc nurse.

I am pretty hopeless. I had a few hours of blind determination. “These people aren’t gonna help me, it’s all on me now.” But it gave way to just feeling defeated again. Bipolar itself is instability and since 2008, this will be my seventh different doctor at this same place. And none of the changes were my doing, it was either the docs leaving or scheduling problems or staffing shortage. That’s a lot of damn psychiatrists to go through, to have no choice but to endure the revolving door. The doctor is the gatekeeper I need for my disability to remain active and I can’t even get in for 8 more weeks. How is that remotely helpful? Just to get a med change, I’ll be required to go the hospital outpatient, make a psych complaint that concerns them enough to get the on call doc to see me…Ffs, could they have hobbled me a little more, think I still have one good toe to stand on….

Mental healthcare is lacking everywhere but in the UNited States where we are supposedly so progressive and wealthy as a nation…There is zero excuse for such a lapse, and a negligent one, in my mental healthcare. Perhaps my own stubbornness was an issue as I bet I could have gotten in with doc nurse a couple weeks before the actual psych doc but…doing the same thing again and again and expecting a different outcome is the definition of insanity. That was never going to take me seriously, see how hobbled I am by my disorders, and help me. Her mind was made up probably from the first appointment. And because I was sympathetic to their short staffing and didn’t want to rock the boat and make it more difficult…I screwed myself out of the second best shrink I’ve ever had. I saw him not quite 2 years and that man was amazing. Seems to be the pattern, though, with all the shrinks in town. They put in 2 years and out they go, probably screaming into the night.

I am lost. Not giving up but it gets more appealing with every blow life hands me. It took me two days to find energy to do dishes and fix myself something more than microwave food to eat. I’m not suicidal but I sure as hell ain’t on solid ground. By the time I see the new doc, it will be nearing spring and the seasonal affect will start to slowly lift. 4 months without a check in, med change, nothing. And the charlatans have the nerve to claim they give us 25 minute appointments and bill insurance $260 for it even when it’s just a psych nurse. I used to feel mad that insurance companies put caps on what they will allow and pay out but seeing that bill recently, knowing that woman sure as hell did not spend 25 minutes with me….it’s infuriating. At least Dr. B served his time to earn it.

I just…no doc, not sure if we’re going to be evicted at any moment, depression not lightening up…And the sleep problems, oh, dear god. I woke at 3:30 today and spent an hour trying to get back to sleep but it was futile so I sat at my desk and started proofing the last revision of the same novel I’ve been trying to perfect for almost 10 years now. And it kept me entertained right until I got the spawn on the bus, then I caved in to catnapping in 20 minutes increments. I got maybe an extra 2 hours of sleep but again, in increments so not exactly restful. Just enough to get me through the day.

At one point, I was thinking, damn, this book is really good, maybe I haven’t perfected it because it’s just…done.

And then it went way off the reservation and the whole tone changed which in turn morphed the characters and storyline in a direction I despised and it was like, fuck! I can always read my writing and know when my moods shifted, it reflects in how the story flows along for awhile and makes sense and then next I know, it’s like, who the hell wrote this garbage, this character would never say or do that shit!

I am always having to explain and prove how my mental conditions are a disability but I think when they even impact the one thing I love more than my kid and cats-my writing- I’d say that’s pretty disabling. Throw in the inability to focus and stay on track and it doesn’t matter that I’m a half ass decent writer. It just becomes drivel even I find cringeworthy.

Then again, getting that call about the psychiatrist situation may have put my mood in the gutter enough to make my revision seem worse than it actually is. I don’t know. I keep getting kicked in the head here on a daily basis and I’m at a loss how to handle it. Just keep going until I can’t go anymore, I guess.

Just…could the sacred pegacorn throw me a damned bone of not suckiness once in awhile? I’m not a great person but I sure as hell don’t deserve to have this much instability heaped on my already unstable mind. People want to know why I can’t get my feet under me and remain standing…

THIS. No patient, psych or medical, should be subjected to such a perpetual revolving door of providers. It’s doing more harm than good and the rule is, first do no harm.

They have failed.

