Daily Archives: November 15, 2015

I’ve been like the walk dead today, I haven’t done a thing except try t freeze ice cubes in my bedroom. (face palm again.)  The lethargy and sleepiness I’ve felt all day  had me nearly nodding off but fear not…The spawn made sure I didn’t with ninety second intervals to ensure I pay attention to her demands.

It’s not yet 5 p.m. and I am bone tired and ready for my vanilla bean blankie. I need some contentment and comfort.

My kid screaming at me all day did not comfort.

The whole time I was sick she was tuned down to a three. We did fine. Now she’s maxed out the volume switch and blown up the amps.

I’m not weak or impatient. I don’t dislike my kid.

I am allergic to her tantrums. THAT is the trigger. She has no major episodes, we are good. When she goes off stomping and screaming and calling me names…THAT is my breaking point. And frankly I think it would be the breaking point for most sane people so it’s not some “I’m bipolar and weak and too sensitive to be a mom.” There’s acceptable acting out and then there’s “:get the fucking thorazine, banshee dose” acting out.

To make matters worse dad and crew visited. He started in on me immediately. Yard is a mess, car is a mess. Stepmonster was telling my kid she was dressed wrong when in fact her shirt and skirt matched and black pants match everything so who the fuck is “pour my big ass into jeans about to split at the seam and look more manly than a man” to criticize anyone’s fashion…Then dad “ordered” me, not asked nicely, to lift the car hood so he could check the fluids…Um, yeah, I’m not good at remembering that shit. He thinks it’s cos I don’t care or want it done for me but truth is…I just forget, I can’t keep up.So he gnawed off a chunk of my ass nastily, like he doesn’t make mistakes. Then he threw out, “I have to check oil  and fluids every day on my truck, it’s just what we all have to do.”  I fucked up, I am sorry. Does he let it go? Nope, he’ll be harping on a month from now, like I don’t feel embarrassed enough.

I’m done. Fuck it all. I am gonna feed this kid and send her to bed even if she doesn’t go right to sleep. Let her stay in there with her movie or whatever. I don’t have the resources to be screamed at anymore today. Fort blankie, here I come. Get the mortician’s wax to fill in the missing chunks of my ass dad bit off.

Right now I am in the middle of a fairly deep depression. It has gone on for days, which is unusual now that I am more or less stabilized on medication. But there is no let-up in sight.

This time is one of those I-have-nothing-to-look-forward-to moments; plus the holidays; plus the need-to-see-my-therapist thing; plus the have-an-appointment-with-new psychiatrist-but-it’s-not-till-March thing; plus the whole no-spoons-to-get-out-but-really-need to-get-out-of-the-house feeling; plus the various catastrophizing-about-finances-and-the-IRS problem; plus the there’s-something-I-really-want-to-happen-but-if-it does-it-won’t-be-soon-and-may-not-happen-at-all.

Let’s see. Is there anything else?

Oh, probably, but that will do for starters. Of course to a lot of people, those would be everyday annoyances and I would be having your standard pity party. But for a bipolar person, with my brain chemistry, it’s an invitation to a deep, dark pit.

So what are the things that help pull me through, or out, or up? And what are the things I can do while I just ride it out?

Well, there’s music. I’ve written about that before (http://wp.me/p4e9Hv-42). There are two long-form musical bits that have been known to lure me out: The Mikado and The Pirates of Penzance. Occasionally when I haven’t gotten out of bed in a while, my husband will put on a DVD of one or the other and wait for me to appear in the door of his study. There is usually beer or snacks, and I can sing along (badly but loudly) to my heart’s content. Heart’s content – now there’s a good thing. Going to see live productions of Gilbert & Sullivan was an activity my sorority used to do, and one of my best memories of otherwise-difficult sorority life. (I mean, really, can you picture me in a sorority?)

Then there are distractions. These don’t actually improve my mood, but they can help me avoid dwelling on the above list of what’s-wrongs. If I have the concentration needed to read, that’s my go-to choice. (I’ve also written about “comfort reading”: http://wp.me/p4e9wS-3n.) I usually try to keep one fiction and one nonfiction going, so I can switch back and forth.

Sometimes, though, I don’t have the concentration to make it through a chapter. Then it’s time to try TV. Something familiar, non-challenging, not too fast-paced. Cooking shows work, or something like Pawn Stars. True crime or true medicine. Shows where I already know the characters and the back-stories: Castle, Bones.

When I don’t even have enough concentration for that, I go for stupid clicky games. One round of Candy Crush Soda Saga is about as mindless as you can get and still be breathing. Even playing out all five lives takes about 15 minutes. Or I can turn off my brain entirely, play obsessively, and get lost for hours of not-worrying about anything more important than making six-letter words in AlphaBetty.

Occasionally I can do light-as-popcorn forms of social interaction. Phone calls with a depressed friend or one who always has a silly joke ready or one who reads the same sorts of things that I do. Instant messaging. Facebook.

