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.

Monday, March 10, 2014

Bad Moon Rising

Fuck. I made a rather bold move this morning after coffee pot was emptied. I figured it would be safest then. I went to the bedroom, where the spouse had already disappeared, to talk about all the shit that's going down here, and how I want to try to fix it, how I would like for there to be some happiness around here. I get more of what I got yesterday morning: accusation after accusation. I even asked for the tax crap, to take it back and go over it again and see what I can do. All the spouse could say about that was that he basically couldn't believe that I was such a forgetful fuck-up, and I got the sense that he feels like I ripped him off on his taxes before or something. Money, money, money... After the money "discussion" was over, I tried talking about other things, but hit a brick wall. He said he really didn't want to have the conversation right now. So I turned around and left the tax crap on the bed. Passive-aggresive shit returned to him. Dumb, I know, but I wanted to see how long he would let it sit there in the bedroom.

It seems like he thinks I don't care about him, how he looks, buying new furniture, and moving. He equated the response of my initial response of "whatever" to his remark about growing facial hair as some kind of insult on the way that he looks. Truth is, he rarely "makes an effort" I meant "whatever" as a personal choice. I gave more than that opinion after that, yet he still clung to the "whatever" as if I don't care. I make an effort pretty much every day not to look like a complete slob, as much as I can to make myself feel less self-conscious, for hygiene's sake, and to try and keep remembering how to do it. Yeah, I forget my little routine sometimes. Fuckin' Swiss cheese memory.

Yet another day crapped on, and he said he wanted to go to the grocery store at some point. Can't ever get a specific time out of him, but he yells at me for it. I'm guessing he might want to go late afternoon, if at all. Well, that was a fine way to build up more anxiety for me, trying to have an adult conversation with him. My chest feels like someone is squeezing the fuck out of my rib cage, and I have to remember to breathe. I have to remember to try to stay calm, and get rid of any distressed look that I can feel on my face. Just grit my teeth and try to get through it.

Oh... the spouse has just walked in with the tax forms, etc, and asked me if I needed them. I said "Not right now". So they're sitting on the table where he put them, where they will sit for a while. More passive-aggressive presents returned to him. Stupid, I know, but I want him to know how it feels. I doubt if he'll get it. He seems to have plenty of money saved up as it is without any crummy return. If I wait too long, I wonder if he'll end up using some kind of threats. I'm guessing that all he can think about is money and himself because of being laid off for this long, spending money fixing his car and tons of other stuff for himself, and expecting thousands in a tax return.

I feel ill. My face is burning up. Need to get off the couch and move. Distract. Distract....Shower! Hate it, but will definitely distract.


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