Life Don't Hold No Glamour Anymore

I was responding to my friend Alice who is on disability and has been in terrible pain since her knee surgery. Alice really could use some friends but I don't want to accidentally send trolls her way. If you would like to be a compassionate friend, email me at bloomingpsycho@gmail.com and if you are someone I trust, I will give you her blog URL. Alice is an intersexed person (someone born with both genders) and lives with depression and evidence of schizophrenia or a similar disorder. She was saying that she feels like it is her lot in life to be  alone and have no luck. I really feel very much the same way.

I don't know why good people have to have such bad luck. I'm not saying that I'm that good of a person but I don't think I'm that BAD of a person, and my luck is terrible. My son is a good person and he is very depressed. I think not having anything to cheer us, not having any money to have a little bit of a good time doesn't help, and certainly pain doesn't help. My pain levels aren't as bad as yours by any means, but I do have fibromyalgia and I walk with a bit of a "hitch in my git-along." My left foot turns out and I have sciatica. I hope things get better for you, that at least you won't be in so much pain.

I hate how we are told in this world that we have to be beautiful in a certain way to deserve anything good. LIES, ALL LIES! And yet I have bought in and swallowed the lie hook, line, and sinker.

Maybe Not Lazy

I would like to share this great post by my blog friend Kate White on Healthy Place blogs about "laziness" and depression. I will also share my reply.

In my teen years I constantly heard how lazy I was. I always felt like if I couldn’t be perfect I shouldn’t try at all. I learned at 16 that I had hypothyroidism, but the pills didn’t help. I learned at 25 that I have fibromyalgia, but nobody taught me how to deal with it. I learned at 38 that I have type II bipolar disorder that the doctors kept misdiagnosing as depression with anxiety. Finally a counselor asked some questions that led to the discovery of a pattern and the beginning of my taking lithium. This helped with the irritability, but the constant exhaustion was still there. I learned in the past year that I also have borderline personality disorder and that my hoarding problems are not due to being lazy, they are part and parcel of my obsessive-compulsive disorder. I am struggling to get on top of many, many, many years worth of avoiding the problem and hating myself.

Broken and Hopeless

It is so hard for me to make myself eat. I know that some of you are thinking it would be best for the fat pig to go through some anorexia, to lose some of that lard on her disgusting fat body. A few weeks of starving wouldn't hurt such a vile disgusting pig. 

With food, I do extremes. I either tend to eat for comfort or I go through periods of anorexia. The problem is, some of my pills are very harsh on my stomach. I have to eat a little, and it disgusts me to do so. Or I have to stop taking the pills and maybe have a complete breakdown.

Maybe something like macaroni and cheese would be palatable enough. Have some of those single serve cups. Got them for 89 cents each at the store. How trailer trash American of me, I'm sure. 

I know what I am. I am nothing. I am powerless to make any changes to stop the pain and injustice of this world.

I tried it for one soul who touched my heart. I only ended up looking like a fool and losing him in the process. The person (spirit) I set out to help now feels only disdain for me, seeing me as a weak loser. He is right. I am.

Trying to help the animals of this world I come upon abuse so ugly and horrible, done to animals in the name of arousing some sick fucking excuses for humanity. There is nothing I can do to stop this from happening. Yes, I have signed petitions. But there is nothing I can do to save the mutilated, helpless ones who were the victims of this depravity. I keep seeing visions of them in my mind and the idea of eating seems so selfish and vain. If they had to suffer so awfully, who am I to eat? How dare I think of eating when there is such suffering going on in the world.

I think of the victims in Haiti and how little my lame-o $15 contribution is worth. 

I have no power and no money. 

I thought I had a gift, a talent.

That too was a lie.

I am broken. 

I also think that perhaps if I don't eat for a long time I can weaken my heart enough that it will allow me to die.

In the end, that is what I really want, after all.