Sometimes, though not often in this state, I can force myself to work a little. Or work on my blogs. It’s difficult and not really satisfying and sometimes even painful, but if I can do it, it’s probably the best thing for me. Accomplishing something – anything – helps build a step out of the pit.

As for the usual advice – rest, exercise, nutrition, meditation – I usually can’t manage those. Except for sleeping. I’m a world-class napper. Also a world-class insomniac. Don’t ask me how I manage that. It’s a gift. I have a new exercise regimen that involves walking up and down the stairs more times than I really have to. My husband makes sure I eat at least one good meal a day. For meditation I pet a cat.

Then I wait.

I know that this will not last for weeks or months or years the way it used to. I’m just going to be miserable until I’m not anymore.

So joy joy, another night of sleep’n’wake increments. I woke at 7 a.m. which blows goats because I couldn’t have gotten another hour of obliviousness to reality. Even the spawn wasn’t up that early. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

She’s been hammering at my brain with her incessant chatter for two hours now and my nerves are already fried. How fried?

I was filling ice cube trays in the kitchen (did I mention R fixed the sink? I think I did…) Anyway, I started walking with them and she’s yapping and…I find myself down the hallway toward my bedroom holding a stack of water filled ice trays. Talk about face palm. Jebus, I can’t afford to lose many more marbles.

Spent an hour trying to retrieve my paypal password (yes, I am assimilating only because my mom is giving me money for X-mas and I am damn well getting my coffin purse and Wednesday back patch that only fleabay and their YOU MUST USE PAYPAL OR YOU ARE SCUM policy.) Sad to say, I still haven’t recovered my password and I less than zero desire to speak to anyone on the phone right now.

The spawn decided to play with the toothbrushes and she dropped MINE into the flipping toilet. I can’t even trust her to go pee without messing with everything. Please please don’t make me be one of those creepy enabler parents who follows their child to the toilet.

The morning meds have cyclone brain in prime form. Swirling thoughts but little makes sense and there’s little follow through. Very frustrating. The Focalin is not working anymore but I don’t dare ask for an increase lest I be labeled drug seeking. So round and round my brain goes like a hamster on a wheel, going nowhere but getting their fast. Happy Sunday.

I don’t want to do housework. I don’t want to do much of anything. My mind’s so busy I can’t even focus on watching a show.

And the kid is screaming at me like a banshee and calling me stupid because I told her to find her own dvd remote. Apparently I am the worst mom ever. Well, she loses that thing ten times a week and I am sick of it. Besides, had she not fucked the buttons up on the player she wouldn’t have to use a remote. Screw Kid Tough products. I need demon tough stuff for her.

And no, I am not declaring her an evil spawn of satan. She’s been my little demon since she was a newborn. I think it’s cute. And my favorite purse brand is Demonia, so it’s an ode of sorts.

What the actual fuck, some assfuck just tried to create a Twitter account using my email address. As if I would ever use fucking Twatter. I am more insulted than when someone hacked my debit card. Least that I use. But Twatter? Go tweet yourself with a barbwire dildo, identity thieving bastard.

Guess I’m off to change some passwords. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

I can tell the calm euphoria of the med reboot is fading fast. I am becoming irate and stressed all over again. It was bound to happen but damned if I didn’t pray to sacred pegacorn it would stick.

I should be so damned lucky.

So joy joy, another night of sleep’n’wake increments. I woke at 7 a.m. which blows goats because I couldn’t have gotten another hour of obliviousness to reality. Even the spawn wasn’t up that early. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

She’s been hammering at my brain with her incessant chatter for two hours now and my nerves are already fried. How fried?

I was filling ice cube trays in the kitchen (did I mention R fixed the sink? I think I did…) Anyway, I started walking with them and she’s yapping and…I find myself down the hallway toward my bedroom holding a stack of water filled ice trays. Talk about face palm. Jebus, I can’t afford to lose many more marbles.

Spent an hour trying to retrieve my paypal password (yes, I am assimilating only because my mom is giving me money for X-mas and I am damn well getting my coffin purse and Wednesday back patch that only fleabay and their YOU MUST USE PAYPAL OR YOU ARE SCUM policy.) Sad to say, I still haven’t recovered my password and I less than zero desire to speak to anyone on the phone right now.

The spawn decided to play with the toothbrushes and she dropped MINE into the flipping toilet. I can’t even trust her to go pee without messing with everything. Please please don’t make me be one of those creepy enabler parents who follows their child to the toilet.

The morning meds have cyclone brain in prime form. Swirling thoughts but little makes sense and there’s little follow through. Very frustrating. The Focalin is not working anymore but I don’t dare ask for an increase lest I be labeled drug seeking. So round and round my brain goes like a hamster on a wheel, going nowhere but getting their fast. Happy Sunday.

I don’t want to do housework. I don’t want to do much of anything. My mind’s so busy I can’t even focus on watching a show.

