yuuo: (Don't leave me like this)
So I had been in what I thought was a bought of hypomania. Not a natural one, it turned out, as when I started coming down from caffeine exposure, I am back to sleeping all the time, and being unable to focus and get shit done.

I am so sick of this fatigue.
yuuo: (Blood blood blood)
It is hailing. The weather has me down. I am wide awake after a good sleep on a good couch that was good for my back, but Wife is asleep and so drugged that I couldn't even let her know that I might need help with the cats if the weather goes really shitty before she fell right back to sleep on me. And I just called her friends out on something that they do that bothers me, and now I'm scared for the repercussions. I don't have the goddamn energy to deal with their whining.

(Long story short: They flirt aggressively with her, and I don't think they even realize they do. One was so bad that even Wife felt uncomfortable from it, and this woman would come onto my Facebook wall to talk about taking Wife to bed. Platonically, but hello, her wife is right here? That's her bed you're talking about? Not okay?????? But her other friends like to throw kissing emojis at her, and while I trust Wife, I don't feel comfortable with people I don't even know getting that cozy with my wife. I appreciate their love and support for her, I really do, and I don't mind hugs and love and hearts and such. But the kissing, even in pretend, makes me really unhappy. Like, do they not understand boundaries?????????? That's someone's wife you're doing that with???? I wouldn't even mind if they caveated it with a "tell your wife to give you a kiss, because I think you deserve one!" or something to that effect. That firmly acknowledges healthy boundaries, while still wishing the love on Wife that she deserves. Why is this apparently a novelty to them???????)

I just foresee this shit coming from a mile away, and Wife is asleep, so now I have to lie in this bed I just made by myself, but if I didn't establish this boundary, there was going to be problems down the line that might alienate Wife's friends, and they really do give her so much love and support, I don't want her to lose that, or resent me for being the cause of it.

But, no energy for their bitching about how Dark Schneider-y I'm being. Fuck them.

And in all of it, not only do I get to face this alone, I also have nothing to focus on that doesn't give me anxiety through the roof, if it can distract me any from this source of anxiety.

/sinks into a black hole of depression
yuuo: (You knew the deal- no one gives a damn)
Today is one of those days.

Lately, I've been happily existing on about six hours or so of sleep a day, all in the afternoon, which is the nastiest part of the day weather-wise anyway, so why the fuck would I want to be awake and active then anyway, right?

Then I made the mistake of sleeping in my own bed, and yesterday, my sleep was such shit that I slept almost 20 hours. This isn't a crash from the slight hypomania I was riding, because after I napped a few hours on the couch, I felt so much better than I had after longer-than-healthy 'rest' in my bed.

I'm going to be trapped on the couch forever.

But, as usual, my wife got tired overnight, because she is a normal person with normal circadian rhythms. So I'm alone right now.

We were folding laundry a little bit ago, and she was boggling that she's now a size eight.

I am a size twenty-four.

I was fine with it coming up, because I'm super happy for her and proud of her that she lost all that weight- she was a sixteen this time last year. But, she made the mistake of acting guilty and trying to assure me that she loved me despite my size, and how she wishes I could be that little, too.

I wish she'd just left that alone. Because now all I can hear is my doctor's disapproving voice, telling me to stop drinking soda, stop eating dairy (to be fair, I suppose, I'm mildly lactose intolerant), start eating healthy, I need to start exercising, this weight isn't good for me.

Well no fucking shit.

The last time I lost weight, it was because I'd simply stopped taking in any calories that weren't a few sodas a day. That's all I existed on. My depression had manifested over those two months as a lack of desire for food, and a lack of energy to cook on the rare occasion that I was hungry.

Then I saw that I'd lost about thirty pounds in a month and was super happy, so I decided to continue that the healthy way. I started eating health, as much as I could on our budget, which made me miserable because I hate healthy food and I always feel hungry after a 'normal' meal of it. I exercised for a minimum of an hour every day, first thing in the morning. I thought that'd make me more alert, lose more weight, make me happier. After all, that's all the things that good diet and exercise are supposed to do, right?

Whoever tells you that exercise wakes you up, that it's fun, that it helps you lose weight, that good food is like medicine? They're fucking liars.

I gained every pound I'd lost back and then some. I felt more miserable because exercise actually brings my mood down. I was tired more often.

So now I'm worked up because my choices are apparently A) be doing all the things I'm supposed to be doing, but miserable because I'm gaining weight and hate what I'm eating, or B) stop eating entirely and lose weight and still feel hungry, but at least it's not because food is making me miserable.

Fantastic options.

Then my wife informs me that she's tired and wants to go to bed.

I slept twenty hours. I am not tired. I will not be going to bed any time soon.

