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"Le génie du mal"

"Lord, I miss you child..." plays on the bathroom radio as I pass by. It stings like hell.

I'm interrogated by my spouse after I sit down, and put the phone down. "Who was that? You going to your Dr's tomorrow?" I say no and tell him that he's got the day off. I avoid the first question. He asks, "What, is he on vacation?" Then he goes out to smoke a cigarette he bummed off me, and comes back with, "I asked if he was on vacation. Where was he going?" I said that I didn't know, that that was personal and I didn't ask. and I wouldn't want to know anyway. The last time he just came out and said he was going to Paris. Cunt. 

The spouse is acting all pissy now, and claiming there is nothing wrong when I ask him. Is that passive-aggressive, or childish, or what?  He came out of the bedroom at 5 to watch cartoons as usual, but pretended he didn't care today (again), so I changed the channel over to his station for him. 

What I'm trying to deal with is the PTSD I'm experiencing after trying to have a phone conversation with my daughter while the spouse was in the apartment, but in a different room. Sudden crushing pain in my heart. My heart feels like it's been put in a vice and all the blood's been squeezed out until it's nothing more than a bigass fucking prune.

She was at her accidental sperm donor's house in a better neighborhood, not too far away. A real house that probably had several bedrooms. A guest bedroom. She had been there for a couple of days already. I had no idea. When she finally told me, I was shocked and it fucking stung. 

She got tax info out of me, and seemed to be unhappy about something. I was afraid to ask what was going on. I thought she would tell me. Nothing. Just long periods of silence and a bit of small talk, which is near impossible for me to make. I felt like she was slipping away forever, and fuck, did it hurt. 

I found out that she's not graduating this year but next spring. The spouse is going to fucking freak and be so fucking pissed at me because he wants to move into a bigger place this summer. I told him she was graduating this summer. I really thought she was. I don't want to move to somewhere further from my shrinks and bus routes. I have to eventually get out ALONE to these fucking places! I don't want to pay more rent! I do not want to be forced to be the one that has to do the house hunting like last time. I explained all this to my daughter, and she asked me if I explained it to the spouse. On several occasions, I've told him that I don't want to move until my daughter graduates, so I can keep sending her money. The spouse is going to be so fucking angry that he will threaten to leave, I'll bet. And he might just do it, and then I'll be forced to move anyway. I have no one to help me. I don't know if I will want to bother to go on if I'm forced to move. I don't want to be forced to do anything. I can't stand this shit.

I'm trying not to blow my fucking brains out. I'm really trying.

I don't know when I'll have to deliver the news to the spouse about moving, or rather not moving. It's going to be too fucking soon. He will go - fuck - I don't know what... but it's not going to be pretty. I'll get yelled at and accused of being selfish or some other horrible shit. 

Getting yelled at flips a switch in me. It can go two ways: rage or fear leading to feeling suicidal. I got yelled at enough as a minor. It mostly struck fear in me - fear that I was going to get the beat down. I don't need that shit in my adult life.

After the call, the interrogation, and the music, I just said to myself that I cannot take another year of this. I don't think I can make it through to my daughter's graduation. I can't see life that far ahead. I can't see 6 months from now. It's day to day, or hour to hour, if it has to be. If I have to drug myself to a zombie state just to get through to see my daughter graduate, then I guess that is what I must do.

I guess. 

I cannot stand to fucking live this way. I'm not crying, nor have I been. I feel hurt, disgusted, damaged to all fuck, exhausted, and done, as if the path for me is coming to an end, and they say that there is light at the end of that tunnel. A bright white light. I'll bring my darkest sunglasses.

Looking Forward to Halloween

The only "holiday" worth celebrating.
Lately the generic seroquel has been doing me some good and relieving me of some anxiety, depression, and vague suicidal thoughts. I'm ok. I keep telling myself that I'm ok...

