Daily Archives: May 6, 2015

Meltdown in Morgueland

Six point five hours in the dish. Six plus hours of sunlight, noise, and…ugh, other people. Nothing traumatic happened. My brain just wasn’t on board with the whole socially obligated to be social thing. It was originally only supposed to be a five hour jaunt. But nooo, his highness got to fuck about off and on and then ask me to come back, kid in tow, so he could do the shit he didn’t do while fucking about visiting and hostile fowling (angry birds). Yet he gives me shit for looking at Reddit…I brought it up on the computer just to piss him off. But I didn’t read it. Instead, I watched a talking cat video on youtube as my fuck you gesture. Hypocrites bother me, they just do. Don’t tell me to get my shit together and be useful if you’re busy talking to the neighbor dude for a half hour. My whole point being there is “keeping him on track” and it’s futile because he listens as well as my kid.


I guess my people skills are just that shitty. But it’s really not so much that or even mood today. It’s the anxiety that’s devouring me. Wasn’t so bad to start out with but man, every hour outside my bubble, exposed to dish dwelling activities…The anxiety made way to paranoia which lead to panic which lead to me growling under my breath because my stomach was in nervous knots and I was starting to freak out and melt down. Nothing to do with anyone, really, except, I’m a train wreck who cannot exist outside her bubble for long stretches of time. I try but the price is astronomical. And I have no support system to pat my shoulder and say, “It must suck to get so anxious it makes your stomach hurt and you get so scared you tremble.” Oh, noooo. Compassion? Are you fucking kidding me? I get judgment.

“You’re bitchy.” “You’re just lazy, you wanna go home and sit on your ass.” “You’re just anti social.” “You’re making excuses.” “You’re weird, get over it.” “Why are you so grouchy?”


When fight or flight kicks in, whether it will kill me or not, the fear is very real and it alters my train of thought, followed by physical symptoms that make me feel very ill and hells yeah, I get grumpy and growling and glarey like anyone else would when feeling the same things. Only difference is, maybe mine’s not so much triggered as some sort of improper impulse being sent by my brain.

I’m okay now that we’ve bee back a half hour and I got my afternoon meds on board, changed into something cooler…But even the ten minute trip home had me all but spitting like a nail gun. Traffic, traffic, kid yap yap yapping, sensory overload, panic off the charts and it seemed like I got blocked at every stop sign by a fleet of cars with right of way. GRRR. To top that off, we weren’t even in our drive before several of Spook’s friends were already running into our yard.  I don’t mind her having friends. I do mind them mobbing us before we can get through the door. She wants a snack when she gets home. I can’t afford to feed four or five other kids. I’d like to come inside, go pee, take meds, et al, then worry about all the bickering and thieving (yes, they steal hers toys, thuglings) and demands…The cherry on top was before I could even get a drink and get the xanax on board to combat the panxiety…the phone started ringing. BLOOD FRIGGING HELL. I’m on overload and keep overloading and eventually the circuit will blow or there’s gonna be one big ass fire with me as the incendiary device.

I’m down to two sporks. Just..Fuck. When the anxiety hits that abruptly, that hard, and there are witnesses who lack the intellect to grasp that it’s not some show I am putting on,  I really “losing it”…Is it any wonder I don’t want to go out for long periods of time. I’m not limiting myself so much as accepting that at this time, for whatever reasons, I have this limitation to respect lest I make things worse. Really no different than walking on a bum leg when told to stay off it to speed your recovery. Of course, mental illness is the bastard child of the health field so it will never be viewed as such on a mass scale. Much easier to dismiss the mentally ill as lazy and shiftless.

Now…R has put me in a pickle and he played it off as an “oopsy” but he damn well knew what he was dooming me to. Since she was with me at the shop so he could run to the bank, he throws out to my 5 year old never-fucking-lets-anything-go child, “If you mind your mom, you can come to my house and play with L” (the 3 year old granddaughter he babysits every Wednesday night. I’d told him earlier I’d see how I felt rather than commit to anything since my mood and anxiety were so raw..And he boxes me in by mentioning it to my kid damn well knowing I will suffer dearly at her hands if I back out of going so I’ll go just to spare myself. That way he can shunt the kids off on each other, bore me with more talk of busted shit, and somehow completely ruin Arrow for me so I have to watch it all over again. It’s not pessimism, it’s what’s happened every time for six months. Bloody hell.

I am trying to bolster myself with platitudes. “It will be good for your kid.” “It will be good for your mood.”

