Daily Archives: October 28, 2015

I get depression. I get baseline.  I get anhedonia.

The manic/hypomanic shit…still confuses me.

I had a spell of euphoria last night. Like being drunk, but without the drunkenness. Talking fast and too much, oblivious to all the shitty things in my life, completely unburdened by my normal social anxiety. And it didn’t go without comment.

So…happy or manic? I don’t think I can differentiate anymore. What I can differentiate is that I am SICK of being accused of being drunk or on drugs when the mania hits and I become Ms. Social Butterfly for a few hours. The short duration is what indicates hypomania as opposed to full blown mania. I don’t think the doctors factor in the “mild” and “brief” episodes. That Douchebaggery Simpleton Manual says to be manic you have to be high as a kite for weeks at a time for it to be true mania. I think they’re full of shit, but I do have attitude problems. So I am told. Frankly, in my mind, being counseled by people who don’t live this shit offends me and boggles my mind as much as a priest who’s taken a vow of celibacy giving sex advice.

*sigh*

Tis 4:20 a.m. and here I am, awake. I didn’t intend to be. But I rolled over in bed at 3:30 and heard this yooowwwwl of protest and realized…Ooops, sorry, Feet, I didn’t mean to lay on top of you but then, don’t sleep under the pillow…My kid was absent from my bed for the first time in weeks so of course, deviation, mommy must panic and rush to her room to make sure aliens haven’t abducted her or she hasn’t managed to strangle herself in the bedsheets.

So I said fuck it and just stayed up. I promised R I’d come to the shop first thing this morning so he could run to the bank and fix some money matter with a customer and he’s gonna do my bidding as well so…I shall stay up, peeling the cobwebs off my brain, so maybe by that time I can claim to be truly conscious. I wanna watch The Flash, anyway. Waiting for the Xanax and Restoril groggy headachy aftermath to die down a bit. (This is why I loathe sleep meds.) Crazy that I can basically get Restoril through insurance for a buck something but I’d rather spend three bucks on a bottle of Melatonin cos it kicks in faster and doesn’t come with “hangovers”. When my penny pinching ass chooses to spend more money than I have to…shows how well the Restoril works.

The school is having some “monster bash” thing Thursday night, my kid is groveling for me to take her. I couldn’t do it last year, my anxiety just wouldn’t permit it and they don’t let you have liquid courage (booze) on school grounds so…I flaked and felt shitty for weeks. I mean, the kids get to wear their costumes while the parents are forced to go to PARENTING CLASSES FOR AN HOUR. What the fuck! When I was in elementary school, we got to dress up and do cake walks with our parental units. I don’t see the benefit in me facing my sheer panic terror to go take boring classes while my kid has fun. Selfish? Yep. But it’s stupid.

Spook really wants to go and wear her Elsa costume, though and failing her is like, death to my soul. So I asked Mrs. R if I could “borrow” her husband as moral support against the crowd. Well, it’s R or my mother and at least he will buy me a Mangorita afterwards to calm my nerves. I still don’t want to go but I am gonna suck it up for Spook’s sake. I detest needing a “calm” buddy for outings, makes me feel like such an inept woman child. But all things considered…It’s needed right now. Last year for these functions Bex was here and she had the panic/social anxiety too so we were in it together.  I don’t have that now. That’s what it amounts to, not avoidance but having the mental solidity to balance the panic so I don’t spaz out. Sometimes I can do it on my own. Occasionally…I need the calm buddy thing. The therapist said it was okay to do that. For someone who is fiercely independent and misanthropic…It’s not okay. I don’t want to be that weak woman. Damn it all to hell.

After I talked to Mrs R, he looked at me quizzically and said, “She just told that is why she likes you so much, you asked if she minded me going with you and showed respect.” Well, yeah. I’m not a husband thief or out to cause drama. He is (sadly) my closest friend here and while he doesn’t get my panic, I do know at least if I throw up, he will (and has) held my hair back for me. Gotta focus on the little things. Also, in this small town, I can’t go to the store to buy booze without someone seeing me and running to tell my mother I was at a liquor store. I don’t even wanna think of the drama caused by taking another woman’s husband to a school outing with me behind the wife’s back. I like Mrs. R too much. She’s my advocate, always telling R not to piss me off cos she likes me and thinks I’ve been good for him, the shop, and her. I must be pretty awesome when the wife can handle the ex gf still being around her man. She encourages it, actually, thinks I put him in his place when she’s out of town at work. :) Moi, put a man in his place? Surely you jest! I’m just a meek little thing who’d never speak up…

