Author Archives: morgueticiaatoms

Party Hearty…Not

My daughter is still at my dad’s house but each passing hour my anxiety rises. Why? What awful thing is impending?

My kid was invited to the neighbor boy’s 5th birthday party today from 2-4 p.m.

Now why on Earth would taking my kid to a birthday party make me anxiety ridden and panicky?

Event crowded with people I don’t really know, outside my safe zone, lots of unknown factors (like the year we were paid to leave a birthday party cos Spook was upstaging the birthday girl), rainy cold day making my depression worse…


My heartrate is up,I feel sweaty, even a little woozy. This is why I personally rarely go out to public events or even private ones if more than 3 people will be present.

The physical effects of anxiety and panic are disturbing and it takes a long while to restore equilibrium. While professionals may classify this aversion to events avoidance behavior…I have become wise enough to view it for what it is: the opportunity to make the choice to not become overwhelmed,discombobulated,and physically ill.

It’s half amusing how people with known food allergies are condemned if they go ahead and eat something that hurts their stomach or results in unpleasant bodily responses. ‘You know you can’t properly digest peppers,idiot,why’d you eat them?’

BUT if your condition is on the mental health spectrum and you avoid things known to impact your physical health negatively…then it’s avoidance and unhealthy behavior. You won’t try hard enough or push yourself hard enough.

WTF kind of double standard is that?

For myself,I can opt out 95% of the time and only feel moderately self loathing.

For my kid, I aim to barrel through the anxiety and panic so at least one of us has a happy life. Even if it means I will spend two days sick,trying to calm down and recover,I try for her sake.

I hate to admit how many times I have failed her in spite of trying my best.

This is where depression makes anxiety worse. If I weren’t clouded under a depressive bout, my anxiety would probably not be so metastasized over a kids’ birthday party. The disorders just feed on and off of each other,round and round it goes. The carousel never stops turning.

If my anxiety is as bad as any food sensitivity and even hinders my ability to go out and have a good time…

How dare anyone call it a benign condition.

It’s My Life…And I’d Like To Make A Return

Today started out in a lovely way. And by lovely,I mean, shitty.

I went to do dishes for the first time since Sunday (as I said,the gabapentin has me lethargic and constantly feeling exhausted) and water came flooding out from under the sink. The fitting keeping the plastic pipes connected had come loose and not being a plumber…my instant reaction,following the shouted obscenities, was to panic at the mere thought of having to call the landlord for repairs.

After mopping up the flood, I inspected the pipes,put them back together,and tightened the connecter piece. Yay! It worked,no need to make a loathsome call and hope the elderly landlord remembers he even rents to me. Relief.

I next washed a load of laundry in our new used (oxymoron?) washer and had to rewash it as my scent crystals didn’t dissolve. Not a huge trauma,but definitely one more thing to heighten anxiety if my monthly water bill is $65 before we use a drop of water. (If only my brain could be ocd about cleaning the way it is with panicking over every tiny thing.)

I worsened this anxiety by bothering to bathe,how many gallons of the precious gold Armpit,USA calls water service does a bath use? But grungy hair ain’t working for me these days. Guess that’s a first nod to seasonal depression sloooowly starting to lift,no longer able to go through 5,6 days without bathing.

Following this,I cooked myself eggs and bacon and won the lottery. For once,eating breakfast didn’t upset my stomach.

I went to hang dry the laundry washed and the rolling rack collapsed for the tenth time,shattering a vase so I had to stop that chore to clean up glass and put the rack back together.

9/10 of that done,the rack collapsed again,this time with all the wet laundry on it,into a shelf full of glass chotchkeys…more cursing echoed off the walls but I put Humpty Dumpty back together again and finished hanging wet clothes.

It was only 11:30.

It’s very hard not to get discouraged, pessimistic,and downright tired when day after day your life is filled with a never ending chain of mishaps that hinder accomplishments. I think isolated incidents would be a little less destructive to my mental state but since 2018 began,it’s just been catastrophe after catastrophe.

On top of the depression and anxiety,it makes it difficult to be a shiny happy person.

The fact I am still upright and functioning,even on limited capacity days,should be indicative of my tenacity. I’m not one to simply shatter after a series of trying events. I may regroup but I do not quit.