I am full of shit.The only good part might be if a Mangorita dulled things but that could be the panic talking. For some reason, when my anxiety shoots up, I become a very nasty hateful being. Perhaps the foul language lash out and glare thing is my only way of feeling strong enough to withstand the maelstrom of fucked up messages being delivered by scumbag brain. It’s never personal. I know it seems like it is, I vilify R at every turn and I am definitely wrong to do that. It’s not that he isn’t an irritating ass (we are all irritating asses, it’s the human condition), but I always have to have a nemesis. It’s just me. And it’s usually the person I spend the most time with or am bothered by the most. The only exception to this ever was Bex. We existed together peacefully because we both valued solitude and space. Most people…Cross that line. And that makes me nastier and more irate and more prone to vilify people.

I should work on that. And I will. As soon as they all start taking their “make me not be an insensitive narcissistic asshole” pills.

Bygones. Begones. Pegasporkacornapine. No idea.

On the plus side I am three full 20mg doses into the Latuda and I haven’t sprouted goat horns yet. I do however wonder if the heightened anxiety and panic are a byproduct of it. It is listed on the insert in the first paragraph that “may make anxiety and depression worse.” And ya know the shrink will just want to increase it, then bump it up again , because god knows if a million people take it with no anxiety then it MUST work that way for everyone. It’s the ass trashiest. I’m giving this stuff a shot in spite of the terror of side effects. But if the anxiety continues to worsen and the shrink tries the raise the dosage crap…I think I will suddenly develop those suicidal thoughts that are fairly common with the cross labeled drugs. I’m pragmatic. If the truth won’t serve me, I’ll lie. I wouldn’t have to if the doctors just listened to the patients instead of the pharma cult leaders.

But I am finally calming down and that is a good thing. Honestly, I don’t mind multiple trips into the dish on my better days, provided they are brief and I get to retreat to my bubble when I start to get overwhelmed. But the days when  I am shaky and the dish dwelling time is extensive…It’s hellish.

I find it almost humorous, in an utterly sad way, how society will allow mundanes/muggles their one or two “normal” phobias. Heights, spiders, snakes, enclosed spaces…That’s normal. That’s acceptable.

But for those of us who have panic disorders, well, our phobias and fears are just asinine and we should beat them. But they get to cling to theirs.WTF is that?

They should all be flogged with decomposing fish while being impaled on pegacorn horns.

meet the blahpolarbear

While on an international high school curling tour, blahpolarbear was sorely harshed by a panda on the Chinese leg of the tour. By the time the team reached South Africa, bpb had full blown c-ptsd (Chinese panda traumatic stress disorder), and the moment he saw a ‘whites only’ sign in the apartheid museum, he defected. Polar bears are not the most politicised animals on the ice floe and by the time bpb realised that South Africa was not a refuge for pale furred bears from assault by panda, the team had departed and bpb was left roaming under African skies, begging for sunblock. He soon fell ill. After a demoralising and depolarising struggle with the state medical system, bpb was given some pills.


The problem did not recede. His eyes turned red, his mouth turned down and soon his mood became unbearable. After a decade of wandering aimlessly, bpb was diagnosed with blahpolar disorder and given a few more pills …


“I didn’t think I was crazy before they told me so,” quoth bpb despairingly from his pill floe. The pills had strange effects on him and by the time he was seeing faces in his morning meds, he’d begun to agree with the verdict.


bpb began to feel better. At the same time, he felt worse. It was incredibly confusing for a poorly polar bear. Hard to bear, you might say (if you weren’t concerned about working bear puns to death). “I need answers,” he muttered to himself, while packing his brand new luggage, “actually I probably need some questions first.”


He pondered, mused, contemplated; he thought. Chewing thoughtfully on some penguin biltong, he thought a bit more. “Ah,” he said quietly, “and possibly even ha.” And with that, bpb shouldered his new burden, chose a road at random and began to follow it.

(Don’t watch this space, because in all likelihood, bpb will be abandoned mid floe.)

And now, an old song.

Mental Health Warrior: Kitt O’Malley

Originally posted on The Lithium Chronicles:
I haven’t known Kitt for a very long time, I was introduced to her through the brilliant Dr Walker Karrara, when I had the honor of contributing on piece on Stigmama, but I felt like…

Mental Health Month Alert!: STIGMA SHIRTS

Originally posted on Bipolar, Unemployed & Lost:

I’ve been thinking of a way to give back to mental illness organizations and to help fund a little to the BUL blog, so I can start doing more for our mental health community and well…

I’ve made T-shirts!


