Daily Archives: August 12, 2014

The Good Fight

RobinI have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith.

Robin Williams was one of us.  Mood disorder, addiction, recovery, relapse—he fought the good fight with his mental illness and demons.  Like all of us he won and lost, won and lost.  How any of us find the strength to get up again is a miracle.  And Robin performed miracles all his life—in his art, in how he used his celebrity to support worthy causes, in his love for a family he couldn’t quite hold together, in the way he kept surprising and delighting us.  But, mostly in his struggle to rise after each defeat.

I understand how hard that is.  I understand how the strength stayed just out of reach this time.  I understand how much he must have wanted the pain to stop and simply to rest.

He feels like a brother to me in so many ways.  He touched me deeply , and I’ll miss him.

Rest well, Robin.

Calgon, get me the fuck outta here…

My kid is having a screaming mimi because I won’t let her sleep in my bed. “I want love!” She’s bellowing, like I’ve refused her hugs and shunned her. Pure manipulation. It’s pretty much every night. I’ve had to learn to let her cry. The only thing that appeases her is getting her own way, eactly as she wants it, so not amount of compromise will do any good.This is the most exhausting child I’ve ever known. People think, “well, it’s because she’s your responsibility and all the other kids you watched after eventually went home.” I wish. This kid is just difficult.

My brain won’t shut down. I need to sleep, I am expected at the shop in the morning. I need to be up early enough to put trash by the curb. I’m still trying to come up with some brilliant plan to get Bex back home but I’ve got…nothing. Fuck all. I don’t have a problem with her being here, but I also don’t want my ass in a sling for “harboring” someone here illegally.

I need answers. I have none. And while Bex is an adult and really needs to figure this out rather than resigning herself…I feel like those around me are expecting me to find a solution because I’m the one who put her on a bus therefore it’s my fault she missed her flight. Fucking Greyhound, fucking Chicago trains. Fucking fucking fucking all of it.

The hamsters are on the wheel and the wheel is squealing. I’m out of WD-40 and someone fed the brain hamsters amphetamines.

Just like those old commercials for the actual bath salts..Calgon take me away…

Get. Me. The Fuck. Out of my own head.

Nein, Doktor! Nein!

 And fucking blogger isn't cooperating. I don't have the patience to fix this. I have
tried 3 times already and everything looks normal from this end.

As usual, it's taken me forever to get back up on the horse and ride. Write. Whatever. The
last thing I've been working on (and still am) is restoring my computer and trying to find an
antivirus program other than the free norton one that is offered free with $hitcast, so that
they know everything you do. The other problem with that is that after some research into
some files that were installed after I deleted all my stuff, and allowed (mistake!) the
spouse to "restore to factory settings" or some shit, I found that M$ plants trackers in your
computer to log and monitor any use of tor browser! I've been accused by the spouse of being
"too paranoid", But I wanted to drop $hitcast's "free" norton because they dig into
everything you own, everywhere you ever go, or what ever you even touch. Some pretty nasty

I like my privacy. I would like to be able to turn on my computer and use it without
thinking, even that the internet is turned off, reports on every single key I hit are being
compiled, readied for transmission to the Computer Overlords, especially when you use tor
browser. Some reports are sent to an email address there as well as a prestigous "ivy league"
school. Some are encryped with some plain old english sprinkled in, some are directed to
write in python, which I believe you can learn off a famous school's website for free, to ID
the software user, and basically spy on them for no good goddamned reason. I never gave my
permission for that, nor did I see any mention of tor browser in any "user agreement" you
FUCKERS. Also, they infect your computer with google shit, so I would scour your computer for
that shit if you don't want that either.

Since my memory is shit, and I wiped so many programs, shortcuts, files and docs I had on the
desktop, it looks naked now, and I'm afraid that if I do remember what is missing, that I
won't be able to install it, and have a fear of downloading it, especially without any kind
of antivirus program. I sure as hell don't want to ask for help in doing these things because
he already fucked up my reset by not even asking me my preferences, just wanted to act like
he knew what he was doing.

Another reason why I don't like asking for help...

Bad news... my shrink suddenly came down with cancer and left for a really unspecified amount
of time... So far I've had to see Dr Nazi, who treated me like a common criminal that just
crawled out of the gutter, and made me take an alcohol/drug test just to get a refill on my
clonazepam for my fucking anxiety, that I have been taking for AT LEAST 10 YEARS, and have
not abused, but FUCKING NEEDED! DU SCHWEINHUND DUMKOPF DUMBFUCK IGNORANT SHITBAG! Take a course on psychompharmacology, you stupid cunt! I am not a drug or alcohol abuser, nor am I am idiot, fucking condescending Nazi cunt! I did not just crawl out of the fucking gutter with a needle in one arm, a cig in one hand, and a vodka martini in the other, dickhead!