I lie. I make grown men cry. Usually when they are being bastards to me and have it coming. I’ve always said, I treat people the way I want to be treated. Which is, with enough respect to face me and be honest with me, even if it’s brutal and hurts my feelings. It hurts less than hearing it second hand or having it boil up and ninja me. I think that was a big bone of contention with the donor. He repressed and suppressed and smiled and “humored” me but then it would just come exploding out during a conversation about something else entirely. I don’t like that shit. If I really scare you that much, send me an email. Or go old school and write me a note. (I am famous for writing notes because apparently, no matter my mood, I have the kind of voice that always sounds bitchy and like I am “taking a tone”.)

So, yeah. R is going to go to the school thing with me so I don’t spaz, Spook will get to show her friends her Elsa costume, and while I may need three days to recover from an hour of crowded dish time…I won’t have to feel guilty for six months about failing my kid. I am grinding my teeth just thinking about it. Gonna be a “over my daily Xanax dosage” day. Which I try not to do often, mostly I fail to take the full dose when I can muddle through. Which is why I have a stockpile of like 400 0.5 Xanax pills. I don’t abuse, I just use as required. Someone once asked me why I don’t sell that shit when I could get three bucks a pill street value. Um…Well, I’m not fond of prison for one thing. Also, I’ve had a few doctors who were anti Xanax and took it away from in favor of Klonopin and Ativan, which do fuck all for me. So I hoard in case it should happen again. I won’t get blindsided again, that’s for damned sure.

Okay, here’s a question: Why do they make laptops when placing it on your lap causes it to heat up and the fans have to kick on? Kind of makes it pointless if you have to worry about frying the thing by placing it on your lap. And putting the fans on the bottom…WTF, computer people. That fan sound makes me nervous.

5  a.m. The cymbalta/ focalin hypomanic jolt is kicking in. My scalp is sort of tingling. I won;t say I am totally awake and don’t want to go back to sleep. But the cobwebs are slowly peeling away. (And there’s another question- how do I peel an onion so I can have the perfect rings they put on sammiches? Betty fucking Crocker I am not, though my meatloaf rocks the casbah. Random as fuck, that is me.)

Ya know…And it pains me to say this, cos misanthrope, hello…But I am coming to the realization (thanks to the awesomeness of the wordpress mental health blogging community) that…Not everyone sucks. Most people do, on a whole. Yet in the ten months since I actually started interacting with others on here (yeah, had the blog four years, but couldn’t work up the nerve to really “interact” with others) I have encountered so many truly nice, good people. People with empathy and humor and generosity and…souls. It’s kind of always been that way for me though. I got my first computer back in 2001 and since then, I have found that people I talk to on line are far kinder to me than the people I actually know IRL. Now, mind you, (just peruse Reddit, you will see this factoid) for every decent person on the net, there are a hundred trollfucks out to rain on your parade,blow up your floats, and devour your self esteem…

Still…I am now starting to feel shitty for making blanket statements like “people equal shit”. (Dammit, Slipknot, just had to make it catchy so it stuck with me.) I don’t see myself becoming some social butterfly wearing an “I <3 mankind” shirt but I am starting to see the good in people again. WTF. I don’t quite know how to react to kindness, just criticism.

Spawn is awake. Her dvd player just came back on and I’d shut it off. I got a giggle when I saw the name of the dvd she was watching. Last year when she was here Bex burned an asston of stuff like Big Bang Theory and labeled them all wonky. The one Spook is watching now she labeled “Gang Bang”. Yeah, I am an awesome mom. Creating my own little whiny Sheldon. (It’s so sweet when I have cramps and Spook rubs my tummy singing “Soft Kitty.” And they say kids can’t learn things from mindless tv shows.)

Okay. Flash time. Maybe a shower? I think I last showered Sunday? IDK. It’s so fucking cold with no heat in the bathroom, I can’t seem to be arsed beyond washing myself down with a cloth and Irish Spring. (That stuff has the nicest smell, ever.) Gross, yes. Depression is a bitch. And I am hungry, I forgot to eat supper last night. Damn hypomania.

I love any form of mania.

I also fear it. Because I know how easy it is to burn bridges while manic. Maybe that’s why happy also scares me. And it also scares me when I can’t tell the difference between the two.

