WARNING AT BOTTOM OF PAGE

This is a mental health/mental illness blog dealing with daily life with words that are real and raw, video, pics, and music chosen by one fucked-up kitty. I am diagnosed Bipolar, with (crippling) Anxiety Disorder, and seriously horrific PTSD.
Sometimes it's a real treat of Freedom of Speech and Crazy to let it out, and scream something out in public when you just lose it, and let the stress out of your sails in one quick go, unlike the "unlucky" majority. Nope. Can't say everything is bad 100% of the time. Now take your meds and get ready...



This blog is permanently under construction/destruction.

Saturday, February 22, 2014

From The Throne of Agony




Scraping Foetus Off The Wheel - The Throne of Agony (with lyrics)

I fucked up our taxes last year. I have cognitive issues. I hate doing taxes, and filling in federal forms just freaks my shit out. The cognitive issues - this I learned from reading medical statements on different occasions that my main shrink wrote, and just calling it as I see it.. I probably fucked up before last year too. And once again, I have fucked up this year and find that we're responsible for more taxes this year or the return will be a pittance. My spouse is just fucking beyond angry with me. He said, "Well, I guess we weren't meant to have nice things." He just wants money, and he's happy to sit on his ass and collect unemployment as well.

Nice things? Like what? A dozen fucking Fabergé eggs? What the fuck do people want? I don't need anything. What THINGS does he want that he can't already afford to buy himself already? It's not as if he really buys anything for the home. Much. Unless I put it on a stupidass "gift wish list" from amazon. Which has only happened twice. What's with the materialistic shit? Did that go out the window with not giving a shit whether I shaved my armpits or not? Throw some kind of old "punk" ideals and sense of freedom for all down the shitter? He was not like he is now 20 years ago. I am still the non-materialistic person, and don't give a shit whether anyone shaves their pits or not. What happened?

He's gone now. He got dressed after camping out in the bedroom for a few hours after the bad news about the taxes. He did some texting and got somebody to go and drink with him in some nearby neighborhood that he DROVE to. At least he learned his lesson last time and got a taxi, after throwing up in public, splashing himself and a workmate at the xmas party. Wonder what would have happened if I was there in the first place.

Anyway, no kiss good-bye, just a limp, unenthused "see ya latah", then he walks out, and locks the door. At least he locked the damn door.

I wanted to cry earlier. My eyes welled up with tears, but I'll be damned, hormonal attack and all, I'm not fucking crying over this or fucking taxes, or fucking money. I snapped out of it right quickly. I just refuse to let myself cry, because it makes me feel and look worse, has no effect on the situation, wastes energy and toilet paper, and the stiff-upper-lip spouse just ignores it. So it would be boo hoo for what? Nothing and nobody. It would make me feel worse and want to shoot myself in the head.

Maybe he'll find himself a wife with a job and no mental illness while he's out, and also younger, too. Then they can move to the suburbs like he wants. Yeah, he'd be better off without me. I'm just not into being the cook and Mexican cleaning lady that puts out. Sensing some anger here? Yeah, there's some anger, some that's probably justified on his part as far as getting a bigger return goes, I'll give him that. But what are you going to do about it? Go have a drinki. Smoke some pot. He won't. Chill the fuck out and quit creeping around like you're going to knife me in the back.

I. FUCKED. UP. I. ADMIT. IT. OK?! What do you expect to happen now? Why the FUCK don't you TALK about it?!

Maybe I should be the one to do the smoking, then it's bedtime for me. All pain is gone, I feel a little dumb and happy, not in control of my body so much, pains disappear, then I just want to sleep, like on a mountain of sweet Charmin ass wipe. Out of the way you stupid bears! Go back to the woods! .

I signed the tax form mess, but I have a feeling it isn't going to get signed by the spouse. My daughter will need some of that info for her financial aid application. I got some. I hope it's enough. Fuck. I just want to help HER. My darling who deserves no part of this shit somehow gets caught up in it. Maybe if he stepped up to the plate in the first place and showed her he gave a damn, but he did not. I wish she and I talked more about this. Hard subject to bring up and discuss. Makes me feel horrific guilt and that I failed her again.

Oh no.. He's back. No words for me. I don't care. I just want to take a huge dose of seroquel and clonazepam, and out sleep him tomorrow. I wish I could, but he's able to actually sleep around here. He gets up and makes all kinds of noise, No consideration of the fact that I'm still trying to sleep. Hell, he doesn't even shut the bedroom door.

What the hell am I doing. I'm starting to feel depressed when I'd rather turn that into anger... or something. Maybe just sleep. Extra seroquel available? I hope. At least it'll knock me right out. Ok. I'm not depressed. I'm just feeling a sense of impending doom. The gloom is here, just waiting for the doom to arrive. I guess we shall see tomorrow.

It's certain that I'll be going to bed alone tonight. That's part of his passive-agressive "punishment" game. I have no intention of playing that - tonight or tomorrow. I'll be the one to hide out in the bedroom all day tomorrow. I don't care. I just don't want to have anything to do with taxes or money. Fuck it all. The damage is done. No point in his kind of treatment, it's just immature.

What the fuck am I doing? Where are my meds when I need them? Where's my video or pic?