If Only My Body Raced As Much As My Mind

Plus side…I seemed to have gotten some much needed sleep last night by taking 9mg melatonin. (What’s next, rehab for addiction to the very herbals the docs prefer we take?) I woke up a few times but I actually felt rested when I got up this morning. I wasn’t shattered when my daughter started her usual morning routine of “it’s still dark out, why are you waking me up at midnight, MOMMY?”

My mind is racing. Nothing substantive. Nothing productive. I have a sink full of dishes I could be washing, piles of laundry I could be running through and taking to the laundromat. I could be dyeing my hair, fixing the clogged vaccuum and cleaning the floors..

Unfortunately, the bipolar brain does not operate with logic. Just because my brain is busy and thoughts are racing, 99% of the time it doesn’t equal productivity or even positive physical energy. Depression makes sure of this. It’s 40 some odd degrees today but damn and gray, so that also tugs at my energy level. It’s frustrating.

To my credit last night, I managed to rally enough to get my kid and I fed, bathed, and I played with her for a spell before my attention span wandered and she pretty much declared me a bad playmate. (If I can’t please an i year old, what employer is going to be satisfied with my attention deficit depressed anxious mind???) I was in bed by 9 but it was nearing ten when I finally nodded off.

But hey, I survived it. Now I have to survive five more days of rain and gloom, at least, plus all the rigors of being a single mom and all the responsibilities when really…I’d be just as content to sleep til around April when the seasonal lifts and the weather improves. What person with seasonal affective disorder wouldn’t want to bypass the misery of depression? There is zero value to months of feeling joyless, powerless, and like your only respite is sleep.

Throw in the racing thoughts that add absolutely nothing positive to your existence…

I know you’re not supposed to throw around the term ‘hate’ because it’s so negative to your own mental health…but I really HATE bipolar disorder and I really fucking HATE depression.

In A Darkened Mood

As usual, disrupted sleep resulted in a very low mood for today. And as I predicted, I nodded off about a half hour before the alarm went off. It was all I could do to sit up and see my kid off to school. Once she was gone, I had to tackle washing my bedding since the brat ass kittens think it’s a litter box and since the washer will only wash a few items at a time to spin properly…it’s a laborious process just to wash things now, let alone get them to a dryer that works.

Just that much tapped me out so I burrowed under the cover and eventually nodded off…for about 15 minutes. I know this because I fell asleep during a 42 minute tv show and it was still on, in the middle. It was then I realized the furnace was out again so again I had to cajole it. I am still freezing. And I made the mistake of eating breakfast and the eggs shredded my stomach. I managed to hobble to mom’s and she said her or my sister would get my comforters and stuff dry for me, god knows I can’t afford drying heavy items at the laundromat when it takes $2 just to dry a heavy sweatshirt.

I came home and since then…I am just filled with anxiety and dread. I can’t get warm even though it’s not that cold out and the furnace is working properly. I blame the lack of sun, these wet gray days just put me through the ringer. I can’t focus enough to get interested in watch I am ‘watching’, which means it’s just background noise to drown out the ambient sounds of trash trucks, someone using a saw hour after hour, horns honking at the neighbors…I look at the door like a ticking time bomb, waiting for the “we’re kicking everyone out and bulldozing the place” eviction notice. Which could also come by mail so the mail box is once again an object of abject terror and anxiety.

I can’t shake this mood or the exhaustion or inertia and I keep telling myself, it’s okay, sometimes I need a vegetative day to recharge…But then I just get all the professionals’ voices stampeding my brain about how I need to get active and try harder to shake off the mood. Which is not the least bit helpful, just more stressful.

I am already dreading the rest of the day. My kid is supposed to start bringing home geography homework this week and ha ha ha, I suck at that. I can’t even read a city map. Then of course I need to bathe her, feed her, and try to make it til bedtime where hopefully exhaustion will allow me a few hours’ respite of pseudo rest. Part of these darkened moods is the necessity of a reboot- meaning sleep. I’ve suffered enough of these darkened days to know if I haven’t managed to fight it by now…it’s not happening. My brain and body just need a reboot. It isn’t giving up or lazy or lack of effort. It’s rebooting to work out the glitchiness of a system that has been running for days and is in need of a clean slate for OS to work properly.

I wish the professionals could view the human mind this way. They like to say psychiatry is part science, part trial and error but everyone who has ever used any Windows based product…a reboot can cure a great many glitches and speed things up.

The brain when riddled with disorders is exactly like that.