So now I'm alone, with nothing to do that doesn't just make me more depressed. I can't work up the energy to write, I don't like the book I'm reading, I don't have access to my art program on this laptop, and I cant go to the desktop to work on something there, because my desktop's power source is dying. The fan is whining in pain. I risk setting my computer on fire if I go on it. And this laptop is so ancient and slow and dying, that I am writing about three lines ahead of what shows on my screen, because it's lagging, and that's in all browsers, so don't anyone fucking tell me to switch to Chrome. My Firefox works no worse than Chrome on this piece of shit, and Firefox has all my logins and my extensions that I need to switch between roleplay accounts easily.

And that's another thing.

The only thing my brain is willing to hide behind is roleplay, because it's both creative and interactive, but lately, I have had to beg, fight, and cry for every minute of it I've gotten, and I'm starting to think that nobody fucking cares about me anymore. People don't talk to me, nobody's missed me on Facebook, where I haven't been in a few days. I don't think anyone's even noticed I'm not interacting there.

I'm alone, bored, and miserable. And fat.

I should just go take my medicine and an Ambien and sleep for the next twenty-four hours again.

But I can't do that, because I have therapy at two today, and there's stuff to do around the house, since we found out at the last damn minute that my wife's surgeons scheduled her surgery for next fucking Thursday. When we were expecting not until four to six weeks. I have my next psychiatric appointment... next fucking Thursday. And I can't get out of that, because I will run out of my medicines if I do, and my psychiatrist's office won't do refills without an appointment.

Which means I have to get up early to take my wife to the hospital, wait around for a few hours until they get off their asses and actually take her into the OR, sit around for several more hours, hoping and praying that she doesn't die on the table while they remove half her chest, then wait with her in recovery, then make sure she's sleeping well enough that I can skip off to my pdoc's appointment, all while dealing with my mother-in-law (who has been a right pain in the ass and doing nothing but hurting my wife), my heart-father, and a few days later, my heart-sister-in-law crashing on my couches.

Which is the only place I can go with my laptop, and again, desktop is dying, so now I won't have anywhere to go at all.

I can't help but think I would be better off just committing myself and asking to stay a month until all this goes away. It's either that, or I may be tempted to drive my car off a goddamn bridge.

This is the way my brain works. This is what depression looks like. This is what anxiety looks like. This is what mental illness looks like.

My advice? Avoid it if you can.

.ow.

May. 6th, 2017 10:43 am
yuuo: (The pain is tearing up my soul)
Oh lord, yeah, I'm paying for yesterday.

(There will be a post about the zoo, I promise. After I go loosen up my poor sore muscles in the warm pool and my local gym. And have a chance to wake up. God, I want sleep.)
yuuo: (You either die a hero)
I found this post of mine on Facebook while going back, looking for pictures I'd uploaded from my phone so I could save them on my computer so I can delete them on the phone to free up memory and that was an unnecessarily long sentence.

Anyway.

Context is that there was a post asking about general cat craziness, I... think. I can't remember fully, but basically, someone ended up saying "I'm not schizophrenic, but my cat sure is!" in a context that suggested that the word schizophrenic was being used to describe a normal behavior of a 'crazy cat'. (We cat owners get that one.)

I chose not to reply to the person, as it was a stranger who replied on a post that a mutual friend had liked, so it ended up on my feed. I was very tempted to reply with "How do you know your cat has schizophrenia? /actual person with actual schizophrenia"

I was very tempted.

But, since I didn't have the spoons to deal with a whiny mcbutthurt that someone took offense at having their illness used in a derogatory way, I didn't say anything there. But I sure as hell went to my own wall and posted the following:

You know, I fully believe that cats can be neuro-atypical or have intellectual disabilities or mental illnesses. They're living creatures with brains. By definition, they can have such things.

I say George [middle child cat] is autistic because we can take his behavior and what 'parenting' tactics we use that he responds to, and take that information to an actual parent of an actual human autistic child and get confirmation. Autistic might not be the right word. But until we have expanded health care for cats, we'll never know any other word.

I say my youngest has ADHD because his behavior very closely mimics a young child with ADHD. I know this because I grew up with a child with ADHD.

However, I highly doubt that when you say "I'm not schizophrenic, but my cat sure is!" that you know what that even fucking means. Especially given the context. You are using the illness the same way people misuse OCD and bipolar. Unless you can accurately say that your animal's behavior differs from normal for its species in the way that you are claiming, you have no business comparing a probably normal animal to a person with schizophrenia.

Please, people, stop using schizophrenia to mean just plain ol' craziness. Those of us with the disorder can use it that way, because it is our word to use. We can give close friends permission to use it in context of talking with us, as again, that is our word to use.

But it most definitely is not yours, so leave it alone.


There's your dose of internet rage for the day. (I'll post about the zoo trip soon.)

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