Daily Archives: May 23, 2015

My question is…How many times does something have to happen the exact same way before it is viewed as a legitimate problem? Because I just did another week in the petri dish and once again…Rather than making me feel energized and well, it has sucked the life out of me. I am so low today, so sensitive to every tiny sound, I feel like a clock spring about to snap. And nothing bad has happened. Time after time, I push myself trying to be what I am told is normal social behavior and I’m the only one who suffers for it. Just my blog alone shows a consistent link between me pushing myself to socialize and exist in the fast paced dish, and every time, I end up right back to crash crash burn land. It’s almost like Antiques Road Show, it’s so regular.

I am so much more content and less stressed when I can just be who I am, without regard to what is expected of me. I am so tired of jumping through hoops to do what I’m told will help, only to have, it every time, spiritually, psychologically, and physically embalm me. (And my entire body feels bruised, like I went ten rounds with Tyson or something.) I am to the point where I am about willing to do something creepy fetish porn just to generate income and never again have to worry about proving my illness is legitimate, to never again be imprisoned by this party line that doing the one size fits all thing will cure me. I’m just a solitary person and I cannot keep up with fast paced things. I can’t even play video games, ffs, it’s too much stimuli. Being forced and pressured into trying to be something you’re simply not every day of your life because doing less means you’re  a malingerer and faking it because you’re lazy…This is soul erosion on a daily basis.

Week after week it happens, no matter how hard I try to fight it and believe this is what I need to make me better. At what point do we admit insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome? And my resentment towards the professionals for slapping me with the one size fits all mentality, which in my case it does NOT and causes more damage, is metastasizing. What happened to individual care? Now it’s just slap a label on, push exercise, sunlight, and socializing,and all will be cured. Except when you’re a solitary person sensitive to stimuli and you keep getting worn down to a barely functioning husk every weekend because life in the petri dish is that exhausting. And this is without a job. I can’t even have “fun” because it taps me out and leads to this depressive “look at me and I will crumble” space. The insinuation this is behavioral and some sort of choice is what has tainted me toward psychology so much. This is less behavioral and more me admitting, I do have limitations and when I push them, it costs me dearly. So why would I want to keep doing it when I’m the one it hurts? It’s just stupid.

My daughter just informed me I run her friends off, they are scared of me. Post Latuda, where everything sounds nasty and I can’t seem to smile or lighten up, perhaps I am scary. But the only word I’ve said to them is to not stand on the swings because they’re about to break. Then she said I was staring at them, making them scared, and honestly, I couldn’t describe them to a sketch artist, I pay so little attention. Once the head count reaches four or five…All I can do is remind myself my kid is having fun, it’s for her own good, and maybe just maybe I won’t have a nervous breakdown from all the noise and end up in the closet covering my ears and sobbing.

I push myself every single day, but it’s never good enough. Again, I’m the only one who suffers. When do I get to do what is best for me without feeling like some lazy weakling? And I never used to feel that way, the counselors validated my disability by pointing out the way fast paced life combined with my cornucopia of mental deficits lands me right back in breakdown territory. Of course, that was the old regime. The new regime is all labeling everyone borderline personality disorder and convincing us all we’re defective and the cure is in our hands because it’s just our personality. What personality? Who I am changes according to my mood cycles, my menstrual cycle, my anxiety level..What agitates me Monday may not be a blip on Friday. So how is that my personality? The new regime sucks and all their cognitive behavior shit and the mindfulness are great for people who really don’t have any chemical or hormonal imbalances going on…But for those of us who do, it’s just not feasible. Maybe it could be helpful at times, I just don’t have much faith in things that have not only failed me in the past, but done more damage than good. Therapy should be tailored for the individual and yet, it’s not.  That’s the saddest part. For every person with a good mental healthcare provider, there are ten of us who get stuck with a person we’d barely confess our shoe size to, let alone our innermost feelings and problems. Not helpful.

I’m just so sick of this crash and burn every weekend.  I’m so far behind on housework and I can’t seem to get caught up. Every time I think things with my kid are getting better, she decides to channel satan. I think I am suppressing my bad side effects only to find out, they’re on display in living color and have been noticed. ENOUGH.