That being said…my kid is staying the night with the paternal faction so I am gonna take the blessed million-question-free golden time to regroup.

And try not to have panic attacks knowing my brother will be driving her to some hick activity tonight after dark.

Why panic attacks when your brother is 22 years old?

He has…how to put this politely…a learning disability not to mention he’s pretty much half blind during the day and night blind,plus such an iffy driver,dad and stepmom wouldn’t let him drive to and from town last year when he was a tax service costume greeter. These days he does 2 hours Mon-Fri putting a 4 year old on the bus and taking him off the bus. Said 4 year old pulled the fire alarm at school last week and my brother called stepmonster to ask if he could go pick the kid up per his mok’s request cos that is part of babysitting…and he was forbidden from doing so,in broad daylight,cos she didn’t trust him driving the 4 year old. Wtf?

I broached the topic with both of them expressing concern about him driving MY kid after dark and they got all pissy like I was being rude. I am terrified for my kid,not cos I think my brother will purposely hurt her but because he is so blind,such an iffy driver, and has less attention span than a gnat.

Still my concerns were swatted away and as I owe them so much money cos of the move,it’s been made clear I no longer have a voice or true say over my kid.

Hell is owing family.

This is my life and it no longer feels comfy like a well worn pair of houseslippers. It doesn’t fit me. I have been sucked into living their life and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. Until I repay them every cent which could take years…

I am stuck wearing toe pinching foot torturing shoes.

This is my life. It no longer fits and I want a return.

Stranded By Dollar Signs

You know how to tell when the fates have a twisted sense of humor? When a mathematically,short term memory impaired person like me ends up with a car with a broken gas gauge.

Since it was bought used at auction there is no way to know how much fuel I started out with. It said half a tank but after driving 60 miles and watching the gauge go UP toward full…Is the car backwards so full means empty? Is the gauge simply giving random readings that have no true meaning? I put gas in,the gauge sometimes goes up towards full but then it settles on half no matter how many miles I drive. Color me confused! Not that I didn’t have a car before with a broken gas gauge, difference was,I’d been driving it awhile and knew how much was in the tank when it quit working. This ‘new’ car (sad that an ’01 is not just new to me,it is the newest car I’ve ever owned),well,I am playing Russian Roulette with the gas gauge. This is not a fun game now that we are 15 mile minimum from town. Not the place to run out of fuel.

So why am I prattling about gas gauges,math,and dollar signs?

It’s very relevant to our current situation. My only real guide to how much gas the car has in it is,argh!,using the mile counter thingie (can’t come up with technical term,can’t be arsed to Google it) then tracking the money I spend on gas, how many gallons,and basing it all on the city/ highway mileage the car was originally supposed to get. Guessing game from hell! I’m not awful at basic math but when forced to do it on the fly and rely on my non existent short term memory to track and divide…

My brain hurts writing about it.

How is this relevant to a mental health blog?

Anxiety,paranoia,and terror.

I’ve never once run a car out of gas. Now it’s a distinct possibility every time we hit the highway. It’s paralyzing me.

Now I know what many are thinking,using that icky thing called logic…why not fill the tank then err on the side of caution at 3/4 of your estimated mileage???

Ha ha ha. Another of this used car’s quirks is that it fuels slowly,something inside is broken and even if the car has driven 100 miles,the gas pump shuts off every $1 you put in,or worse,splashes out. So just putting $5 in takes ten minutes and cramps the hand.

Guessing game. I hate guessing games.

The fact that the car has these issues,on top of our geographical isolation and cash flow issues means…

I feel trapped here after a trip to town and 28 miles on the car even if in theory my math calculations mean I ‘should’ be safe for at least another 12 miles.

Unfortunately,panic and anxiety don’t much care for logic or theoretical things. Scumbag brain locks onto my shitty memory and how I get numbers all mixed up (psych med side effects,anyone?) and becomes convinced that even if the math is right..,an old car might not make the mileage it did when new and I could run out of fuel on the interstate. Worse,not even have a dime to my name to put more in.

So I don’t risk it til next check thus my own mental issues cripple me as much as dollar signs. Anxiety is a cruel disorder I’m not sure I’d wish on an enemy.

