Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

So my mother has been harping on me for the past month or so that ‘we’ need to clean out the garage to get ready for the yard sale that will never happen (because the chances of my mother, my grandmother and Debbie speaking to each other at any given time is limited to nill).

Now, I hate the garage, it’s dirty, dusty, filled with cobwebs and other things that are better off buried. But I’m tired of listening to her whine so I start working on it (what happened to ‘we’, lady?), and realize just why I’ve left those boxes, bags and cupboards alone for so long.

The ghosts of the past are not easily laid to rest, and it hurts, quite a bit of the time, to watch pieces of my life fall away.

I’m a pack rat, I save almost everything of the slightest bit of meaning, pictures, postcards, letters, and those things I expected to be emotional about. But the small things…an old collectible card, a HP magazine article…those things hurt just as badly, representing a time in my life that’s over and that I can’t go back to. A part of my life buried in a dusty box, waiting for me to decide if it’s worth keeping.

So, as I’m going through this very painful process of sorting through my past and determining it’s worth…my mother starts whining I have to stop working on the garage and now have to organize the house…because some how everyone thinks it’s appropriate enough to drop things off here for the yard sale (and a bunch of crap we got from Grandmere moving).

And I can’t just stop and work on the house…because if I stop, I won’t start again. It’s so painful to even touch some of these items, let alone think about what they mean.

I just wish she’d give me some time, to finish this very painful journey so I can put it behind me.

…I finally threw away my phlebotomy textbook…I don’t know how I feel about that. Kept the X-mas cards from HPfGU’s though (and for some reason the BTVS collectible cards from Robin…I really should throw those away).

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

we can have a combined monthly income of 13,700$ and not pay the bills on time?! Seriously, it should not be this fucking hard!

And mum’s “brilliant” new plan? She’s going to sell the house, and we’re going to move into apartments.

EXCUSE ME?!

First of all, we worked out ASSES off for this house. We paid it off once, and yes, things are a bit tight at the moment, but we usually manage to survive. I am NOT willing to give up 16 years and my fucking FUTURE so that she can play happy renter and line someone else’s pocket.

I will not leave this house until I am dead or we have sold it at a decent price for a NEW house, not some crappy apartment, thank you very much.

She had this whole thing where she would sell the house to a guy for 100,000$ up front and payments for the rest…except, she’s not realizing, after paying off the morgage (which, I don’t recall how much it is, but it’s not 100,000)….that’s a nice fucking down payment on a new house, plus, if the guy’s making payments…we don’t have to! His payments can be re-directed directly to the morgage of said new house.

Logic is not my mother’s fortay at the moment.

She’s also finally thinking about allowing me to become her payee…though she keeps changing that. Last night I went from becoming her payee, to splitting the bills down the center, to…whatever the fuck she’s come up with overnight. She can’t make up her mind, and we just keep getting further behind because she can’t manage her money (and yes, I can take her to court and get power of…whatever it is over money, but doing so would involve my family, because they always stick their noses into shit, and there is no way I’m letting my money grubbing, controling bastard of an uncle anywhere NEAR our money. Ours! No touchy!).

…I’m getting so fucking tired of this mess. I will admit it, I want out. I can’t say that to my mother because she’ll go ahead with her asanine plans and get rid of the only asset we have and I DON’T want that…but I’m so tired of all this crap. I’m tired of having every cent of my money being taken for bills she should have paid. I’m tired of opening the door to servicemen who are there to shut off one utility or the other. I’m tired of never knowing if I’m going to have electricity, water or heat the next morning. I’m REALLY fucking sick of paying 500$ rent (out of 680$ income) and then having to be -300$ in my bank account because if I don’t overdraft my account, I’m going to lose something…like the electricity last month…I’m also tired of being overdrafted by 300$ and still expected to pay 500$ rent the next month (hello mum! One cannot make 800$ out of 680!)

And it’s not just the money, I’m tired of being abused. I’m tired of being yelled at or bad mouthed because I can’t get out of bed and clean up the living room her dog tore up. I’m tired of being left alone when I’m violently ill so my mother can go spend the day at a place that makes her cry when she gets home (and I’m really fucking tired of her crying every day…it’s not her fault, but damn does it hurt me). I’m tired of my needs always coming last.

…maybe I’m just tired.

My mother and I got into a blazing row last week about how I was being ‘lazy’ and I’m always sick and that she’s doesn’t want to hear about it anymore since I don’t do anything around the house. Rather funny…for someone so lazy, I now have a home healthcare worker who will come to work for 50hrs a month to help me get around the house, bathe, eat, ect. Apparently the goverment and my doctors are seeing actual medical conditions, not ‘laziness’.

Grandmere managed to ruin another holiday, though I guess I can’t blame her this time. Just as we were going to start the BBQ for the fourth…life alert called us to tell us she was being rushed to the hospital. No idea what’s going on except that she’s waiting on a surgery…I’m sort of surprised she’s lasted this long, but I doubt it’ll be much longer.