Sleep May Be For The Weak, But I’d Settle For Some Weakness Right Now

4:41 a.m. I’ve been awake for a half hour now. Think it’s the third time I have wakened since going to bed a little after ten. This is so exhausting a frustrating. I think the perpetually disrupted sleep cycles may well drive me over the edge before my other disorders or even the stress of living in a world gone mad. I can’t battle this other stuff when my mind and body are constantly deprived of proper rest.

I have always had sleep disturbances, since I was 10 years old and it’d take me an hour or two of just laying in bed to get to sleep. Too much sleep, running on little sleep, flourishing with only six hours-as long as it’s solid- I am used to this facet of my disorders.

What has mutated and become unbearable is this wake and sleep and wake and sleep, and often wake in a panic for no reason where the spinning thoughts set in and by the time I get calmed down…it’s time for the alarm to get my kid up for school. Nine times out of ten no matter how tired or under rested, I am unable to go back to sleep even after she leaves. The wake and sleep cycle wasn’t exactly a new thing, I used to have to get up and go to the bathroom sometimes but I’d always trudge back along and once under the covers, go back to sleep.

Since having my daughter…Uninterrupted sleep is a foreign concept. I used to think it was new mom anxiety, checking to make sure the newborn was breathing, just marveling at her little sleeping body. Then she became a toddler and I was terrified she’d fall out of bed or get up and go decide to turn on a stove burner and so I couldn’t sleep more than a couple of hours at a time. After that she spent the better part of 3 years either sleeping in my bed or getting up within 2 hours of me tucking her into her own then fussingm til she could sleep in my bed.

Thankfully she has been sleeping through for the most part for about a year now with some isolated incidents and yet…she’s 8 and I still wake every two hours or so. And it’s not even like it’s because of bad dreams because when I am in these winter depressions, I welcome even bad dreams cos I can always wake from them. This depressive mental state is inescapable so I prefer sleep. Yet I can’t stay down more than a couple of hours at a time. It’s no wonder I am short tempered, grumpy, tired by 7 p.m. and unable to find energy to do much of anything.

I am bloody well exhausted and my psych nurse’s idea of helping is to prescribe some lame anti histamine that’s been cross labeled for sleep. I could have gotten benadryl. Not that those anti histamines work anymore, I have such allergies and hive inducing anxiety, I pretty much lived on benadryl and such for 30 years so it’s totally ineffective, not to mention it makes me loopy so if I do need to pee in the middle of the night, I walk into walls and stumble around. Useless.

I don’t want the answer is here.

I just remember someone I knew from my early social media dabblings (die die die, social media) and she’d be up for days then sleep for days but she’d always quip, “Sleep is for the weak” when she was on a manic kick.

Right now…I’d be just fine with some weakness if it meant even six hours of uninterrupted sleep for a couple of weeks. My tank is on empty and until it is refilled…I’m not sure any med regime is going to help with my mental state because one of the biggest issues is never experiencing a full healthy sleep cycle so my body and mind feel remotely rested.

Ninety minutes til the alarm goes off. Oh and even though I’ve eaten nothing for almost 24 hours, I now have reflux which really hurts and makes it even harder to focus on calming myself and at least catching another hour of sleep.

Who am kidding. By the time I calm the anxiety and racing thoughts, I’ll likely have 15 minutes before the alarm goes off.

8 years of this. And I can’t even say it’s my kid or my mommy anxiety. Something is very wrong.

For once, I want to be weak, if it means getting some damned sleep.

She’s 8 now

Anxiety And Depression’s Manifesto

We, depression and anxiety, issue as our mission statement, that we will do everything in our considerable power to ensure that you rarely enjoy life, rarely sleep well, and never trust yourself nor feel secure.

As an anxiety disorder, it will be single minded goal to keep you edgy, tense, paranoid, and filled with self doubt. I will tagteam with depression to thwart all efforts you make toward healing and stabilizing. Every time you tremble or feel your heart race or sweat break out over your body..You will owe this to me and I delight in knowing that I have the power to make you miserable with no end in sight. It will be my distinct and perpetual pleasure to cause you stomach aches, often with embarrassing and gross outcomes, that will ensure you never gain self respect or self esteem, that others shun you, and that this will also cause you to want to shun yourself. The self control you so desperately desire will also continue to elude you, with only brief glimpses into what self control feels like. Much like a drug dealer handing out a free sample here and there, I will dangle just enough semblance of control every so often that you get a taste and want more…and then I will deny you until you become a husk of yourself and start to feel not just like a freak, but a freak with self destructive thoughts.