You can sometimes reason with yourself on bipolar or depression.

Anxiety just stampedes your logic, spits on your intelligence,and keeps stabbing you in the back.

At least I do like driving the car,whatever its issues.

Gotta love the wackiness of a woman who wears nothing but black driving a white car.

Outer Space On Earth

I’ve been searching for an apt description of how I’ve been feeling since beginning gabapentin but have been at a loss until now. While out driving today-and having skipped the a.m. dose- I realized I almost felt stoned, like being on pot. I am so spaced out, it’s entirely likely someone might mistake me for being a pothead. I wish I were being dramatic or had some sort of vendetta against the drug working but…this is the cold hard truth of how it makes me feel. Will it go away in a week? Maybe. Will my body adapt as the dose goes up? Possibly. I have such high hopes, based on what others have said about their experience. But also a certain wariness based on also what I’ve heard about the negative experience of others, not to mention my doctor’s seeming apathy about my bad reaction to the high dose. I am committed to giving it a fair chance but feeling spaced out all of the time is not my idea of an optimal response. Not to mention through the spacy fog, my heart feels like a bullet richeting off walls inside my chest. I don’t like that at all.

I bothered to drag out the laptop and hotspot my phone for this post. I hate using the stupid phone. And yeah, that is a play on words, and my actual opinion, of smart phones. I like the multipurpose of the thing, it’s like a swiss knife of phones. It’s also a pain in my ass trying to get apps with limited space cos idiot Android won’t let me store apps on my micro SD car so I never have enough room. Then I have to learn how to use each app, and I’ve already wiped out a post and several replies on wordpress because…I have no idea what my fat fingers are doing even with a fat finger keyboard app. Anyway…it just seemed worth the hassel and added mb usage for this post. Not cos I have anything important to say but because…I arose from yesterday’s inertia and had the excess energy to drag out the computer and not spaz out over using more mb than I have to. I even wore eyeliner and mascara today, plus undergarments and clean clothes that aren’t black. OMG. It isn’t because I am feeling great. My body feels like lead, my limbs might as well be concrete, and everything aches. It’s because I felt such guilt about basically shutting down for two days. I am forcing myself to behave ‘normally’ when I feel anything but normal.

And after having to move an entire house full of stuff 20 miles over a ten day span with a child in tow yet not feeling this crappy…I am inclined to think gabapentin is simply kicking my ass with negative side effects. I may be wrong, who knows.

We are getting a used wash machine tonight. Stepmonster found it in the paper for $75 and I can only cover 3/4 of it thanks to a donation but I can hang dry stuff or hit the dryers for a quarter a 10 minute load, which is a hell of a lot better than $4.00 a load at the scuz o mat. She got me two rolling racks to hang dry things on since we have no shower or rod to hang stuff from. Or closets. I am grateful and relieved, other than the unbearable anxiety and hassel of them actually invading my safe space and delivering it. And that’s my neuroses, I own it, they’re trying to help and my scumbag brain interprets it as a threat.

At the same time, their utter disregard for my disorders, mental health, and usurping me with my child and my rules for her-that IS a huge threat. And since I owe them so much money, they feel justified in upsetting me at every opportunity and keep her whenever they choose for as long as they choose.Me asserting myself does no good, they are bulldozers. Which makes me feel so powerless and utterly shitty. I honestly thought (deluded myself) that people would donate. $60 in six weeks is not reflecting well on my ability to motivate a fundraiser. It’s not like I don’t get it. I watched a show the other day where a woman pretended to be her teenage daughter on line and bilked a guy out of $60,000. A large percentage of people on line asking for money are scammers.

I am not. And asking for help is not easy for me. Unfortunately, I only have the consistency of my blog about our money difficulties and my word as proof so I do get it why people don’t donate. And I get that so many are having similar problems, they simply can’t afford it. I just had…hopes. Owing the paternal faction of my family is like being buried in concrete. I can move, I can’t breathe, so I just stay alive never going anywhere. I’ve not even managed trash pick up, my car insurance is late, and internet is as big a dream as winning the lottery. This isn’t whining. This is my reality.