Better than a counselor, get me a small support group of people who actually know what I am going through. Let us who understand bounce ideas off each other, be each other’s rock. Professionals have their purpose but after 20 years of neverending  parade of counselors and doctors with differing biases and opinions and advice…I’m more confused now than when I was undiagnosed and clueless. That’s a sad statement about mental healthcare.

I think perhaps it’s preemptive Xanax. Maybe remember how to breathe, how to not feel so shitty for not being able to keep up with the masses. Of course, it’s set to the background of my kid whining like she’s the only kid to ever scuff her knee on a bicycle and no amount of my comforting is helping….The neighborhood dogs are barking a symphony. I have no idea if my dad is going to pop by, and he usually does when I least expect it so I don’t even feel like I can cook supper at the normal time on weekends. Brimstone the kitten is acting funny and losing weight and I am worried he may be following in his siblings’ footsteps. Hazard of premature birth, I guess.

Okay. Breathe. It’s okay to breathe. I am not a loser. I am not lazy or malingering. I am not one size fits all.

I wish society could grasp that notion of the mentally ill.

Truthfully, I DO get sick of being right when it comes to some people and my reactions to being in certain situations.I TOLD ME SO and sadly, only one who lost out was me ffs.

I slept well, almost ten hours, though I must have woken up enough times (I tossed and turned)  I probably absorbed two hours worth of the tv programs running in the background. Newbies Absinthe and Alchemy slept in bed with me, since I didn’t have to fear the spawn pulling a Godzilla and squashing them during her nightly invasion. Just woke up five minutes before nine, a record for “sleeping in” for me since having a kid. Sun is shining, birds are chirping, and ya know what? I don’t give a fuck. I feel embalmed, too much rest will do that for me. I have a couple of dollars, gas in the car, and there are some yard sales I could hit without a kid in tow…Meh. I have reached complete anhedonia. Hell, I’ve been meaning a trip to Aldi to get more of these chicken things my kid loves and three days later, it’s not happened. Last night proves it is not me failing to push myself.

Let me review how THAT worked out. I arrived before anyone else so I can deal with R and Mrs R. That’s fine. THEN came his eldest daughter, the one with the master’s degree in psychology because she never fails to remind everyone, ever, with her husband and kid. He’s relatively harmless cos all he does is tend to the kid, jump through wifey’s hoops, and play on his stupid smart phone. SHE, I shall call her Leona, because she reminds me of that hotel dictator bitch Leona Helmsley…Oh,wow. She arrived steaming mad because her three year old dared to be less than perfect and had a screaming mimi at the store. Oh, really? I thought as long as you were consistent they behaved like angels and never tested you, oh wise sage of the degree…The kid was bawling and clinging to her dad (and frankly, it’s nice to see a dad involved since my kid doesn’t have that, but at the same time, Leona has him so whipped, I wanna ask Mrs R to run an xray to see if he actually has a spine.)

I know, I sound so vindictive but jebus, it’s like reliving the same scene over and over whenever Leona is around. For someone so smart and educated, she fails to see she has wayyyy bigger issues than an irrational fear of cotton balls. She starts at the local counseling center Tuesday. The place I was pondering going back to. Um..Not now. If I were her patient, I would kill myself. Just being around her socially proves it. And last night was no different, I went inside to go pee and came back out to her on a tirade about, “Panic attacks will not kill you. You cannot die from hyperventilating…Panic is just a state of mind, dr so and so has done this study proving cognitive behavior fixes panic disorders.” Yeah, my head was starting to implode a bit. Not that I don’t hear the same thing EVERY time she is around, but it just wasn’t the night for me to be hearing it again. Was it directed at me?No, she was counseling her dad on his fear of heights, saying they were just going to drag him onto a roller coaster and “cure” him instantly. The cringe factor was enormous.

Meanwhile, they’re all talking but they are all also on their stupid idouche phones, clicking away, watching video. How is this socializing???? I have a prehistoric flip phone (which I barely use and am content with) so I couldn’t join in on the socializing. Instead, I do what I do best. I bonded with the three year old. She declared since my kid wasn’t there, I was her new best friend and she held my hand and wanted to go through my purse and we sang “Let It Go”. Yep. I’d rather hang out with a kid than tolerate adults. That part was pleasant. Mrs R apologized because L was glomming onto me, “I’m sorry, you came here to relax and not be a mom…” Meh, kid wayyyy better than letting  Leona shrink me. I made it two hours ten minutes. Then I all but ran while making noises of gratitude for having me over, blah blah blah.