And the kid is screaming at me like a banshee and calling me stupid because I told her to find her own dvd remote. Apparently I am the worst mom ever. Well, she loses that thing ten times a week and I am sick of it. Besides, had she not fucked the buttons up on the player she wouldn’t have to use a remote. Screw Kid Tough products. I need demon tough stuff for her.

And no, I am not declaring her an evil spawn of satan. She’s been my little demon since she was a newborn. I think it’s cute. And my favorite purse brand is Demonia, so it’s an ode of sorts.

What the actual fuck, some assfuck just tried to create a Twitter account using my email address. As if I would ever use fucking Twatter. I am more insulted than when someone hacked my debit card. Least that I use. But Twatter? Go tweet yourself with a barbwire dildo, identity thieving bastard.

Guess I’m off to change some passwords. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

I can tell the calm euphoria of the med reboot is fading fast. I am becoming irate and stressed all over again. It was bound to happen but damned if I didn’t pray to sacred pegacorn it would stick.

I should be so damned lucky.

I normally take my afternoon Cymbalta/Prozac/Focalin combo by five p.m. Because ya know, it gives me that hypomanic jolt. Tonight I didn’t remember them until 8:30. So it’s creeping toward one a.m. I am not depressed, I am not manic. My brain, however, is swirling with tornado thoughts. I’m not the least bit tired. Yet I can hear the time ticking away, knowing if I don’t seize sleep NOW…I am going to be prime pickings for the spawn tomorrow. She knows when I am tired and she comes at me twice as hard.

She was a butt after I got her from Grandma’s today. Just loud and shrieky and filling every moment with her babble. She blew off every word I said, mouthed off left and right. I told her next time she opened her mouth so disrespectfully I’d swat her butt. And she sticks her butt up in the air and says, “Do it, Mommy, I want to be spanked.”

I don’t even know what to do with that.

We had parmesan bites for supper, she was still tirading cos R and I had them the other night and didn’t save any for her. In spite of her grating on my nerves and me being so high strung and grumpy, I kept my word. Yay me.

Aside from Uzi child…it was a pretty quiet day after noon.

Oh, lovely, scumbag brain is doing it’s panxiety thing, pelting me with surges of “this is not our norm, we must take to the bed and warm vanilla blankie or something bad bad bad is gonna happen.” My inability to handle deviations never used to be this extreme. It was  bad but this is ridiculous. I almost feel like a little kid up way past her bedtime and if I don’t stop deviating and go to bed, I’m gonna get in trouble with mom and dad….

We watched a movie on Hulu today. Their movie selection is underwhelming. I mean, this is stuff you won’t even find at redbox. But since I loved Vampires Suck, I decided to watch a parody called Stan Helsing. It dragged in places which bored me but…OMG, Freddy Krueger at the video store with Michael Meyers and Pinhead…that was fucking hysterical. Then at the karoake showdown with the good guys vs the monsters (Freddy, Jason, Michael, Pinhead, Leatherface, Chuckie (doll from Child’s Play) the monsters did a song to the tune of YMCA by Village People. But it was, “We came to kill S-T-A-N….” They totally should have won. Spook says she wants to be Pinhead for Halloween next year. Oh, I will have soooo much fun making that mask.

I also watched Primal Fear, again, but I can’t say I sat still more than ten minutes at a time so I half listened and glimpsed it. I didn’t do  a fucking bit of housework today. I figure, give it a whirl tomorrow. I can’t keep up with a kid who changes clothes  six times every damned day. (Sometimes she purposely spills her drink so she can whine, I’m wet and I’m so cold, I need to change…wenchery.) I’m not much better. I go out in public, the anxiety makes me all sweaty. If it’s warm out the trailer is too warm so I have to put on short sleeves and of course, comfy jamma pants…

I WANT MINIONS.

As wide awake and hypomanic as I am feeling, I should be trying to write. Sometimes you just have to sit down and start typing. Maybe it takes, maybe it doesn’t. I’m just not there yet. This year has been traumatizing above all other years, including the one right after the donor walked out. 2016 sucks this much, I may well need a stay at the Club Psychiatric Med. Straight jackets BEST come in black, I don’t do white.

Now if I want to get even a few hours of sleep, I am gonna have to sleeping pill myself. Which will take time to kick in. And make me feel half loopy or groggy all day tomorrow…Fuck. I need one of those pill keepers with a timer to remind me to take the damned meds. I am so overwhelmed by the racing thoughts, the noisy child, all the outside stimuli…

Fuck it, I will take melatonin. Vanilla bean (the blankie) is calling my name, luring me with warmth and comfort. Manipulative damn blanket.

I found this yesterday and thought it was pretty funny even if Friday the 13th was a sad day in history. When you can’t fix it, you gotta use humor to get through this thing called life. Though sometimes it feels more like Purgatory as portrayed on Supernatural.