Also my reality is my kid having a hard time to adapt to the new place and new school. I honestly thought she’d adapt better than me, but that hasn’t really been the case. Of course, it’s impossible to ever truly take her at face value because she is an emotional chameleon. She tells my dad’s faction she likes it here, she tells my mom’s faction she hates it, she tells me she hates, but the bulldozers come in and flatten the truth. Because any opinion other than their own is wrong and even I am not that overbearing and controlling. I admit, I am struggling with her struggling. She is manipulative and no, I don’t care what the child psych said about not using that term because it is accurate. She has more of her father in her-minus his actual influence-than I want to admit. That flexibility in personality and opinion, that need to be a people pleaser than harbor resentment for it-that’s a page out of the donor’s book. This is one trait I can’t own because my biggest detriment has always been my refusal to change to fit in or keep the peace. I have my resentments, but my own choices being held against others is not one of them. I’m ill equipped to handle this child rearing problem but as I have zero choice…I am doing best I can.

You’d think as spaced out as I feel, it would muffle some of the extreme emotion that accompanies my current issues and personal struggles. Nope. Not so lucky. I am still feeling it all, just from under a gauzy later of medication. And I’ve mythbusted, it’s not the Effexor, it is the gabapentin.

I noticed, also, while driving 28 miles just to make a trip to town for supplies and a trip to my mom’s- I feel so spaced out, backing my car out or navigating a crowded parking lot is daunting. Terrifying. Going down the interstate with farm implements and machinery always puttering along one lane, while other traffic seems to be coming at me from a back road…GRRR. Freak out city. It wasn’t bothering me so much. Now it is. The isolation is bothering me. The lack of wifi net access is driving me bonkers. How long the days here seem is grueling. It’s one thing to choose to stay home and not interact. To be forced to stay home due to mileage, a busted belt on the car tire, and gas costs-that is maddening.

But I guess in the interest of fairness I should look for the positive in my life right now.

Beyond pulling in Ion channel for free via the digital bunny ears and having a roof overhead…I am coming up empty. Doesn’t bode well for the Effexor doing any miracle work.

If both meds are failing me with this new doctor, I fear I am screwed. And I don’t mean that in a bawdy pleasurable way.


For weeks I have been running around in either full blown or half blown panic. I’ve been fortunate enough to have a few calmer down days,but also fortunate enough to not hit a ‘splat’ inertia patch.

That run ended today and I have no idea why. Nothing traumatic happened. I had every intention of going out today,we need at least one load of laundry done…but it’s nearing noon and all I have accomplished are clean clothes and nuked frozen lasagna for breakfast.

It’s hard to explain this inertia. Could it be related to starting the gabapentin? I have a long standing sensitivity to meds,either they make me strung out anxious or groggy dopey lethargy.

Today’s inertia is a mix of unexplained anxiety and a leaden paranoid ‘if I move,something bad will happen’ feeling. It’s disturbing and worse, having read some forums on reactions to yo gabba gabba…Is this the start of me taking to my bed and never wanting to leave the house?

For sure an overreaction,you can’t discern long term outcome after a few doses. But scumbag brain likes making those leaps,that way if the worst does happen,I am prepared.

It galls me to not be able to get myself moving and out the door. If I’m not going out then I have wasted clean clothes,coulda stayed in jammies. Sadly,this is what life for me has devolved into. Worrying that every time I put on clean clothes it’s gonna cost money to wash them and Spook having clean clothes for school is more important so I can stay in the same clothes a couple days straight. It’s constricting to think in these terms. It wasn’t free to do laundry when we had working washer and dryer but at least it didn’t require leaving the house or having cash on hand. Grr.

But yeah, we may have a roof overhead and it may be nicer than our trailer was but it comes with many,many downsides. Like needing $5 in gas just to go to town for food. Or doing laundry,which is tough when you can’t bring yourself to leave the house.

GET OFF YOUR ASS AND MOVE!!! I scream at myself. Some days ripping the band aid off works. This is not one of those days. And honestly as foggy as I feel,I probably shouldn’t be driving anyway. (That IS the gabapentin).

So…dirty laundry will still be there tomorrow but so will yo gabba gabba so I can’t even be sure the inertia will wear off once the current mind frame passes.