Ick ick ick. I was awake for about an hour after I got home but that whole scene with Leona had me wanting to stab people with ice picks. Such arrogance and ignorance and she gets to be called a professional and charge an ass ton of money to damage people further.How is that not offensive? I surrendered to sleep just so I wouldn’t keep thinking about it and getting angrier. How is that compassionate care? If this is what’s out there, we are all sooo screwed. I am well aware panic attacks won’t kill me. I am also well aware when I have panic attacks I sometimes puke on people which does, in a way, kill possible friendships, dates, jobs, et al.So I don’t find the fear irrational at all. If your stomach reacts poorly to a certain food and you avoid it for your own comfort, that’s acceptable. But psychology does not view it this way, and that’s going to cost a lot of lives. Reminds me of these holistic scammers who feed cancer patients supplements and herbs then shrug and say, “Wasn’t my treatment, they were gonna die anyway.” Even if you didn’t cause it, by failing to do anything to assist in stopping it, you’re just as at fault. And that’s how I feel about psychology. Yes, there comes a point where coddling someone will allow them to stay in their safe zone and never try. There is also a point where you have to realize that safe zone is what keeps the patient from going off the deep end on themselves or others and respect that while gently encouraging steps outside the bubble.

I just…Every fucking time that woman is there. And R can’t grasp why I avoid coming over as much as I can. I know it’s his daughter but no matter how much you love someone, you cannot be that oblivious to how…evil they can be. This is not simply difference of opinion, this is a woman with a psych history of her own for anger management issues, who now declares herself all cured and everyone else is messed up and malingering and she can cure them in five minutes. It’s like letting someone still high on drugs act as a sponsor.

Now I just regret going. I could have had that time to read and do some housework. Instead I wasted it having my  psychological flaws second hand assaulted by some know it all who actually knows little. (How do you get a master’s in psychology yet have no idea how “munchausen’s” got its name????) But then again, I have always said, forcefully, psychology and psychiatry are two very different things and rarely meet in the middle. So expecting a psychology based person to grasp psychiatric based issues with an open mind is a little like expecting a kid not to rampage the candy store.

Ugh. I need a shower. The cats had some sort of Matrix leaping flying thing during the night and now everything is knocked down on the floor, I need to pick it up. Dishes. Laundry. Cat boxes. None of which I want to do. I feel like I’ve been psychologically raped. It’s illogical and dramatic and oh what the fuck ever. When you’re in a precarious place (and I’d say that explains me coming off the Latuda to a tee) the last thing you need is to be around someone who is going to exploit your feelings, intentionally or not, and make you feel even worse. And that whole “no one can make you feel inferior without your permission” thing is bullshit. If you have the slightest self doubt, it takes little for it to be compounded by the rantings of others.) I do not have a fragile psyche, but when it comes to my mental illness and constant self doubts…Oh, yeah, that’s an easy scab for anyone to pick open because more than anything I want to be well and it never works out and if someone can convince me it’s just my own fault…People. Suck.

I need to go get my kid at some point. Ugh. Mom sort of went off on me yesterday when I dropped Spook off. I had put a can of spaghetti o’s in her bag and she said, ewww, so I reminded, “You said to pack your own food cos grandma never has anything good.” Oh, my mom went ballistic and snarled, “She doesn’t like your fucking food either!” I was…scorched by how quickly and nastily she came at me. The kid is five, she’s fickle, she doesn’t like the same thing day to day. Why get bent? Glad I didn’t repeat all the times Spook said, “Pack me snacks, grandma never has any food.” I didn’t see that assault coming on, so now I am in walking on landmine territory as far as my mom goes. Seeing her is the last thing I want to do, but if I dare ask them to bring her home, mom will, again, go off on me about how I never have any gas or money and I did last year.No, you crazy bitch, last year at this time I was driving a 4 cylinder and getting twice the gas mileage. Now I have the 305 V-8 which uses twice as much so duh, do the math, you evil ogre.