…I still don’t know how I feel about the fact she may soon be very much out of my life. I mean, I’ve wanted it for years, prayed for it, but now…she’s my grandmother, even if she is the most wicked, evil, spiteful woman I have ever met.

I think the stress of Grandmere is what’s pushing my mother over the edge right now…and while I understand that, it’s still not making it a very happy place when I have to take all the bitching and fighting and…everything, just because she needs to lash out.

Sometimes…I wish I could just run away. Disappear and have my own life. But I couldn’t do that, I couldn’t leave my mother. For one thing, I’m too damn scared of what she’d do if I’m not around to keep her going…and for the other…I love her, despite the constant stress.

In utterly un-related news, I’ve discovered I can’t be without ciggerettes right now. I ran out hours ago and have not stopped scratching my arm since. Only, since I don’t have nails, I’ve been scratching at it with a toothpick. It’s all red and irritated.

I hope mum’s check comes in the mail today…maybe she’ll buy me a pack of smokes (while they’re still on sale for 2.75!)… *hopeful look at the mail*

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

Okay, seriously, is it that hard to let me order my own damn prints? I put in all the information, splurging a bit (my rent’s getting upped so I’m getting while the getting is good), and after waiting for a weird ass ‘redirecting to page with more secure features’ message…

I get this lovely note:

(yes, that is a connection error image, your browser is not fucking with you).

So now I don’t even know if my order went through! But, I contacted them, so hopefully I’ll know. Sucks, because I probably won’t have the ‘courage’ to order them again and for a full set of 5×7’s of my best images at only $8.50…pretty rocking! *pouts*

And on a more “Real” note (not me bitching…just whining like a baby), mum had another one of her ‘let’s kick Sait out’ moments tonight. This time, she wants to sell the house and move into some sort of mental health ‘assisted living’ place…or something.

She’s tired of never having enough money to pay the bills (between us we make 1800$ a month, our house payment alone is 600$, then we have direct tv, phone, electricity, insurance (house/car), prescripts, food, pet food/supplies, heat (which was shut off), ect, plus loans to Uncle Mike and Grandmere), she’s tired of the house being a disaster because her home healthcare worker is a complete DUMBASS (seriously, ex 1: Mum put a large jar opener that needed to be washed after a year lost in the garage for “Ditzy” (not her real name) to wash…it sat there for three weeks before we got tired of it and washed it ourselves (well, mum did, she she SHOULDEN’T BECAUSE IT’S HEAVY), ex 2, I offered ‘Ditzy’ 60$ this month if she would help me organize my room which was still boxed up and slightly trashed from the room change a month or so ago. She spent two hours sitting there picking the lint off her pants while I worked because she ‘didn’t know where anything went’ (um, duh, that’s why the crap is still in boxes, no one knows where it goes).

Essencially, it’s just a lot of shit piling up at once. And I completely understand where she’s coming from, dude, it’s hard right now, life sucks big time.

But…It’s my home as well. I’m not just a roomate, I’m her fucking daugther (who else would pay 450, now 500$ a month rent for a room and kitchen access?! Plus, without my foodstamps? She ain’t eating.

It’s not just she promised I would never be without a home (which she has, several times, even swearing not to sell this house so I do always have it..but dude, it’s my childhood home! It’s where I grew up!

Plus, emotional issues aside, the house is trashed. The bathtub wall is coming off, it needs to be re-painted, the house stinks from years of smoking and pets who can’t figure out what a literbox is for (don’t even say it, I am doing everything I can, including owning two literboxes, I cannot figure out why Onii finds it repulsive and mus attempt to pee in my room), the front yard is molding (oregon rain + mold loves us), we have a serious ant problem, and there are cracks in the freaking windows (stupid fucking contractor).

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

I’m discovering, as I talk more and more with my mother, doctors and various people with degrees that make them no more intelligent then google, that I’m presenting a rather intresting case for those who provide my psych medications.

In my life, I’ve been diagnosed with ADHD, bipolar (manic-depressive), insomnia (which considering I had it from bith, I’m assuming relates back to the ADHD), a few forms of autism (though these were bandied about and later, I believe dismissed as nothing came of them), and a few other mental disorders that crop up relating to anger, selfishness, depression and just generally being a pain in the ass of every teacher I’ve met.

I will only ever admit to two diagnoses, ADHD and Depression.

In my…*counts* twenty-four years of being diagnosed and medicated (yes, they actually started me on Ritlin when I was four, but I don’t blame them), I have discovered a deep and long lasting hatred of psychiatrists, psycologists…and basically anyone who deals in emotional and mental health matters. Mostly, because I find most of them to be idiots at best, or over-paid quacks at worst.

To them, all illnesses (mental especially), are black and white. And most of them are black. They tell me I’m one diagnoses, and here’s the pills that will fix it (but don’t), and very few of them agree on what I am.

