Digital Letdown in Snowspangled

Unlike the old, (crappy) tune about the digital getdown, which was definitely not a clean concept, I am experiencing digital letdown. I hate the sudden switch to online classes. I hate the broken schedule. I hate the fact that now the children are free from school and I will be forced to mete out resources until they either run out or I do.

Shrink assigned me to a crisis group. Unfortunately, that’s like DBT skills group. Only, this time, there’s no set agenda, so it’s basically 9 women in a broom closet howling with hysteria. I am supposed to keep things secret, but I’m not using names, so I don’t care. One lady was having suicidal ideation over the state of her walls in her house. One was upset because her poodle ate two pounds - let me say that again, TWO POUNDS - of chocolate. Dog lived. Expensively, naturally. But…she coulda put up that fucking chocolate, right? And of course, roommate problems abounded, which means that probably, every one of us is there NOT because we need more coping skills for mental distress but because we cannot access enough resources to change our lives for the better.

How the fuck is telling me to watch a couple tv shows and journal more going to handle food insecurity? Kitty’s dab of juvenile schizophrenia? Spouse’s lack of contact with the fucking Earth? This is shit that’s beyond me, but I have to keep it all together and march on anyway. I need real help. Distress tolerance techniques are nice enough if you can USE them, but…but they do shit to change the problem.

Fucking Kaiser. I’ll probably die from the bleeding end (and isn’t it sick that when it starts up again down there I feel relief with the cramps? (It felt congested and swollen down there while I waited for this bleed to kick in)) but if I don’t, I’ll end up highsiding it out of a Behavioral Health window. Probably during this shitty group therapy. Can’t they just do what I need? Chop the fucking uterus out. Either dope me to the ears for the damn neverending anxiety or help me get away from him so I can figure out which end is up! But no. They’re crusading for my right to have another baby (no, fuck you, I’m 40, and one Down’s syndrome birth is ALL I EVER WANT THANK YOU SHE BROKE MY HEART) but I’m fighting to survive.

But I’m so fucking tired. And scared. What if I’ve come this far just to come this far? What if I don’t manage to find a job and I still have loans and shit?

What if this never gets any better?