I will say one positive thing. Or positive ish. The pick up at the big school yesterday had me so daunted and the traffic was thick, so I parked around the corner and walked down. It was kind of funny seeing all the little kids splashing in the little pools and throwing water balloons at each other. Hearing them shriek in delight was nice. Though all the bright colors nearly have me a brain bleed.(No joke, I am that sensitive to bright light and color, can’t even play video games cos it’s painful.) I found a bench and just sat for fifteen minutes, watching them play. I could have fetched my kid, she was right over there, but instead, I forgot how uncomfortable I was surrounded by the mouthy sixth graders and let my kid keep playing. By the time the teacher walked her over to me, I saw she was not only soaked, but covered head to toe in mud. I smiled. Because now it was Grandma and auntie’s problem.

I returned to the shop for a bit, R needed to haul a rather large piece of glass to be cut and he can’t well do it in  his two seater. But I was very adamant as I handed my keys to him and told him to do it himself. I’ll be damned if my klutzy “what else can you fuck up” ass was going to be responsible for the one piece of glass he needed to repair a TV. Uh huh. Just being so nervous about not fucking it up would have made me be uber careful thus ensuring I fucked it up. He was all, “No, I’ll carry it out, they can carry it in, you can do it…”

Hmmmm. Being told four times in one week by this person that there’s nothing I can’t fuck up…Plus my current post Latuda state..NOPE.  I told him next time he wanted something done, he might try not convincing me I can’t do anything right. (You shoulda heard Mrs R go off on him when I mentioned that’s how he treats me, she told him he should be lucky I even speak to him because she won';t help him, he pisses her off too much.)

I’m just worn out. And I think I am PMS-ing, which comes with all the glory of the dysphoric disorder. I need to take a step or two back, not get all stressed out over every tiny thing. In light of everything that’s gone on, I’ve managed okay. Maybe not to everyone else’s high standards but for me it was good enough.

In all honesty, just listening to them all prattle on last night about how they were doing this Saturday morning, then they were gonna go here, and they had to stop there, and Sunday they’d be out of town, then they’d be back for some wedding…I could feel my head spinning just hearing about it. I can’t live life at warp speed. These people love it. I find it…abhorrent. Even if I were shiny happy people, I would not opt to live life in such a fast lane pack every moment full of activity so there’s not time for reflection way. It was one of the biggest problems R and I had. He never stops going, and I can’t keep going. It’s just who people are. I’m glad he found someone who can keep up with him. I actually like seeing him and Mrs R together, they’re kind of cute. And she puts up with him so she’s kind of saintly. He puts on this big show of, “Every time you two get together, you just pick on me.” I looked at him right in front of her and said, “Most guys would dig it that the ex and the wife got along. Would you prefer we claw each other’s eyes out?”

I suppose it seems weird, hanging out with your ex and his family. But then again, my family get togethers include my dad, the woman he had  a kid with and left mom for, their son. Nothing in my life not weird. But it beats having all this hostility simply because things don’t work out.

I think I am done purging. That one night, for two and a half hours, really set me that far off. It’s not that I don’t like people or can’t accept their differing opinions. Mrs R is very different from me, very girly, very into how clean her house is, and yet when I asked her questions about the mortuary science program and “body farm” at her university where she teaches,. she had zero problem talking about the experiments they were doing. Not because I am a ghoul but because I am scientifically interested and she respects that rather than judge me. Whereas Leona respects only herself. I mean , this a grown woman who has to bicker with my 5 year old over a name’s pronounciation with “I have a master’s degree Spook so I think i’d know better than you.” Arrogance and ignorance set me off. That I cannot tolerate. If that makes me inflexible, so be it.

Of all the people I encounter there it is that one that always miffs me. The others are at least subtle in their judgment. Not this one. Last night she said something about, “How do people become trailer trash?” And because I’ve heard it before from all of their kid, I raised my hand and said,”Me,that’d be me, I live in a trailer.” I didn’t even let it phase me this time. Idget. But yeah, it’s a mystery why I don’t want to be around that one. I mean, she has tons of friends and she’s educated and successful and it must just be me. Good. I refuse to like assholes just so I can fit into society.

I am hoping and praying my mom and sister are too broke to have a Memorial day cookout. Last night’s was enough. Oddly, I wasn;t bothered by bugs like everyone else. My secret? Slap on some Avon Skin So Soft. Smells nice, softens skin, and bugs are repelled by it. Too bad they don’t make a people repellant.

Okay…I’m out. I need to form some semblance of plan of attack for the day while the newbie kittens climb me and remind me what syringes in flesh feel like. I promise to try to write something less venomous and more positive at some point.

I mean, I did have that good day back in 1989 I could rehash…