The shirts are going to 20.00 and half the proceeds will go to the charity of YOUR choose-voting style! I’m going to start selling them starting now until the end of August. If there enough people that want them, I will continue to sell them. I’m really excited to be selling something cool, that spreads a message, and you can use as a bed shirt if you want and know your sleeping with a good cause!


If your interested in a shirt email bipolarunemployedlost@gmail.com

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Last Day of Class

SO today is my last day of class for the semester.  I handed back practice finals and final research papers.  They did all right on the papers, not so good on the practice finals.  So we went over that.  Next time I see these kids will be at the final exam.  A bit of nostalgia here because I will always remember and miss a few of them, particularly the ones who have been with me in both Comp I and  Comp II.  As always, I hope some of them got something out of the class that will stay with them.

The grades were all right for the papers-only two failed because  of accidental plagiarism.  Only one A and only a few B’s.  But they were so much better than the originals that I have to feel pretty good about them.

About time to go to my next class. Hopefully it will go as well as the first.  Hope everyone has a good day!

Spork Shortage

(I know there have gotta be some people looking perplexed and asking “wtf is her deal with sporks”.)

Let’s just say I am running on about eight sporks today. That shindig for my kid’s reading night was sensory overload to the nth. My kid, normally scared of nothing, spent the time whimpering and cowering while the guy did science experiments then she got mad that he didn’t pick her to assist. Just like, I’m burning up, there are kids kicking me in the ass, I think that mom over there is glaring at me and I can’t breathe so GET ON WITH IT. I’ll admit watching him blow shit up and flash freeze shit in dry ice was pretty wicked. Not because I’m a pyro or anything. Just…Okay, maybe a little pyro but I’m a Beavis and Butthead alum…Fire fire! (At one point, the guy asked the kids “do you know what corrosive means?” and all I could think was, my personality…) I didn’t let my kid down but I am going to be paying for that hour of multi spork useage for days to come.

Then came the really fun part. R’s visit. No “How ya doing”. Oh, no. Just “Open my email, get me this, get a pen, make a list of this and that…” And then my kid yapping the entire time, pissing him off, because ya know, he’s far more important than anyone else and his busted shit should definitely take precedence over my child. I even sneered “So sorry me having a child inconveniences you.” Not that he caught it. Then he said, let’s have a smoke break…So I put the pen and paper down and then he just keeps prattling on and getting mad because I’m not keeping up.

There are times I swear the man is cracking up. And I don’t mean mental illness cracking up, I mean, he’s just deluded himself for so long he has no grasp of what an irritant he is. Frankly, I think it’s running his own business. He spent so many years working for others and now it’s do or die time and one day of things going wrong sends him into a tail spin. A month of it and he’s circling the drain.

It sounds awful but I was glad when he left. I get so sick of hearing about busted shit. And I told him as much. And then when he went on about how he helps me, I totally went off and said, “Yeah, sure, you buy me a pack of cigarettes but the minute I’m crying and wanting to die, you throw me out of your house cos I make you uncomfortable with all my emotions and moods!”

Think that one landed like a slap. Good. Not like he’ll remember it, he was on beer five by then I think. (Ya know, tall boys, not small cans.)

I was further glad that I didn’t have to watch The Flash with him. God, that’s a miserable feat, watching tv with him.  Because even them he talks about busted shit. Workaholics need to be slapped with a fish. Turn your fucking brain off for a bit, or at least turn your mouth off. It’s gotten to the point where being around R is like being around my dad. Money, broken stuff, work work work, money blah blah. There’s talking about your work, loving what you do, and then there is boring everyone to death with redundancy. I think I am just going to start randomly bringing up mental health subjects and drive them into the ground.

Like any of these assholes would draw a parallel.

So…I’m definitely down to six sporks now. It wasn;t even 7:57 a.m. and I passed R on my way back from getting spawn to school…And he’s texting, telling me I’m going the wrong way, he needs his list from last night. OMFG. Corrosive. He’s corroding my sanity, which does not need help being corroded.

I responded with one of my stepmonster’s favorite retorts when dad is being as nag: “You’re not a diaper so get off my ass.”

Elegant, no. Makes the fucking point, yes.

Now what to do with all six of my lovely sporks that have to last me for the next 14 hours..

I’m screwed.

