Bad Code

When I watched Person Of Interest (awesome show, fuck you, CBS, for cancelling it), the character Root used to refer to people as “bad code”, like corrupted system files on a computer. In a way, while crude, it is pretty accurate. Our genetic code is not something we are ever in any way responsible for or in control of. We inherit halfsies from each parental unit and if you’ve got bad code…It is what it is.

This week,my bad code has been really pushing my buttons. Throw in some PMS rage monster reactions (I punched my car stereo because it wouldn’t play a CD, now it’s in multiple pieces and won’t play at all,  way to go, dumbass.) More than the depressive inertia and being the supportive “living in the dish” friend to R (about 13 hours spent in the dish this week and for me…that’s draining an already dead cell.) exhausting me…

The anxiety is eating me alive.I picture it like a Bergen from Trolls, gnawing on me and saying YUMMY, now I will be happy forever as long as I drain the soul from this chick…Xanax isn’t touching it a whole lot this week and maybe it’s all the dish time, maybe potential change and upheaval coming. New stressors.

I just know that my bad code is pissing me off.

This morning I went to check my bank account. Child support went in, but oh guess what…It’s been lowered sixty bucks a month probably cos ass trash donor got a demotion or chose a demotion, whatever. THEN I got a letter informing me my food stamp  benefits are cut because MY INCOME HAS INCREASED. What the actual fuck? So that woke the PMS rage monster bright and early today,oh as did,  THE FURNACE QUIT WORKING AGAIN.

Could I catch a break that doesn’t suck?

First world problems, boo  hoo, I know all that (and yes, I want swiss cheese with my whine, damn it.) Still, rage monster hormones don’t care about logic or seeming greedy or entitled.

And the anxiety does not like being thrown curve balls and left out of the loop and having to clean up after the fact.

Filthy word, CHANGE. Deviation is eeevil. To a poorly coded brain.

To my credit, in spite of feeling like my skeleton is trying  to escape my skin…I managed to function highly (not gracefully, driving has almost become too much input for my brain to process quickly and safely.)

  1. Took kid to school.
  2. Put gas in the car.
  3.  Grabbed some stuff at Dollar Tree.
  4. Grabbed stuff at Family Dollar.
  5. Stopped by smoke shop.
  6. Stopped by my moms.
  7. Went to pick up tacos and lunched with Kenny and R at the shop.
  8. Picked up my prescriptions.
  9. Fetched my child.
  10. Took my child to book fair again so she could get a cheapo eraser.
  11. Another stop at the gas station for drinks.

So…I am wiped. And yes, I know many of you do way more every single day despite your mental hurdles but I’m not you. This is all very draining and I pay a very steep price. I will likely need 4 days to recover from all this dish time and “functionality”.

All this because my parents hooked up and I got embedded with bad code.

And there’s no reprogramming or patches or updates to fix that.

Mind you, I do NOT consider myself bad or define my entire self worth because of my multitude of DSM diagnoses. I have legit illnesses/disorders and it is a battle most people would have ended with a bullet a long time ago. I am aware that I have many awesome qualities.

Unfortunately…I tend to forget that when rage monster hormones surge or the depression/anxiety take too much of a toll. Then yeah, my self esteem plummets and what some may take for self pity…really is just the bad code in my brain telling me lies. But believable lies, especially when my coding is improper.

So anyone out there who feels the same way…You’re not alone, you’re not weird. We just got a few lines of bad code but in no way does it detract from all the lines of good code that make us empathetic, kind, generous, smart, creative, funny.

The bad code just basically makes the normal struggle of life a lot like trying to jump hurdles after being hobbled ala Kathy Bates did in Misery.

And on that note…I leave you with a pic of my baby girl wearing her new bifocal glasses. She is unamused, I practically had to Z Whack her to get her to stop growling and smile for this.


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