Yes, I am in that lovely stage of bipolar where my mood is neither up nor down. In the middle. I’m here, I’m functioning, I am underwhelmed and overwhelmed.
Shark week cramps have died down enough to muddle through.
I put in time at the shop. Until the school called, oh wait, the school didn’t call me. They called my stepmonster and told her they couldn’t reach me because my home phone was disconnected (I called it, it’s fine, never even rang) and my cell never rang. They never called the shop. Oddly, I get their automated school messages at all three numbers. Needless to say, I went in rather irate. Anyway, they said she has a lice again. This school is pissing m the fuck off.
They misplaced my kid on the bus the first day, they don’t even know her gender, the teacher never contacted me about rescheduling parent teacher night, I have to call her in sick to two different numbers because the school proper has no idea what is going on with central office Kindergarten…The teacher even asked her today when the last time she bathed and washed her hair. Last night, actually. I even Robicombed her hair and combed it out. (I swear what they’re seeing is dandruff and even Bex found nothing when I had her doublecheck because I am apparently incompetent.) But asking when she bathed last…That’s intrusive, insulting, and uncalled for. She’s clean, her hair is clean, her clothes are clean. I can see if I sent her in covered in muck with a greasy mop. That infuriated me.
Sooo..I fired off a terse but fair (I read it to Becca just to make sure I wasn’t being all hormone-y and bitchy) email to the teacher expressing my frustration with it all.
To add insult to injury I called my mom to let her know because, surprise surprise, she saw Spook about ten days ago, hugged her, and she’d just (well, my sister found it ‘cos mom won’t do anything for herself) found three live bugs which means nits. But nooo, it couldn’t have been her reinfesting the kid. Nope, it’s me, my treatment doesn’t work (yet it does for many of us who do it right.) I’m not clean enough, my house isn’t clean enough…The woman is negativity personified and even my 16 year old nephew informed her, to her face, “You’re a real c*nt to Aunt Niki.”
It’s just very frustrating and makes me want to turn into the Hulk and smash skulls in. Of course, that would mean a mood that lasts more than ten minutes.
Went back to the shop for a bit since I owe him for buying me smoke supplies and some gas.
Went to the store, came home. Rinse, lather, repeat. Once home, the neighbor girls came knocking to use the phone. For the first time ever, I said no. They told me two months ago “Mom and Dad said we’re not supposed to play with Spook.” So if my kid isn’t good enough to play with them, they can go get their own damned phone. Talk about rude, don’t speak to my kid for two months like she has ebola, then ask to use my phone while saying “We’re not allowed to come inside.”
WTF? I have had enough with rudeness. Just…ENOUGH.
But the guy who just knocked and wanted to borrow milk (he’s always bumming smokes but he does give me a handful of coins for them) I have no problem helping out. Long as its not abused.
People who abuse others’ kindness need to get hit in the head with a shovel.
Still, in spite of all these stressors…my mood is holding steady in the middle. I can aide. I’d kill for a manic episode. I got a random panic attack from hell earlier, and there was no trigger. I couldn’t breathe, I was doubled over, dizzy, felt like someone was holding a pillow over my face and fight or flight was kicking in. Ass trash.
Finally got more Paxil after being out for three days and having no money. Good thing, because those withdrawal brain zaps were hitting hard and making me look like an epilectic with the random abrupt jolts and spasms. Oddly, Lamictal is used to treat epilepsy and even at 250 mg it didn’t knock down anti depressant withdrawal. Cold turkey from xanax sucked less. And I did that three times due to money issues or incompetent doctors.
So…I am frustrated and on the stressed side but I have been in the same mental space for almost 12 hours. For a cyclothymic, that’s like a holy grail. I rapid cycle so quick it’s no wonder it’s mistaken for borderline personality quirk. Problem is, doctors don’t like to admit they’re wrong or plain inept so now my file has that little mark in it and every doctor in the future will just operate from that assumption. And that’s not assumption, no shrink ever does time in this town for more than two or three years. They flee like the building is on fire once their sentence in purgatory is done. So any doctor I see in the future at my clinic will likely not give me the benefit of the doubt or even form their own diagnosis. It’s in my Permanent Record. And I know I harp on this wayyy too much but I have this thing where I will admit to my flaws as long as they are correct. If they are nt valid, I’m doing the rebel yell primal scream thing. (Ha, worked in Billy Idol and Motley Crue song titles, how awesome am I?) Call me a bitch, fine, I AM a bitch. Call me a slut and I will go ballistic. I have cobwebs growing in certain places I’m such a nun these days. Geesh.
Okay. Disjointed rant needs to end. Gotta purge, though. Lose about ten mental pounds when I spew in this blog. Only to rinse, lather, repeat with more spewage the next day. Such is life.
It is what it is.
Now I am going to go bathe my kid. I may spitshine her as well, since apparently our cleanliness has come into question. THAT offends the fuck out of me. Not one person would ever say that I am a dirty person, or my kid, as far as personal hygiene goes.
Ass trasher worthless buckets of monkey spunk petri dish dwellers.
I want my Unabomber shack.
Provided it has wifi.
Gotta watch my shows and get my Word Poker on, ya know.