I will give the med more time before making a decision about pro v cons but any med that makes me feel too wonky to drive and puts lethargy on top of heightened anxiety…don’t need tragic h8te ball to tell me it doesn’t bode well.

Hope I am wrong and gabba gabba is my wonder drug.

I also hope to win the lottery without ever buying a ticket so my mental state is suspect at times.

Gabapentin,take two

So I am two 100 mg doses into yo gabba gabba (gabapentin) and I must admit…It’s not the toxin I thought it was. The 300mg twice daily was simply too strong a dose to start me on. I am very sensitive to medications and I always get the weirdest,rarest side effects so the doctors never believe I having the trouble I am. That’s why I think it’s important psychiatrists should spend more than ten minutes with a new patient. Had my new doc bothered to learn of my sensitivity to meds,we could have avoided a lot of misery for me,not to mention the hassel of trying to get a hold of them. As it is,the decrease script wasn’t even written by my new doc,it was written by another doc on staff.

Which leads scumbag brain to all sorts of paranoid conclusions about the new doc. Perhaps the most valid concern is simple fact- she doesn’t have time to be bothered with a long time med resistant patient.

So last night I took the first 100 mg yo gabba gabba and braced myself for the uber icky side effects. Aside from the usual increase in heart rate, I just drifted off to sleep. I woke at 2 a.m. and wasn’t ‘drunk’ or stumbling or sleep walking. I stayed up a bit then eventually went back to sleep.

I was awake before my kid,no hangover,no headache,not even a groggy haze. I was surprised because the 300 mgs kicked my ass when I took them then the entire day after taking them and it wasn’t going away.

I took my second 100 mg dose at 8:30 today and I didn’t zonk out. I did get a bit dizzy,lethargic,and my heartbeat was so rapid,it mimicked a panic attack. Feeling so out of it was disturbing but it faded after 90 minutes or so of curling up on the couch under mermaid blankie with the cat.

I don’t feel too awful now but I can tell the gabapentin is affecting my reaction time and alertness. My extremities sort of feel heavy,like they are leaden. I am told there is a good chance this will subside as I am on the med longer. I hope so. I read some forums where yo gabba gabba turned people into sluggish couch potatoes who felt the med ruined their life.

Let that not be my experience.

So…if you are med sensitive and a drug is started at a high dose when lower dose is available…don’t be afraid to speak up and tell the doc. Dose change can make all the difference.

Limbo, Golden Days, Public meltdowns, and Therapy Peacocks

Therapy peacocks???WTF, Morgue? Lolol. It’s an Arby’s commercial and it cracks me up. I believe in therapy animals, but a therapy peacock on an airplane…That’s just funny.

Golden days…I had one last Thursday. Kids playing in the yard, got stuff done, even survived my creepy brother hanging out, uninvited. (Sorry, love him, but a 23 year old who spends all his time wanting to hang out with my 8 year old is fucking creepy.) It was just a rarity, to feel in a decent mental space, to have major stressors like noisy kids, other parents, and people to deal with, plus 45 minutes of homework four nights a week which in Spook time turns into ninety minutes cos most is spent having a fit…I handled it beautifully. Golden days.

More often, I have pyrite days. Fool’s gold. Up and functioning, but so stilted by one or another disorder that it’s not a quality day. That was Friday. Temp dropped from sixties to thirties, gloom, off and on rain. Couldn’t get warm. Had to work up the courage to call the doctor’s office about the whole gabapentin situation. The nurse was supposed to get back with me Thursday but didn’t. It took another three hours after I called, me wringing my hands, breaking out in hives, stomach churning the whole time. Limbo. Ick. This new doc has me rattled to the nth degree. I don’t want to be viewed as some troublemaker constantly in need of attention but at the same time, I can’t be held responsible for their short staffing issues. It is perfectly logical to contact the doctor’s office when you are having trouble with a medication.

And 300 mg of gabba gabba kicked my ass and left me wishing for death so it was crucial to get hold of them, not because I am unwilling to try it-I’ve heard and read great things about it as an anxiety med. I just want to start at a lower dose. And so I need to get thee into town to the pharmacy to pick that up.