I Hate Emotions

Before my emotions were all really straight forward and I knew what the cause of them typically was. Now I’m not sure how I’m feeling sometimes or what is causing whatever feelings I am having.

I’ve felt very unmotivated the past several days. Right now I am fighting the urge to just go to bed and dream my life away. I’m so restless. Am I depressed? I don’t know. I know I’m not entirely happy but I also don’t feel super bad. I just feel kind of blah.

It really was easier before the meds started fixing all my bipolar shit..

The Dead Republican Cat

dead cat

This story doesn’t have a whole lot to do with being bipolar, although as I look back I had to be manic when this happened. No way would I do this now.

I’m a Republican. I don’t care what you are and this is not the place to argue politics, but my affiliation is important to this post. The year was 2008 and I was out looking for trouble.

Now for some reason, I like John McCain. I really admire the guy. I know he’s not everyone’s cup of tea but anyone who can survive a prisoner of war camp in Vietnam deserves some respect, in my opinion. That’s not an easy gig. And I figure there are a lot of jobs in the government. So if a decorated veteran comes along and wants to serve, I’m all for it. I think they have sort of “earned” a spot.

So I found myself down at the John McCain headquarters in our town. As I recall he had won the Republican nomination and was running against Obama. I thought I’d get a few yard signs and put them out. Maybe even a bumper sticker or two. I live in a Republican state so no one would boo me.

I notice they have a sign up down at headquarters. “Come along with us to (insert neighboring state here). Ride the bus and help get out the vote!” Now this neighboring state was Democratic but that didn’t matter to me. I was ready to get on a bus and go anywhere.

My husband said it was fine. He is big on being involved in the political process. So I paid my $30 and got ready to go.

We were staying at a hotel for two nights and I paid extra to have my own room. I wasn’t big on sharing a room with a complete Republican stranger.

We drove ELEVEN hours on this bus. We stopped once to eat. I sat by a nice older woman. I noticed a couple behind us making out heavily. I figures they were boyfriend/girlfriend, even though they were not kids. The woman next to me informed me they had met the night before. I thought it was a bit weird to make out on a John McCain bus with a virtual stranger, but hey.

So we get to the town and are informed we are going door to door. ACK! At least they put us in pairs. I got a 6 foot 5 inch tall kid with me. I mean he was 21. So off we go armed with a ton of literature and a map of registered Republicans.

I was worried about going with this kid. He looked so young I was afraid I would have to do all of the talking. We got in a van and they drove awhile and dropped us off in a neighborhood. It was average. Not rich, but not poor. And it seemed safe enough. Plus I had my trusty kid by my side.

We knock on the first door and get a really weird guy. He looked drunk. But he patiently listened. And lo and behold, my partner was a walking encyclopedia! He knew everything about politics. He was so enthused I had a hard time not passing out. I had hit the jackpot.

We made our way around using the map and got lost several times. Most of the people were surprisingly nice. Of course, they were all registered Republicans. It amazed me though how little people knew about politics. Some people didn’t even know who was in the race. One woman asked us if we could get her more food stamps. I felt sorry for her…she had three little ones and a fourth one on her hip.

So we’re winding around cul-de-sacs and corners and finally land at a duplex. I said to my buddy “Hey look, there’s a cat taking a nap up there on the door mat.” He trudged on and ignored me. He headed right to the doorbell. I followed close behind and looked down. It was a dead cat. He stepped over it and I said “Wait! Do you think we should tell them about this cat? I feel weird ringing this doorbell.”

My buddy looked me in the eye and said, “You have to ignore that sort of thing. A vote is a vote.”

So I delicately stepped over the cat. A woman answered the door and we went into our spiel. And the dead cat just laid there. No one mentioned it.

We soon got back in the van and I decided on something. I think I had hit rock bottom. Who stands over a dead cat and campaigns for John McCain?

I don’t remember a lot about the campaign after that. I think I slept on the bus home. But I know that the Republican turn out was higher that election. I’d like to think I got out a few votes.

Sometimes I wonder what happened to that kid I was paired up with. If you ask me, he definitely had a future in politics.

So there you have it….the Republican Dead Cat.

Before I finish, I wanted to say “thanks” for the good turn out for guest blogging. Don’t forget, you are always welcome.

I am feeling a lot better. I went out 6 days out of 7 last week. That is a big improvement over laying on the couch all day. The Abilify makes me restless though. I am still am not sleeping well and I get nauseated in the morning after I take it. But it is making a big difference in getting me going so I am staying on it at this point.

Thank you for all of your support.