Gaslighting

Why I'm slow to trust:

I've had gaslighting done to me by so many people throughout my life. People that I thought I loved. People who claimed they loved me. I feel like an emotional punching bag. So I hide away in my little nest. This keeps me a little bit safe but also keeps me separate from other people. I am terribly lonely. I miss visits from my online "friends and appreciate those who do occasionally drop by."

While I have felt glimmers of hope, this sadness has really not left me for an entire month. As I rapid cycle this is somewhat unusual. I am no longer quite as suicidal, but the hopelessness is still there. The resignation to duty with no fulfillment or joy. And I punish myself for not bootstrapping myself up better.

Psycho Suicide Barometer

Suicide Ideation: 9 out of 10 razor blades
Suicide Planning: 5 out of 10 razor blades

This has been one unholy motherfucker of a month! Shit is not working--in spades. Medications have never worked for me, but I wonder if I need to go to the doctor and find something that can temporarily numb me out, at least until I'm done with this damn nursing program. If I were fully in control of the situation I would just withdraw myself. Evidently, it is bad for me. But since my family is still in control of my life because they are helping pay some of my bills AND NO I CAN'T JUST NOT DO THIS OR I WILL BE HOMELESS AND SO WILL MY SON AND ALL MY ANIMALS!!!!!! I have no choice.

I am so fucking depressed. In the past there was always a glimmer of hope for the future. Now I don't even have that much and I am wondering what is the sense of continuing on this way.

Nothing works

So some have expressed concern that the Psycho has been silent of late. Figured y'all would feel blessed. I appreciate these expressions but the truth is that I cannot feel the sincere kindness behind them. Nothing works any more. I have not felt a depression this bad in several years. I have been self destructive and full of loathing for myself as always. But this is blackness into which nothing can reach. I can't fool myself any more that everything will be okay somehow, or at least I'll get a crumb of encouragement from the Universe here or there via people. I am really and truly just tired of living. I used to tell myself that I have to keep on because someday things will work out. Now I tell myself that I have to keep on either out of spite or because it would fuck too many people who depend on me but are not the least bit grateful to me for anything I try (and fail miserably) to do for them.

I do not think that anyone has even the modicum of an idea of how crushed I was by the failure of my book. Nor does anyone have even an inkling of how much I despise the idea of continuing for another fucking whole year in this nursing program. I am tired of working directly with people in this capacity. I could tolerate my current job, even for another thirty years, which is probably how long I'll have to work. I hate this program with every fiber of my being. Yet if I do not complete it my family will cut off their support, which I need if I am going to have a place to live.

It does me no good to piss and moan about this shit. There is no-one out there who can or really wants to help me. But now you know. Guess you're probably sorry you asked.

Psycho

Standing on the graves of dead hopes

Having children is NOT an imperative

This was my response to a post at Boing Boing

My only child (now almost 20 years old) was unplanned, but in my defense, I was 24 years old, had been married for six years, and had been told that I could never have children. So he was a surprise, but a good one.
Due to history of psychiatric illness from both his father's and my families (I have bipolar disorder, my ex husband deals with major depression) and his own experiences (my son has major depression and social anxiety disorder) my son has expressed that he is not certain that he ever wants to have his own biological children. I told them that I fully support whatever choice he makes in this matter. There are plenty of children who need to be adopted, and an adopted child is just as much a part of the family as a biological one.

New Book

I'm working on a new book which is a diary/biography written under this, the Blooming Psycho name. It will be called Diary of an Alien. All I really want to do is sleep. I'm not suicidal, just tired and sad.

I'm still working on the fiction books but I have lost my enthusiasm. I no longer think that I will one day be seen as a worthy cult fiction author. Just a loser and a wannabe. Even my so called friends told me that what I write is stupid and not worthy of reading. I don't care. Well, yeah I do. That hurts. But I'm going to write it anyway because I think it's worthy of writing even if nobody thinks its worthy of reading.

I'd read it if I wasn't me.

I wish I was worthy of being.

xoxo

PSYCHO