I'm lost without my old shrink for meds for a while, and I feel so terrible for this man
that's been so good to me, so respectful, and trusting. A world-class dude. He would not give
up on me after all this time! The clock is ticking for me to find another shrink for the same
purposes that either knows him, that he has recommmended, that I can afford, that I can get
to easily, that won't talk down to me, that will keep me on the same meds, as they seem to be
working very well as appetite suppressants! Also, keeping the mood swinging down, the anger
and rage I used to feel is totally gone, at ALL times of the month. The only thing I notice
is I get a little weepy for a second or two at that time of the month. I did cry about my Dr's situation, because I honestly care for that man.

I get irritable, but not as bad as before at all. Things have just changed. I still have had
no anxiety attacks, except, I have noticed I am more anxious in the car than I used to be. The
sun has kept me inside, however, and by order of spouse, the death threat from the suspected
neighborhood drug dealer has kept me out of the garage under the building. So no trash or
recycling for me. Also not a good idea to be around in the side/entry of the building, with
the amount of non-fans I have who might want to pick a fight with me. And they are guys. I'm not afraid of those cunts. My old man was bigger, heavier, and louder than them. But we won't go there right now...

Fuck $tarschmucks, their fake fucking bullshit, their fake fucking Starbuckspeak. I do not
want to support that shit anymore, even if I have to suffer to go somewhere else. I want a
real fucking cup of coffee, not some overpriced frou frou shit with some stupidass name that
some fatcats sat at a table thought up, laughed about, and decided to inflict upon americans,
after creating and inflicting the english-american language Starbuckspeak upon the people.
And thou shalt learn it fluently, lest their "barista" bitches (male and female) shit their
pants should someone dare or or err in their order of something in non-Starbusckspeak! They
just may write up about you, calling you an "idiot" or worse, and write about their side of
the story in a site on Livejournal. Yes, that's what I have heard, or read, at least. I'll
use the place as a public toilet if I need to, and nothing more. There's gotta be other
places, like one hidden in the alley that's got plain old drip coffee like normal people used
to drink back in the day, wifi, and maybe an outlet or two? Back in the day where people when
to coffee shops to drink as much coffee as possible, smoke, and talk to each other, not play
with their fucking phones... If not, maybe one a short trip away. Where there are students,
there are coffee shops and wifi. My only problem is getting out of this cage, the sun, the
heat, water, and being able to find a decent toilet. I... GOT... TO... GET... THE... FUCK...
OUT... OF... HERE...

Usually, I tend to write more when I'm feeling shitty, I know it. But it's been too long and
all sorts has gone on. The best thing is my girl's in town, and I've been sort of rebuilding
a friendship online with another person that's suffering from physical and some psych shit,
poor thing, but she lives in the suburbs, unfortunately. She's having an impossible time
getting out on her own too. I'm going to try and make an attempt to meet up with her at some
point. I'm also hoping to stay with my girl for a few days and just be silly and forget about
everything for a while. Also get a break from the spouse taking all his shit out on me and
not owning up to it. I've had more than enough of it. I need to get away from him, and I'm
sure he'd be more than happy to drive me away from here so he could have time alone to
himself to do fuck all, as usual.

Next morning, I'm up at 5, it's dark, and I see the big, beautiful moon through the shades.
I'm exhausted, and all of a sudden my parade gets shit on by a combination of spousal non-
morning attitude and my own anxiety at the thought of puttinig on some clothes, and forcing
myself outside. Not just outside, but getting ready to go outside, and by that time, it will
be light. I'd have to take the bus, beg the driver for a discounted rate because my pass
expired, then take a ride downtown, getting off in the middle of real PEOPLE and what seems
like CHAOS! Fuck...

I felt so shitty, ashamed, down, like a fucking failure, an idiot, loser fucking ape on prescription meds that can't fucking leave this fucking place. I felt like throwing up and my head hurt, so I took a chance and took the aspirin. There wasn't going to be any treadmill for me.

Time just flew by as I had "Supernatural" going on in the background, and I just blew the whole day, and it turned my stomach so badly. I didn't want to think and so I lost myself literally by digging in the trash on the computer. Files that were supposed to be deleted from the browser, from the bin, from the "cleaner" app that I downloaded free years ago, and kept up to date. Yet I found this shit still hiding away in the computer. It even seemed m$n had even developed little profiles and all sorts of programs and commands to work around yours that get into anything and everthing that you have, where you go, what you do, proxy or not, and they save this shit. I noticed that tor browser and keeping an eye on your uploads and download times as well as scanning what you downloaded for every identifiable mark, code, number, crack, cert, note, you name it, and they are in cahoots with google, so you know I wiped those fuckers out of my computer as far as I could tell, but I will keep checking, and checking on some other bothersome shit. I don't know how I manage to spend so much time like that without going crazy or getting bored like ordinary people would. I guess because it's a big puzzle that will certainly never be solved by the likes of a self-declared technophobe like me. I felt especially sick when I came across this comment made in a document, "BA What are the odds that some idiot will name his mutex ether-rot-mutex!" Today, I officially name my "mutex" Ether-Rot-Mutex! Whateverthefuck.