I engaged in some exposure therapy over the weekend. Not because I wanted to but because things had to be done and I figure if I do the exposure therapy thing it will either fix me or melt me down further so they have to put me on lockdown. Either way I am trying.

I dropped my kid at mom’s for a sleepover, braved Aldi, was doing ok in spite of the dismal rainy weather…Then I hit Hellmart. I mean Walmart. ARGGHHHHHH. I hate that place with the burning intensity of a thousand suns. But in keeping with exposure therapy I used one of the self check outs for the first time. It was as awful as I figured it would be. I had a ton of food, the bags kept ripping, I couldn’t find the UPC codes, the case of water ripped open…there were people behind me waiting impatiently. I couldn’t figure out how to ring up an onion and the lady that was supposed to be helping at self check out was busy with a line of people so…I started cussing and panicking right in plain view. It was as bad as any job I ever had, the stress of doing it all and doing it quickly cos people were waiting. I did not handle myself with dignity, but then, who does when in a panic? I am all for anything that lessens my need to deal with other people but when it makes my life more frustrating…fuck your self checkouts, Wal-mart.

To my chagrin, my dad called on my one kid free night and asked if I’d go out to dinner with him since my brother was out with my nephew and stepmonster was out with nephew’s fiance. I was like a deer in headlights. Dad is a downer. Both my parents are cos they are so critial and dismissive of anything I say or feel. A counselor who met them described them as toxic and told me to limit contact for my own well being. And of course, there’s the whole ‘in the middle’ thing. It’s been 21 years since my parents split and yet they still put us in the middle so if we’re nice to mom, it irks dad, and if we’re nice to dad, mom thinks we’re sucking up to him.

My fatal flaw is, in spite of how rough around the edges I am, I really don’t want to offend or hurt people. Plus a free meal out…I was trying to convince myself dad’s not that bad…when he said, “I was going to ask your sister first but since she has your kid, I’m asking you.” Ha ha ha ha, second choice, as usual, feel the love. Oh, well. I went. He dragged me to some farm and home supply store. They had a live pig there named Curly Sue so while he looked for his redneck stuff, I spent twenty minutes talking to the pig. I am an animal person. Then we ate at Long John Silver’s and after, he took me for the same old cruise of the semi truck lot he used to cruise with us when we were little kids. Yay. I wish I could get excited for such things but…I can’t, it’s not my thing.

Saturday evening I curled up on the couch and watched Deception and For The People. Gotta say, I had my doubts about these Tv Free Way digital antennas but as long as you’re okay with 10 channels not of your choosing…they work like gangbusters. Everyone thought I had cable, the picture is so clear. I lucked out the day that dude left those at the shop cos they didn’t work with his analog tvs. Free stuff is always good and better when it actually works.

There was one scene on From The People where the two women were walking across the bridge in New York and I was just mesmerized by the lights and view…but I also felt my heart start pounding and my breath quicken because all that activity overwhelms me even from a TV set. That alone should give the professionals an indication how life altering my disorders are, even TV shows set me off. If only I had a therapy peacock…

Sunday I faced another daunting thing. I cooked and had my mom and sis and nephew and his gf come over to see the new place. I worked my butt off getting the place cleaned up and organized-ish. And it went well. Except for having to hear about how much Spook told them she hates it here. All the while she tells dad’s side she likes it. Kid is sheeple, she tells people what she thinks they want to here. She knows grandma doesn’t like it here, so she hates, but poppy does like it here, so she likes it. I don’t know what it’s like to be that malleable but it must suck.

Anyway…I survived it all. Downside, I was so exhausted physically and mentally, I went to bed at 8:30 last night and I slept hard and without any sleep meds. Dealing with stressful stuff tires me out quickly, I tend to hit a wall.But I have at least earned an E for effort.

So…I did ok aside from the cussing panicking meltdown at Walmart. When I go there, I need a therapy pet cobra to do my hissing and venomizing for me. Or…I could just never have to go there again.

I have a rich fantasy life.


The Help Us Keep Our Power On And Get Trash Service Fundraiser

It was brought to my attention that my fundraiser links weren’t working. Not exactly shocking, I’m using a stupid phone (stupid smart phone, oxymoron?) and I get everything all garbled.

Anyway…this is the working link.