End rant.

I get depression. I get baseline.  I get anhedonia.

The manic/hypomanic shit…still confuses me.

I had a spell of euphoria last night. Like being drunk, but without the drunkenness. Talking fast and too much, oblivious to all the shitty things in my life, completely unburdened by my normal social anxiety. And it didn’t go without comment.

So…happy or manic? I don’t think I can differentiate anymore. What I can differentiate is that I am SICK of being accused of being drunk or on drugs when the mania hits and I become Ms. Social Butterfly for a few hours. The short duration is what indicates hypomania as opposed to full blown mania. I don’t think the doctors factor in the “mild” and “brief” episodes. That Douchebaggery Simpleton Manual says to be manic you have to be high as a kite for weeks at a time for it to be true mania. I think they’re full of shit, but I do have attitude problems. So I am told. Frankly, in my mind, being counseled by people who don’t live this shit offends me and boggles my mind as much as a priest who’s taken a vow of celibacy giving sex advice.

*sigh*

Tis 4:20 a.m. and here I am, awake. I didn’t intend to be. But I rolled over in bed at 3:30 and heard this yooowwwwl of protest and realized…Ooops, sorry, Feet, I didn’t mean to lay on top of you but then, don’t sleep under the pillow…My kid was absent from my bed for the first time in weeks so of course, deviation, mommy must panic and rush to her room to make sure aliens haven’t abducted her or she hasn’t managed to strangle herself in the bedsheets.

So I said fuck it and just stayed up. I promised R I’d come to the shop first thing this morning so he could run to the bank and fix some money matter with a customer and he’s gonna do my bidding as well so…I shall stay up, peeling the cobwebs off my brain, so maybe by that time I can claim to be truly conscious. I wanna watch The Flash, anyway. Waiting for the Xanax and Restoril groggy headachy aftermath to die down a bit. (This is why I loathe sleep meds.) Crazy that I can basically get Restoril through insurance for a buck something but I’d rather spend three bucks on a bottle of Melatonin cos it kicks in faster and doesn’t come with “hangovers”. When my penny pinching ass chooses to spend more money than I have to…shows how well the Restoril works.

The school is having some “monster bash” thing Thursday night, my kid is groveling for me to take her. I couldn’t do it last year, my anxiety just wouldn’t permit it and they don’t let you have liquid courage (booze) on school grounds so…I flaked and felt shitty for weeks. I mean, the kids get to wear their costumes while the parents are forced to go to PARENTING CLASSES FOR AN HOUR. What the fuck! When I was in elementary school, we got to dress up and do cake walks with our parental units. I don’t see the benefit in me facing my sheer panic terror to go take boring classes while my kid has fun. Selfish? Yep. But it’s stupid.

Spook really wants to go and wear her Elsa costume, though and failing her is like, death to my soul. So I asked Mrs. R if I could “borrow” her husband as moral support against the crowd. Well, it’s R or my mother and at least he will buy me a Mangorita afterwards to calm my nerves. I still don’t want to go but I am gonna suck it up for Spook’s sake. I detest needing a “calm” buddy for outings, makes me feel like such an inept woman child. But all things considered…It’s needed right now. Last year for these functions Bex was here and she had the panic/social anxiety too so we were in it together.  I don’t have that now. That’s what it amounts to, not avoidance but having the mental solidity to balance the panic so I don’t spaz out. Sometimes I can do it on my own. Occasionally…I need the calm buddy thing. The therapist said it was okay to do that. For someone who is fiercely independent and misanthropic…It’s not okay. I don’t want to be that weak woman. Damn it all to hell.

After I talked to Mrs R, he looked at me quizzically and said, “She just told that is why she likes you so much, you asked if she minded me going with you and showed respect.” Well, yeah. I’m not a husband thief or out to cause drama. He is (sadly) my closest friend here and while he doesn’t get my panic, I do know at least if I throw up, he will (and has) held my hair back for me. Gotta focus on the little things. Also, in this small town, I can’t go to the store to buy booze without someone seeing me and running to tell my mother I was at a liquor store. I don’t even wanna think of the drama caused by taking another woman’s husband to a school outing with me behind the wife’s back. I like Mrs. R too much. She’s my advocate, always telling R not to piss me off cos she likes me and thinks I’ve been good for him, the shop, and her. I must be pretty awesome when the wife can handle the ex gf still being around her man. She encourages it, actually, thinks I put him in his place when she’s out of town at work. :) Moi, put a man in his place? Surely you jest! I’m just a meek little thing who’d never speak up…

