Welcome to the depressive crap infecting my brain!

Welcome to my new anonymous spleen venting, gut vomiting blog, where I get to let slip my happy, witty mask I wear everyday and flash the real pain hidden beneath the surface.

An event ocurred to spawn this new, author-unknown blog and I'll get to that in a moment.

Don't you love the fly background?

I thought it most apt for a blog where there is likely to be plenty of shit for the maggots to nom on.

And just to cheer it up a little I chose pretty, happy colours.

To either console the reader or lure them in with a false sense of security.

So, this event that saw me screwing up my guts and keeping the smile plastered across my dial for the sake of the family when all I wanted to do was howl my sorry eyeballs out was a horrible phone call.
Don't get me wrong, I've dealt with plenty of craptastical phone calls of all varieties but this one was pretending that my mentally unwell 'adult' daughter was in hospital somewhere as a patient.

After years of pleading with my daughter, taking her to various psychologists and psychiatrists all of whom she refused to continue seeing after a handful of visits with some piddling excuse - in reality it was after they'd started getting too close to the truth for her comfort and she might have to start listening to the fact that she wasn't well - she began spiralling out of control and we have little contact.

She's not stupid, far from it with an IQ of 122 but she's fluctuating like she has bi polar, the troughs are so, so depressive while the manic peaks are Wow!I'vegotmoneymoneymoneytospendlet'sspenditNOWlet'sseehowquicklywecanmakeitdisappear!
She is unable to process social situations and the tone of people's voices at times, almost like she's on the Autism Spectrum.
Her mood swings and bizarre behaviour also tick the boxes for a Personality Disorder.
So, after her most obvious diagnosis of depression after her first suicide attempt some years ago she refused to continue with her anti-depressants, refused to continue seeing the psychiatrist and then refused to see the GP who knew all about her mental health history.

Then she started blaming me for everything going wrong in her life, making up stories of things that never happened, convincing her boyfriends that her family were some strange cult-like soul sucking thing that she wanted to avoid.
Until they met us and started to realise things - a LOT of things - weren't quite as what she'd claimed.
Then soon afterwards the relationships would go down the gurgler and we'd, or rather I'd be the one to blame for that.

I recently tried to contact her - stupidly I thought she'd be interested in the fact her sibling was unwell and her grandfather was dying - but instead I was treated to someone  repeatedly screaming at me to "Fuck off!".
And that person has called numerous times since, either silently hanging up or screaming abuse at me, with yesterday's call about my daughter being in hospital the latest chapter in this second rate soapie drama.

After calling all hospitals and making certain she was not an inpatient I now keep the phone off the hook and my close friends know to contact me via my mobile.
And I waited  until the family were in bed before I could sob on my husband's shoulder and pour out my fears, my anger and my disbelief anyone could make such a stupid prank phonecall given my daughter's very obvious mental instability.

And now I get to regurgitate it onto your shoulders because there's a shitload of more of the same I've bottled up and kept hidden behind a cheerfully, chirpy facade that is beginning to crack under the enormous strain.