Share, repost, donate- whatever help you’re willing to give…Spook and I are grateful because this situation is distressing. More distressing is the fact that the move was forced on us, otherwise we wouldn’t be in over our heads because we live within our means.


Depression: How I Want To Feel Versus How I Really Feel

It has not escaped me that this blog has become a major downer and yes, I am aware many must think, “Does she ever do anything but complain or beg for donations?” I can tell by my views, likes, and lack of comments for the most part that I have lost people’s interest and that saddens me. Because I am having a tough time now financially and I am reaching out but only because I am about to get my power turned off due to the dual billing caused by the move and my fund availability coming after the due date. And I have given them every cent I have to apply toward it, but unfortunately, it doesn’t change anything. I haven’t had a disconnect notice in seven years, this is a tough bitter pill to swallow. It is, however, my reality and in spite of my misanthropy…there is a smidge of hope inside that some kind person might understand the predicament my daughter and I are in and help out. Seven years of keeping the power bill paid, obviously this is an isolated incident not born of my own choice or any wrong doing.

Having said that cos well, to quote TLC, “I ain’t too proud to beg…”

So, yeah, the fact that this blog has become Downerpalooza and Complaint Central…I thought it being a mental health blog focusing on bipolar depression and anxiety that the perception would be of the disorders and how they alter thought patterns as opposed to it becoming my entire personality and identity to never be happy and complain incessantly. That was never the intent but in all fairness, I was ambushed with a lot of bad stuff right after another and am faced with so much change, and I fail miserably at change. Even without my wonky brain chemicals, I’d say my emotions of frustration, anxiety, and depression are pretty valid.

The other thing is…NO ONE CHOOSES TO BE DEPRESSED OR ANXIOUS. That is why we are diagnosed with disorders. When those disorders take over every faction of your life, perhaps the rare good things that do happen get lost in the chaos. I am not inherently a miserably whiny person. If anything, I am rebellious fighter and I fight my own mind with everything I’ve got. But it’s that same mind that is beating me up and causing me to feel things more deeply and in a more negative light. Trying to convince myself otherwise is like putting a band-aid on a gunshot wound. I do try, but it is not effective.

What I want to feel…I want to feel JOY. My daughter and I are getting a fresh start here. This is our first house, we spent 9 years in a ramshackle trailer with a landlord who never wanted to spend a dime to fix anything. Now we have a decent (if old) place where everything works and is in decent shape and the new landlord busted his butt getting the pipework fixed when he learned the previous tenants destroyed it all by using a blowtorch in an effort to thaw frozen winter pipes. This a huge step up for us. We got to keep our cats.

We have a better car now, an ’01 Lumina, and it runs great. It’s the newest car I’ve ever owned, and it’s paid for, no loan, though I do owe my father since he bought it and I’d almost rather owe some guy named Guido who would just break my kneecaps instead of using the debt to control my every thought and action…Being in debt to my dad for $1400 means he’s up in my business, telling me when I can make trips to town, etc. Not that I listen to him since it’s in my name and I pay insurance on it, but still…he’s so far up my ass he may as well be an enema. Still…he cared enough to replace my DOA car so can I really complain?

I am TRYING to view things positively.

The depression, however, puts a dozen spotlights on every negative aspect. It amplifies every anxiety. It quashes hope for the future. It convinces me the new doc is so busy and apathetic toward me, I am doomed. (That one may be accurate, just sayin’, my experience with shrinks has been horrid.) The depression is a dark cloud over head, always raining and gloomy even when it’s warm and sunny outside. I could win the lottery and my mind state would be, “Great, now I gotta pay taxes on it.” It doesn’t matter how accurate the emotions are or how silly they might be. They are there, they are real. I can choose to take them with a grain of salt when my mind is strong enough to do battle but sometimes…it just is not.

The ‘sundowning’ part of the depression really has me feeling low. The one plus is that it used to happen around 5 p.m., now the mood crash doesn’t happen til 8 p.m. or so. It results in me feeling so exhausted (if you met my child, you’d understand why I am tapped out by 8) I am in bed by ten p.m. Because it takes awhile to nod off and the sooner I start my toss and turn and counting backwards from 1000 in odd numbers ritual…I might be asleep by 11 p.m. I used to run on 4 hours sleep over a 2 day period. Now the days seems so long and grueling (even when nothing bad happens) sleep seems to be my only escape.