I lie. I make grown men cry. Usually when they are being bastards to me and have it coming. I’ve always said, I treat people the way I want to be treated. Which is, with enough respect to face me and be honest with me, even if it’s brutal and hurts my feelings. It hurts less than hearing it second hand or having it boil up and ninja me. I think that was a big bone of contention with the donor. He repressed and suppressed and smiled and “humored” me but then it would just come exploding out during a conversation about something else entirely. I don’t like that shit. If I really scare you that much, send me an email. Or go old school and write me a note. (I am famous for writing notes because apparently, no matter my mood, I have the kind of voice that always sounds bitchy and like I am “taking a tone”.)

So, yeah. R is going to go to the school thing with me so I don’t spaz, Spook will get to show her friends her Elsa costume, and while I may need three days to recover from an hour of crowded dish time…I won’t have to feel guilty for six months about failing my kid. I am grinding my teeth just thinking about it. Gonna be a “over my daily Xanax dosage” day. Which I try not to do often, mostly I fail to take the full dose when I can muddle through. Which is why I have a stockpile of like 400 0.5 Xanax pills. I don’t abuse, I just use as required. Someone once asked me why I don’t sell that shit when I could get three bucks a pill street value. Um…Well, I’m not fond of prison for one thing. Also, I’ve had a few doctors who were anti Xanax and took it away from in favor of Klonopin and Ativan, which do fuck all for me. So I hoard in case it should happen again. I won’t get blindsided again, that’s for damned sure.

Okay, here’s a question: Why do they make laptops when placing it on your lap causes it to heat up and the fans have to kick on? Kind of makes it pointless if you have to worry about frying the thing by placing it on your lap. And putting the fans on the bottom…WTF, computer people. That fan sound makes me nervous.

5  a.m. The cymbalta/ focalin hypomanic jolt is kicking in. My scalp is sort of tingling. I won;t say I am totally awake and don’t want to go back to sleep. But the cobwebs are slowly peeling away. (And there’s another question- how do I peel an onion so I can have the perfect rings they put on sammiches? Betty fucking Crocker I am not, though my meatloaf rocks the casbah. Random as fuck, that is me.)

Ya know…And it pains me to say this, cos misanthrope, hello…But I am coming to the realization (thanks to the awesomeness of the wordpress mental health blogging community) that…Not everyone sucks. Most people do, on a whole. Yet in the ten months since I actually started interacting with others on here (yeah, had the blog four years, but couldn’t work up the nerve to really “interact” with others) I have encountered so many truly nice, good people. People with empathy and humor and generosity and…souls. It’s kind of always been that way for me though. I got my first computer back in 2001 and since then, I have found that people I talk to on line are far kinder to me than the people I actually know IRL. Now, mind you, (just peruse Reddit, you will see this factoid) for every decent person on the net, there are a hundred trollfucks out to rain on your parade,blow up your floats, and devour your self esteem…

Still…I am now starting to feel shitty for making blanket statements like “people equal shit”. (Dammit, Slipknot, just had to make it catchy so it stuck with me.) I don’t see myself becoming some social butterfly wearing an “I <3 mankind” shirt but I am starting to see the good in people again. WTF. I don’t quite know how to react to kindness, just criticism.

Spawn is awake. Her dvd player just came back on and I’d shut it off. I got a giggle when I saw the name of the dvd she was watching. Last year when she was here Bex burned an asston of stuff like Big Bang Theory and labeled them all wonky. The one Spook is watching now she labeled “Gang Bang”. Yeah, I am an awesome mom. Creating my own little whiny Sheldon. (It’s so sweet when I have cramps and Spook rubs my tummy singing “Soft Kitty.” And they say kids can’t learn things from mindless tv shows.)

Okay. Flash time. Maybe a shower? I think I last showered Sunday? IDK. It’s so fucking cold with no heat in the bathroom, I can’t seem to be arsed beyond washing myself down with a cloth and Irish Spring. (That stuff has the nicest smell, ever.) Gross, yes. Depression is a bitch. And I am hungry, I forgot to eat supper last night. Damn hypomania.

I love any form of mania.

I also fear it. Because I know how easy it is to burn bridges while manic. Maybe that’s why happy also scares me. And it also scares me when I can’t tell the difference between the two.

End rant.