The Guilt Machine and the Emotionally Crippled

William Staub, Inventor of the Treadmill, Dead at 96

Well fuck me. The walking shoes under my table (where my computer is) and the fact that the evil treadmill is in the same room, got me up off my ass yesterday. I write in the same room of the behemoth creature. I felt like I was at a dangerous point of sliding downhill into thoughts of the "s" word. So I managed to put on some appropriate clothes and force myself to do a brisk 3mi walk while forcing myself to pay attention to the tv. It was also the only way I was going to get myself into the shower (afterward). That would be a much-needed shower. My hair must be filthy by now. Oh well. I used to be much much worse. I also managed to drag out the trash and recycling in one go yesterday. An amazing feat.

I was fucked last night, tossing and turning yet again, and again my spouse woke me up with noise at 6am today. I was cursed to get up out of guilt. Besides, I had my alarm set for 7am. What's one more hour lost. A lot, sometimes, I tell ya. According to my meds shrink, I should be sleeping better for taking more seroquel , but since he wrote my latest Rx wrong in a hurry, I stuck with the lower dose, and got a refill on that. Since I've been having the random anxiety/near psychotic attacks, I haven't been sleeping well.

The Rx from my meds shrink should have been for 500mg horse pills, but was for 400mg. Good enough for now, since I have a few leftovers that I hope will get me out of this anxiety/near psychotic funk. That's a serious fucking funk. I've been taking 300mg or 350mg near the middle of the afternoon, and only other half of the big tab, which is 200mg at night. I take 450mgs of wellbutrin, 40mg prozac, and 4mg of clonazepam spread out for the rest of the day. I'm supposed to take one at night, but it's needed much more during the afternoon when my anxiety is at it's worst.

I'm starting to really wonder - is anxiety an emotion or a horrible condition? I don't really count it as an emotion. Come to think of it, I don't consider a lot of the shit that goes through my head as emotions, except for crippling depression. Maybe I've been going through depression as well, but I can't really tell from the inside, due to the horrific anxiety. 

When I think about it, I almost feel like I have no emotions at all, just symptoms of illness. That there are no real emotions that I can honestly feel anymore, including a "mother's love" for my daughter, or the love I should feel for my spouse. I had no example as I was growing up as far as a mother goes, and in the father dept., he was either emotionally abusive, physically abusive, drunk, not around, or didn't seem to care much for me. 

There's a big fucking hole in my heart that I've tried to fill with all sorts of things and people, but no one and nothing has been able to fill it. It's so damaged and has been that way since I was a little kid, from what little I can remember. What am I supposed to do with it now? Try to feel the appropriate feelings when the situation calls for it? I don't think I know how to love. I don't think I ever knew.

And now for something completely stupid - here.

Jeebus, what a pile of depressing shit! I don't feel as bad or lost as yesterday. I feel like I'm up too early again, but I'm going to try to take things one half hour or hour at a time, like I have to do these days. I don't know if I can make today turn out as good as yesterday, but I will try to try. Yes, try to try is the perfect expression. Already my guts aren't liking me this morning, but that should pass if I force myself to eat something. 

I had a handful of vitamins for the hell of it, as well as my meds. It's hard enough to keep up with my daily meds, let alone some crazy cocktail of supposedly beneficial vitamins and fish oil. There's no reason that I took the vitamins. Just that I saw them and took some. Maybe something in the back of my mind hopes that taking vitamins will help me. Help me what? Push myself to walk and shower today? I don't know. I haven't been in my "right" mind since I was 3. I don't have the discipline it takes to do vitamins every day. It's a little difficult to swallow a handful of pills of any kind, because I am reminded physically and mentally of one of many times I OD'd or tried.

Yesterday, I think, I bitched about positive messages and all that. I'm old and have been ill a longass time, so those positive messages and messages of hope have actually become depressing in their own way. Depressing because someone out there is affected in a good way by them. I become irritated and depressed. WTF.

This shit IS a daily struggle. Not to mention blogger. For some reason, it's fucking up all my spacing. Apologies.