And I, depression, solely vow to aid anxiety in keeping you off kilter and ensuring that your life is not fulfilling yet filled with so much unhappiness, tension, and rejection that your destructive thoughts might one day cause you to give up and seek escape through suicide. And to add insult to that injury, everyone around you-family, friends, doctors, therapists, and the ignorant world at large, will say you took the easy way out and castigate you for simply having a breaking point.

Prior to this, however, it will be my daily, and hourly, goal to torment, torture, and haunt you. I will fill you with a sadness you cannot explain, a darkness you cannot illuminate no matter how hard you try. And oh how you will try so hard, what with the medications and therapy and holistic approaches and denials. You will give it all you’ve got and you’ll end up losing. Because I am depression, I am all powerful, I possess you. You suffer from me. Your suffering is why I exist. Making you suffer even more is why I exist and thrive.

Society will whisper sweet nothings in your ear trying to cure you, fix you, tough love you out of it…They will say stick to medication and therapy. They will say toughen up, get over it, snap out of it, grow up. They will torture you as much as I do and it will wear you down over and over until hopelessness becomes as much a part of your existence as breathing. Except after years of battling me, you’ll be so exhausted and demoralized, even breathing will become an insurmountable task. And even if your desire to live is iron clad, I will make sure you are weakened, and that the distorted dark thoughts batter ram you every hour of your life. It’s what I do and I do it well.

Also to my credit will be society’s own ignorance and lack of empathy. Combined with anxiety’s influence and my desire to destroy you, you will be made to feel like you are less than nothing. Like offing yourself would be doing the world a favor. And face it-if you’re disabled by your condition and unable to hold down a job, you will be viewed as a drain on the system thus a non productive member of society who many think should be subject to eugenics for bad dna.

Many of you will give twenty plus years to meds and therapy and doing your best only to still feel hopeless and society will reassure you that you are correct to feel this way.

Some may experience periodical bouts with me or anxiety or with both, and you may respond well to medication and go on with a productive happy life with us in the rearview mirror.

Fortunately for us mental disorders, we can always rely on the genetically disenfranchised, those who struggle endlessly and are resistant to medications. Those who have poor support systems, abyssmal mental health care professionals, and a system of health insurance companies who think a two day stay and a script for a medication you can’t afford qualifies as adequate care. And because it’s all about money, they won’t feel the least bit inept or bad when you succeed in self destructing.

Resistant is futile. Anxiety and depression will always win. You will never be significant, you will amount to nothing, and you’re not even entitled to the pursuit of happiness. We will ensure happiness is but a fleeting feeling, a dealer’s freebie sample to make you want more but we will never allow it. We own you. Society laughs at you because they know we own you and they are part of the masses who determine what is and isn’t a serious illness worthy of competent treatment and an ounce of empathy.

For those of you too strong and stubborn to believe the lies that anxiety and depression tell you…Fear now. Your subpar psychiatric care will ensure that eventually you lose faith in yourself and that perhaps, you just are lazy or a lost cause and you just might consider that awful, final ‘s’ word that would certainly end your pain yet cause a lot for those you leave behind. Not that we, your mental disorders, care.

Come to think of it, other than leaving a mess behind and funeral costs, your loved ones probably won’t care that much, either. If they did, they’d have supported you all along, right?

This is our manifesto. Anxiety and depression will perservere and we will break even the toughest of you. If we fail to do so, we will weaken you to the point that lack of support will break you. But like the sadists we are, it is never truly our goal for our sufferers to end their lives. What satisfaction for us is in that when we no longer can make you suffer? We want you alive and aware, suffering through the ups and downs, day after day, year after year. It is our insidious method that makes doctors think you’re malingerers, that make counselors think you just have personality disorders and can’t face your own flaws. We are all powerful and you are not.

You will not win.