I guess it was easier, when I was four and drove the doctor insane within thirty minutes of a four hour test. ADHD was the obvious (and correct) diagnosis. As I got older, and apparently moved away from competent doctors who knew their asses from their pencil holders, my diagnosis’ got more complicated, all the while, they were in fact, the same disease. Anger, irrational outbursts, risk-taking behavors, in-ability to focus or communicate emotions, in-ability to properly experiance emotions, ect, were all forms of the same disorder, a reconized ’side-effect’ of ADHD in children (and adults). This also included the slow emotional growth that leaves me acting like I’m a teenager, instead of an adult (maybe when I’m thirty, I’ll finally grow-up).

With all this going on, it’s not hard to see why I distanced myself from my peers, unable to relate to them. In a time when “mental illness” was still a dirty word, the constant drugs/appointments/tests stressed me out, in addition to normal life factors such as income level (we were the bottom rung of poor), my mother’s own illnesses, constant moving/changing schools, an in-addiquate learning enviroment/family drama…it’s no wonder I developed depression (as well as dealing with my introversion and low self-esteam since childhood).

So yes, I admit to the ADHD and Depression…but apparently, those are not allowed to co-exist! One cannot be both at the same time, it must be something else.

This came about by my most recent (of two years…maybe three) diagnosis of bi-polar. Which always struck me as…wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it, until I noticed my mother (who was also diagnosed bi-polar) as having more ‘classic’ symptoms…things I didn’t have. I didn’t have the ’stay up three days and nights before crashing’ symptom, I had ’stay up until I force myself to crash because I can’t sleep without meds’ symptom (hello, insomnia). I did’t spend money like it was water and then crash emotionally because now I couldn’t afford my bills (I just can’t afford them period, but I never had manic sprees).

I didn’t have manic ups and depressive lows…at all. I had both symptoms at the same time. Outside, my feet are jiggling, my fingers tapping, eyes (and usually my mouth) was constantly moving, things I couldn’t control unless I thought about it conciously, but inside, I was just as depressed as anyone with a textbook case could be. The only diffrence, between a classic depression and myself, was that the thoughts of self-harm (be it mutilation or suicide) were fleeting, almost as if I were debating what to have for lunch. Because, un-checked, my ADHD wouldn’t allow me to think of any thought, harmful or not, for longer then a handful of minutes.

I’m coming off a six-month daily dosage of what I consider the worst pill ever prescribed to me, and I’m starting to realize just how diffrent my behavior on the pill (more towards the depressive side of my personality…especially considering I slept day and night for most of those six months) were too off, and how much confusion I must present to doctors, who have no answer for the grey sides of mental health (when their ‘magic’ pills don’t work), and I think…I’m starting to give up entirely on the idea that anyone will have a fix to make me ‘normal’. Maybe for me, this is normal.

Doctors are relying too much on medication and loose definitions of mental disorders, no one is listening to the patient, the one who actually has to live through most of this. I think…maybe I should just be happy with the fact I’m alive, reasonably functioning and have a handful of friends who can over look my random leaps and inane babbling enough to like me…and if my mother or the doctors can’t handle it…well, sorry, but there is no magic fix for this.

(yes, highly random and odd, but like I said…random thoughts).

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

So one of the conditions of my mother’s release was that Douglas County Mental Health would provide my mother with her psych medications, as that is the whole reason for this mess.

They have now informed her that they will not be providing her with her medication because she has insurance…even though they’re required to by law (part of the fun discharge paperwork). Also, there is no other place for mum to get her medication locally that will take her insurance and we already have way too many bills to pay out of pocket.

So essentially…we’re back where we started, and now I have to keep a constant eye on mum to keep her from doing something stupid.

Mum’s contacting the reporter that first reported the tazer incident (gotta love newspapers…bastards), and hopefully her side of the story might stir the county into doing something to keep the egg off their face.

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

had one of the world’s shittiest nights. Not only have I been up an un-godly amount of time and am STILL sick…

But I spent the night caring for a dying kitten from about 7pm until she finally passed at 7am. Twelve hours of trying to make her at least comfortable, while hoping she would survive…And she didn’t even get to die peacefully, damnit! She seized at the last moment and ended up thrashing around…that’s not exactly the last image I want of her!

On top of that, mum finally agreed to surrender Kira (the puppy neither of us can control or train) to the animal shelter, so I spent half an hour trying to load a 50lb dog into our new car, while trying not to think that that was the last time I was going to see her (and I don’t even like the dog, damnit!).

I’m just…very drained and numb right now. I can’t even think or feel, let alone grieve for either animal.

I’m trying not to have a “Why me?” pity party in my head, which means trying to distract myself…which ISN’T WORKING! And I have a full disk of photos to edit…half of which contain the now late Mouse.

….can this day be over yet?

R.I.P. DoorMouse, daughter of Seth:

and goodbye, Kerradine:

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

My mother apparently ‘ratted me out’ to her therapist about cutting up my arm. Not a big deal, it’s not like she can do anything, but apparently she ‘threatened’ to put me in a long term care facility ‘for my own safety’.

( Cut for talk of cutting and other 'issues' )