I know I shouldn't be so down on myself for not making such a HUGE move today, and on a hot one, too, where I'd actually have to carry around water. That's one of those odd things that irritates me about people. I don't know why. I can at least feel a sense of relief that there were no new bills in the mail, but that I won't have the convenience of paying them online until I get a decent antivirus program, although I'm not totally sure wny when I'm already being spied upon by m$n, comca$t, google, and whoever manages to track me that I haven't blocked out. Plus the NSA, maybe the CIA and FBI too.

I hope the weather takes a terrible turn tomorrow, and there are thunderstorms with lightening and pouring rain! That way, I may actually want to get outside, and it may even get the spouse off of work for a bit, and he could come and get me, and take me down to get another bus pass. The more rain out, the less tourists and shit, less people on the buses. I'm telling myself anything I fucking can to ease the anxiety, talk it right the fuck out of my head. Do a rain dance, dreaming in my sleep. Pray to the Great Spirit for my baby, some loved ones, children who suffer, women who suffer, people dying over controlling people, land, stupid old religions, old grudges, money, and oil.

I'm almost glad now that I don't have access to the real news online, it's been making me insane enough on the morning fuckin tv - yelling at it and wanting to pull my hair out. I can't stand it. I'm "forced" to at least hear the tv news in the morning when I'm up at the same time as the spouse. He gets his news online. 

And now I finally shower and go to bed to lie in front of that fan in my underwear... Hopefully to be wakened by alarms and storms.

Turning A Corner

The world just tilted on its axis: today, Dr. Awesomesauce broached the subject of disability.

I couldn’t believe it. We have had this discussion before, and at that time he insisted that he’d never sign off on a disability claim because he believed I was perfectly capable of working full-time. But even though he still wants me to keep trying, and thinks I’m better off when I have “something to do” (as do I), he acknowledged that work, especially full-time work, might be too stressful for me. And while he didn’t come straight out and say it, he indicated that he would support my case if I were to file.


I think it had a lot to do with my latest tale of woe, which has (for the first time ever) completely flummoxed him. He was trying so hard to think of something, anything that would help, and after several rounds of pensive silence, he had to concede that he was pretty much out of ideas, although he did suggest Will and I should move sooner rather than later so we can cut our expenses. He also wants me to look at some of the clinics in his area that need nurses—we both think that clinic work might be doable—and consider moving the 25 miles to the north.

I couldn’t help but be touched by his efforts. It was obvious that he wants SO badly to be able to fix my life, or at the very least give me the tools to fix it, and it frustrates him that there really are no answers right now. Today we didn’t do much of our normal teasing and joking around; today was sober and serious, with the exception of the “Hello, Beautiful!” greeting I got when I came in. And though it wasn’t stated outright, we have turned a corner in terms of dealing with my disease and the changes that have taken place in my life as a result of it. And the truth is, in spite of excellent care, the disease limits me.

There. I said it.

That doesn’t mean I’m giving up. I have a lot more job-hunting to do, and hopefully a job to find, before I start the paperwork for disability. Dr. A did say it would be difficult (but not impossible) to get for mental health reasons, but knowing that it’s an option takes a little of the pressure off. Maybe if I can relax a bit, the desperation won’t show in my job applications and cover letters, and maybe even at some point I’ll stabilize to the point where we can decrease my medication a little.

He still isn’t a big fan of having me on two anti-psychotics for long periods of time, but as I’ve learned to my sorrow, it’s best not to fix that which is not broken. In fact, he was amazed at how calm I am under the circumstances and asked me if I was having any more thoughts of suicide, to which I truthfully answered No. (Robin Williams’ death today was a little triggering—I wish I didn’t understand that kind of desperation, but I do and wouldn’t wish it on anyone—but suicide hasn’t even crossed my mind since I went back on the full Zyprexa dose.) So he’s not going to try pulling the rug out from under me anytime soon, and that’s one less area of stress to deal with.

I think I will end up researching the Social Security website to see how to file for disability, even though I’m not planning on doing it unless I absolutely, positively cannot find a job I can handle. I know that no one who cares about me will judge me; in fact, this was about the 20th conversation I’ve had on the subject, and it probably won’t be the last.

To be continued…..





Robin Williams, Comedian and Actor, Dead at 63


Robin Williams was one of us. He will always be remembered. We love you.

Originally posted on TIME:

The Oscar-winning comedian and actor Robin Williams has died at 63, according to police in Marin County, Calif.

A statement from the assistant chief deputy coroner of Marin County announced on Monday that the Coroner Divisions of the Sheriff’s Office “suspects the death to be a suicide due to asphyxia, but a comprehensive investigation must be completed before a final determination is made.”

His publicist confirmed the news.

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