Author disclaimer:
This was written from the point of view I feel my own anxiety and depression take. There is no endorsement for you to harm yourself nor to give up trying meds and therapy.
Never ever give up on yourself even if it feels everyone else has or that you should because it is hopeless. Depression lies and anxiety amplifies those lies like stack of Gibsons.
Rage against the dying of the light-and share this post if you know even one person who might find it useful.
And once again…NEVER EVER QUIT ON YOURSELF. The world, the professionals, the disorders-they may not always have your back but even if your thoughts are distorted…you can have your own back. And believe me, on wordpress, you have a tribe backing you if you are willing to reach out to any of us.
We’re warriors and warriors fight the enemy to the bitter end.

Depression and Living With Your Head On Tne Chopping Block

I had a decent almost 2 week run of feeling better minus Trintellix and Benedict R.

Saturday’s metaphoric mail box letter bomb from the landlord has sent me reeling. I don’t know that my child and I have any stability anymore over where we live and that was the ONE thing that prior to this, I had known was fairly solid as long as rent was paid and we minded our own business.

This sell out to a property management group has basically placed my head on the proverbial chopping block, and this is not a great time for that. As if any time ever is, but when battling seasonal depression and riddled with anxiety disorders…this is terrifying.

I have tried mindfulness, optimism, acceptance. Literally there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t even look for a different place to live just in case because we live month to month and as long as I am paying this management company rent to remain here, and the rest goes to keep heat and all on…I don’t have two nickels to rub together, let alone excess income for a first month rent and security deposit plus all the expenses of switching utilities, not to mention being able to move. Because I don’t have a credit card and can’t rent a uHaul or whatever and my family, in spite of their pick ups, have made it clear they won’t ever help me move again….

I guess this situation is what one would call ‘realistic depression’. I call it hellish and no way is my mental health going to flourish living this way. Yet what choice do I have? Any given day this company and its slumlord leader could decide to bulldoze the place and all of us would be screwed. I keep telling myself, I will handle it come what may, I have been here before. Except I didn’t have a child then.

I’m paralyzed with fear and I think it sucks that the landlord/mgt company can do this to us. This is cruel, emotionally damaging, and cause for hives and daily anxiety attacks.

I was hoping to try to get back to writing. I was hoping to take my Benedict R free time and start to mend and get back on board with my competent doctor. I’d even thought that maybe with my yard saling passion I might start selling stuff on line, TRY to DO something. But now with my preexisting lack of focus and anxiety and depression…not knowing on any given day whether we’re going to be evicted or have all the rules changed so that we will essentially be evicted cos if they jack my rent up…I’m toast.

I guess I got too complacent. I believed the wrong person. I tried that whole trust and optimism thing when it would have served me well to remain wary, untrusting, and pessimistic.

I don’t know how to keep going on with life when my every moment is consumed with the next bomb in the mailbox or the next knock on the door or some passive aggressive letter taped to it. Living in terror sucks.

I’d hoped to have today to regather my wits but due to ice and rain yesterday they canceled school so my kid is home today and she is having so many mood swings, I can’t get a grip on my own.

Last week I felt lucky to be alive and strong enough to keep fighting, in light of K’s suicide.

This week, with my ONLY security measure at risk, I just feel vulnerable, scared, and while my child babbles on about her hurt feelings for not getting even more toys and how I won’t entertain her constantly…I feel myself nearing the breaking point. Seriously, how much am I expected to handle? When is the appropriate time to break?

And so I dig my nails into the edge of the cliff I am dangling from and I can only hope some idget does not come along and stomp on my hand and cause me to let go.

It’s all I’ve got right now.

Homelessness Impending?

It was shaping up to be just another lackluster cold Saturday…then I got my mail.

Slumlord sold the entire trailer park to a management company. Supposedly the rules remain the same and he still manages but now it has become iffy. The lease we had was with HIM. Now at any time they can change whatever rules (no pets, etc) and we have zero recourse but to move. They can decide we have to move and give us a five day eviction notice even though rent is paid for 3 more weeks. (Yeah, it happens,I have been there, rent paid, nowhere to go, five days’ notice.)

For three years my doom and gloom father kept telling me, your landlord has a gambling problem, he’s in debt, you’re gonna end up homeless.

For three years, every few months, I’d be flogged with this, by my dad, and confront the landlord who’d laugh me off and say it was ludicrous that he’d be selling the place.

Just 3 months ago I asked him flat out and he once again laughed and denied it.