Does anyone really think that’s how I want to feel?

I’ve lived manic episodes and minus the poor impulsive choices…I WOULD KILL TO FEEL THE ENERGY AND OUTLOOK OF MANIA EVERY SINGLE DAY.

I hate feeling down, hate feeling strung enough on anxiety, hate living in red alert mode.

The fact that I keep trying has to count for something. I am trying. So very hard.

Just remember when you read this blog…my disorders, and their ensuing mind frames and emotions, do not define my personality or me as a person. Under all that bleakness…there’s a feisty sarcastic woman who wants to shed the depressive skin, start slathering on black eyeliner again, and view life as a gift, not a curse.

But…that’s the rub. What I want to feel versus what depression makes me feel.

Yo Gabba Gabba, Get Me Off Gabupentin!

Fundraising. Do it for the kitty. Vex says, PWEEEZE?

I started up Effexor again without incident.

I took one dose of Gabupentin and….FUCK THIS SHIT!!! I had a 36 hour headache, could barely stay awake, and honestly wanted to die. I felt that damn bad. I didn’t take a second dose. Honestly, from the research I did, I think new doc started me on wayyyyy to high a dose. Had she bothered to talk to me she would know the ONE caveat I have for all meds is, ‘if it makes me unable to be a competent mom, I ain’t taking it’. 36 hour headache for one dose!!! Who the hell would find that a good thing?

I am so frustrated with everything. I went in for my lithium level today and all the florescent lighting and wide open space had me barely able to stand up straight, lab lady laughed when I almost tipped over. I know she meant no ill will. Were it not me, I would have gotten a chuckle, too, I suppose. Just so maddening when even the simplest things are affected by anxiety and depression!

Twelve years I have had lithium levels done a few timea a year and this is the first time where the instructions I was given verses what was computer generated from new doc were at odds. This is why I want consistency in my psych doctor. Every single one is different and when you’re forced to deal with 7 docs in 8 years…you can’t get your feet under you. One doc says it’s okay to take the whole dose of lithium at night, the new one insists you take two doses a day 12 hours apart. One doc says no food, another says you must take with food.

My psych care is making me more psychotic!!!!

Except I wasn’t at all psychotic until I started getting treated for what I used to think were simple mood swings and some mega personality quirks. And I was happier and had way more self esteem back them. You’d think finding out your condition is legit and not just your own weirdness would make you feel better. NOPE.

I’ve had sucidal ideations since the move. I am ready to give up, many days. The only thing that holds me back is this gorgeous but annoying lil monster.

Don’t wanna donate for me? She has things she needs, too, so maybe do it for her?

I am not feeling too awful today. In fact, having learned what it truly felt like to feel like death courtesy of the yo gabba gabba gabupentin…I’ve had two good days. Not cos anything great happened or my mood was elated. Simply because I didn’t have a skull crushing headache and want to die. I know what new doc said is true, meds work well for maybe six out of ten, and obviously, me and gabba gabba are in the four that don’t work. Just, dear God, how does one pill manage to make someone feel so shitty for 36 hours??? I’ve been on Remeron, Seroquel, Latuda- none were as bad as Yo Gabba Gabba.

Live and learn. I had high hopes on something that would help with my anxiety but being so overly sedated for two days with a pounding headache ain’t my idea of help or improvement.

Don’t like cats or kids? Donate for the sake of cheesy 80’s horror movie icons!

I have started keeping a paper and pen journal and trust me…I’ve already been critiquing myself. “Do you ever not complain?” “Is there never something that doesn’t annoy you?” “What doesn’t make you panic and stress out?” Only with mental health issues would that be a thing. No one would ever ever say, “You can’t talk your blood sugar into being positive and not needing insulin?”

No, not saying it’s the exact same thing. Just saying, physical versus mental, mental health issues are the red headed stepchild everyone wants to beat up.

Final note…Vex’s sister, Hex, wants wet food, so she is asking for you to donate.

Moi, manipulative? Nope. Just working with what seems to appeal.

How can you NOT donate to the mustached monkey????