I guess during the summer when every resident got a notice from city municipals about the entire trailer park water bills being in 3 month arrears and in danger of being shut off…I should have gotten the hint.

But stupid idget that I am, I guess I stuck my head in the sand and wrongly chose to believe what I was being told by someone who has the morality of an alley cat and even less scruples.

This is not good, at all. Worse, I started to panic and talk to myself when reading the notice and my kid overhead me so now I have transferred, inadvertently, my anxiety about our living situation, onto her.WTF is wrong with me? She’s 8? I should have been able to keep my mouth shut and my demeanor stalwart. Instead…panic happened and now, in addition to me being freaked out…she is, too.

I suck.

But then, I was operating on the whole therapy driven ‘you gotta trust people or you are a paranoid psych case” propoganda. Turns out, I apparently had every reason to doubt and mistrust this landlord.

May have taken 30 years but he finally managed to bankrupt himself, or at least lose enough money on the gambling boats, for it to come to this.

Now my kid is worried what will happen to our cats, will we have to live in a shelter…and before this last week, I would have said, we can always live in grandma’s basement (long as we pay even though most of the people who have stayed there aren’t family and never paid a cent cos hey, my family are assholes)…

But my sister’s brother in law committed suicide in their basement New Year’s Day. They just got the blood cleaned up (guess hanging yourself is messier than fiction portrays.)

I can’t live in a sucide basement. I’m a damned ghoul and even I can’t do that. My sister, way harder emotionally than I am, has already vowed to never set foot down there again after all this…so that would leave me and my daughter to a living room with a single couch, hard floors, and a lack of heat. Worse than we have now. Because they have 5 bedrooms and all of them are filled. My dad lives 8 miles out of town in Bumfuck, with no extra space and even when R and I were speaking…he made it very clear Spook and I were unwelcome.

So am I putting the horse ahead of the cart with my panic disorder or am I just consciously exploring options should this new management company decide to weed us all out? Maybe us, in particular, for too many cats and bug problems, or maybe all of us cos they want to create a more upper crusty place? Am I overreacting, underreacting, being a moron?

The anxiety makes it am impossible thing to discern.

The fact that I recognize this, as well as use words like ‘discern’ tells me that whatever my psych problems…my intelligence is NOT in question.

Unfortunately lots of intelligent well spoken people, even without mental disorders, end up homeless in spite of good intentions and best efforts…

So. Where does that leave my child, me and our furfamily?

I guess we won’t have a clue until the next time I check the mailbox and get a kick to the head.

If my psychiatrist tells me I am being ridiculous, I swear I am going to sue him. I think this is the ideal circumstance for anyone to start feeling a bit panicked.

What sane person with no excess income would find the prospect of being homeless during February not anxiety provoking?

And face it-the new management company actually robs me of the loose prior security I had to fall back on, from a legal standpoint so…I am basically naked in front of the classroom here. If I wasn’t having minor spazouts before getting my mail, I am having major ones now.

And I think it’s justified. I chose to take someone’s word and now…

They have proven my choice to be ignorant.


Depression: When Functionality Feels Like You’ve Won The Lottery

Yesterday I was vegetative and accomplished little. After 2 weeks of my kid’s constant neediness and demands that I be her entertainment director…I needed to be selfish and zone out and just recharge.

Today, I was iffy, because I went to wash my laundry, and shocker…the washer is failing same as the dryer. I can use it, but it will only rinse and spin 5 or 6 items of clothing at the same time which takes longer and more water (thank god the landlord pays the water bill) but it also means more work for me, and more added to the power bill. I was feeling so weak and defeated, I didn’t think I’d accomplish a thing.

To my surprise, I finally got the car warmed up, the windshields cleaned, and set out into the dish. I returned my kid’s library books, spent 45 minutes at the laundromat drying 2 loads of laundry and the heavy sweatshires were still damp even after $2.oo worth of quarters…But the place wasn’t packed so my anxiety was lesser. Kenny said something a few weeks ago about using a different place further away cos it ‘would be cleaner’ but this midtown place…okay, not spotless, the walls a little shabby, no changemaker (gotta use the liquor store next door), no attendant…I looked down and saw the bent and rusting heat grate yet the dryers were all digital and new-ish…so I felt at home and less concerned about the floors being a little messy from people tracking in snow and mud. No wifi, boo hoo. I went old school and read a Patricia Cornwell novel til my stuff was dry.

Then I ran a couple more errands, including finally braving Aldi for groceries, then I went home…and it wasn’t even 11:30 a.m. I vacuumed, swept, did dishes, and even managed the first shower in 4 days. (WTF kind of psych nurse doc thingie doesn’t find days without showering a big symptom of depression???) I felt like I had accomplished a lot, and it felt good. Yeah, doing what others consider basic…it’s like winning the lottery for me. It’s rare. I need more zone out vegetative days than I have functional days so the good days….I celebrate. But if vegetating every so often helps me recharge and regain strength….I’d call it necessary and smart.

As for last night’s tirade against the melatonin failing to put me to sleep for 3 hours and the racing thoughts…It was a bitch. I tried to lay down at 9 p.m to give the melatonin time to kick in and let myself work out my racing thoughts. It did not go well.It was maddening and frustrating and has become so common place that…well, if I consider it normal, I guess that makes me a freak. Less than normal…it’s just become a facet of my life.

For today…even though my demanding child did wear me down (she got 3 A pluses on her report card, tell me that child isn’t smart and thriving even if she’s in a low income single parent income!!!!) She had a mega tantrum before school so I told her the consequence was me not playing together with her dollhouse. This is the only thing I know that actually seems to ‘discipline’ her. Yet for hours she kept trying to bargain and say she’d do anything and I stuck to my guns. We had pizza, we watched 3 sitcoms together, we had snuggle buggle time and chatted…I am not keeping my kid from loving parental interacting but when she unapologetically has daily tantrums… it seems taking away the one thing that seems to mean most to her is the ultimate consequence. Wrong or right…I think she needs the boundaries etched in stone, not drawn in chalk that can be washed away when either of us have a tearduct episode.

Which for me has become quite common, in light of what my sister’s faction is going through with K’s suicide, and also, TV shows that cause my tearducts to bleed tears that feel like knives…That tells me I am indeed depressed because normally, my tearducts seem broken due to mood stabilizers. But random crying jags…Wanting to go to sleep early and not wanting to wake up even from bad dreams, then not wanting to get up with my kid come morning…this is full on seasonal affective disorder. It is serious, it is debilitating, and my psych pros don’t care. Which means I have to care. I will not be the next murder by depression. Oh, yeah, call it suicide, but truth is…depression is what kills most people who do self destruct. People want to deny it but it is the truth.

Grrr….for the thousandth time…my kingdom for the ability to stay on topic. I know I am ranty and all over the place but at least I am honest about being a hot mess.

For today…I got stuff done. Once it hits the predicted minus 3 degrees tonight and I wake u 4 times so cold I go make sure the furnace is still running thus sparking anxiety and disrupting my sleep even more….A functional day does indeed seem like winning the lottery.

The Racing Thoughts Monster

After my last nurse doc appointment, it became clear to me that very few professionals can distinguish an attention deficit disorder as authentic if you’re already diagnosed as bipolar or with anxiety issues. I am not going to debate this because it is a losing battle. The professionals, at this point, have harmed as much as helped me. None of them can agree on anything, they just muddy the waters and fill me with more self doubt and confusion. Am I ADD? I believe I am, and Dr. B said it was often a secondary component of bipolar disorder but the nurse doc made it seem that all my ADD symotoms are byproducts of anxiety. Wtf?

So this post isn’t going to debate the validity of having/not having ADD. Instead, I’d like to focus on the bane of my existence: racing thoughts. It is never ending and the meds do little to help with this symptom. My brain spins constantly, I wake up in the middle of the night with racing thoughts and a rapid heartbeat. I can’t focus enough to talk myself off that ledge, and just trying to focus on one thought stresses me out so much and I feel like such a failure for not being able to slow them down…it’s hellish.

Yesterday was a good mental health day, at least for the first half. Then some misbehavior from my child, as well as the problems my sister’s family is having with financial constraints on burying their dead, my mood darkened and I started snapping. In my defense, the kid stepped on the kitten and damn near crushed him, then lied twice before fessing up that she had done it. Accidents I understand. Lying twice to my face then having zero concern for the kitten, but only caring about saving her own butt…Bipolar or not, I find this a triggering matter for the calmest parent. It just crushed me for part of the day to go so well, and it was- I felt shitty for feeling good considering what my sister and them are facing. But I also loved feeling good because it’s a rarity in a turmoil riddled mind. To have it crash down into me being a snappy anger filled monster…it was crushing.

Today I was going to at least go to the grocery store after my kid was off to school…Except I woke twice during the night from bad dreams with a racing heart and racing thoughts so my sleep was not good. Then at 6 a.m. I woke and checked the time, saw I had email, and it was from the school saying due to low temps, they’d be doing a two hour late start day. And that sent me into a further panic, because I was already scared after 2 weeks of sleeping in, I’d miss the alarm and make her late. Now I had to schedule our routine two hours later and I figured I’d screw that up too, so this created more anxiety. Even after she had gone…I felt drained and tired. And it was single digits outside until noon when it hit a whopping 12 degrees so I didn’t really feel like battling the car and its dying fits. So I stayed in, did nothing, and by the time she got home…I felt more calm and better balanced.

We played dollhouse. We watched two of our favorite sitcoms. But by 8 p.m. after all her demands for more toys and her litany of physical ailments because she had a cold and a cough lingers and oh, the noise at school gave her a migraine so she needs to stay home tomorrow…and I just get so tired of hearing it. If I took her to the doctor every time she asked me to due to ailment of the week, they’d have me up on Munchausen by proxy charges. Yet I also live in fear that the time I write it off as drama llama behavior, it will be the one time she’s truly ill and I end up being neglectful. This daily balancing act is grueling. Earlier, I thought I might sit down at the desktop computer and stare down the blinking cursor, try to get back into my fiction writing. 5 hours with my kid’s constant complaints and demands and utter lack of gratitude or empathy…

I just want to sleep.

Except once I got her down, my scumbag brain started in with the racing thoughts. Anxiety over my coming appointment with Dr. B and how to handle it without seeming erratic and well, bonkers yet make him understand how serious things have been for me while under the doc nurse care. I worry about my sis and them and how devastated they are with K’s suicide.

Oddly, all this stress and anxiety is still more preferable to the stress I was subjected to under the thumb of he whose initial will not be typed.

Racing thoughts are a cruel thing to have and to have them discounted repeatedly angers me. It does keep me from normal life, normal relationships, even reading a damn book or staying on topic in a journal post. Inability to shut the thoughts down and focus makes it difficult to play with my child or even watch a movie with her. And the racing thoughts play hell on falling asleep and staying asleep.

Focalin helped with this. It didn’t make me hyper or high. The fact that it simply made it easier for me to slow the thoughts and focus was what lent credence to the ADD as a secondary diagnosis to bipolar. If you don’t have the disorder, the medication will either have no impact or it will make you high, right? Unfortunately, doctors and insurance companies fail to see this. I am still furious that I can’t get a drug I could desperately use and it’s not even lack of a doc writing a script. It’s because insurance won’t pay and even as a generic, I can’t afford it. Something so vital to helping my mental state and quality of life shouldn’t be unobtainable. The fact the professionals do so little to help us figure a way around the cost (like writing the manufacturer and asking for a discount rate) tells me that racing thoughts and an inability to sit still for long or focus on a ninety minute movie or a 300 page book…

I just don’t think the professionals care anymore. About any of us. But then I am cycnical and I have had some pretty lousy experiences though I don’t even harbor as much resentment for the quack who damn near killed me by not sending me to a psych hospital due to a near fatal reaction to Nardil. That was lack of communication between doctors and hospitals and basic ignorance. They didn’t intend to harm me. This nurse doc…maybe harm was not the intent, but it was the result. And no, I’m probably not going to let it go any time soon because this woman really, really messed with my head.

Bottom line…sometimes, I just want my brain to shut up. I am tired of the thoughts and feelings and how extreme it all is, or sometimes, lack of extreme because I can’t feel anything. When your biggest hurdle in life is your own brain’s unwillingness to cooperate…it sometimes feel like I am doomed no matter how hard I try.

And to that distorted thought from scumbag brain, I have only this to say:

Fuck. You. You. lie.

I’m only doomed if I quit fighting because some psych professionals are really lackluster at their jobs. I won’t quit fighting. I will go down swinging. Ya know, if my brain slows down enough to remember to swing.