Daily Archives: January 29, 2015

On Hols, Since 1986? No.

Acts like a tourist, & sounds like a tourist, does not necessarily = is a tourist

Acts like a tourist, & sounds like a tourist, does not necessarily = is a tourist

You’d think, after nearly 30 years amongst the heathens – sorry, in Doncaster – the locals would’ve stopped asking.

The scene: a market stall, a few weeks back. Me: purchasing a belt. Because, even in Doncaster, it’s not considered good form for your trousers to keep falling down.

Market trader: “How long are you on holiday?”

Me: “Nearly 30 years, and counting.”

Try and assimilate, and what do you get? Decades of daft questions, and poor attempts at American accents. Oh, and being told: “You’ve not lost your American twang.”

Twang? What am I, a bloody banjo?

I could, and quite probably will, whinge for both Britain and America about this. For the rest of my life, in triplicate, with church bells on.

Hatfield Churchyard, May 2012. I bet they have bells.

Hatfield Churchyard, May 2012. I bet they have bells.

This mongrel voice of mine may be as British as it’s going to get. Or perhaps my accent will rot down even further, like a pumpkin on a compost heap, and I’ll end up saying: “Like as ‘eck as not” like a good ‘un.

I’ve been thinking about assimilation, and mongrels – the human kind, not the ones that make puppy eyes at you til you splash out forty quid on squeaky toys, and dog beds – a lot. Because not only am I an Anglo-Romanian-American, I’m living in Muttsville, S Yorks.

I was quite honestly shocked when I realised that three of my local friends were actually born in Donny, rather than elsewhere in the UK. Up til then, most of my Doncaster friends had turned out to be originally from Notts, or Wiltshire, or were Army kids who previously lived in Germany and other parts abroad.

That’s not counting the neighbours and friends who moved here from Pakistan, the Czech Republic, Ireland, the Philippines, the West Indies, etc., etc. Or their children, who were born here, and boast the kind of Yorkshire accents I’m never going to achieve.
The flip side of having a mongrel Michigan-Yorkshire accent is that having met me, people tend to remember me. I’d like to think it’s down to great personal charm. Deep down though I know it’s because I have a voice that stumbles and bumbles its way between one continent, and a big county, in a bigger island.

A county and an island that I love: deeply, fiercely. Even, occasionally, despite myself.

So I’ve resigned myself to what remains of a lifetime of answering daft questions, and people taking the piss.

A  close up of the "Elephant and Mahout", from the 2012 exhibition, "The Elephant in the Room"

A close up of the “Elephant and Mahout”, from the 2012 exhibition, “The Elephant in the Room” (1)

Note: The Elephant in the Room” is an on-going project by Doncaster’s Richard Bell, who is known to many in Doncaster as “The Sandhouse Man”.

31 days of bipolar: day10

31 days of bipolar meme

10. Do you tell people you’re bipolar? Why/why not?

So far just close friends and nextofkin. There’s only one person I wish I hadn’t told, because now I don’t know who she’s told (and she will have done). Not worth worrying about though.

The reason I haven’t spread the word any more than that, is simply that I rarely talk to anyone except those close to me. I’ve also done enough very public activism, advocacy etc for queers and I’m middle aged and burned out at this point.

And that’s it.


No Narcotics, Day 1

So we will see how I do without the heavy pain meds today.  I have a slow day planned so as to not aggravate anything more than necessary.  So far it’s been a textbook recovery, too.  I haven’t had any bleeding since the day of surgery and am happy about that.  So far there doesn’t seem to be any interaction with my bipolar meds so that is good as well.  Hopefully all’s well that ends well. I plan to try to return to regular posting on Monday unless something happens. Until then, I’ll just keep you updated on my progress.

Thanks for all of you who have said you are praying for me, I certainly appreciate it and can feel them working,.  Have a good day!

happysadwtf linkdump

If you’re particularly desperate for bipolar celeb news, Carrie Fisher has lost weight for the new Star Wars. Well there’s a minor celeb thing that irritated me so much I put it right at the end.


Speaking of pirates (not that anybody was), here are two things my broke ass can’t find to watch and review without moolah:

Happy things:

“For me, I’m successfully living with my bipolar disorder — I’m not defined by it.”

You just have to keep the right people in your life. You have to keep people that care about you. You need to keep people that will show you the light, that will find you in the dark, no matter where you are.


Sad things:

Reading while depressed often leads to me going over the same paragraph with nothing sinking in whatsoever. My inability to soak up details or become fully invested in the story produces great frustration because I know how much of a voracious reader I used to be.

Maria believes that positive misconceptions are just as harmful as negative ones. “I’ve been called a crazy psycho b*tch by numerous people,” she says, “but there’s also a large number of people who see bipolarity almost as a quirky personality trait: ‘Oh, she’s bipolar, she’s so wild and kooky!’ Both views are equally damaging, and leave me feeling equally inadequate and insufficient as a human being.”

But Agidi-Jeffs was experiencing severe depression, manic episodes and suicidal thoughts, and shortly after the video was filmed, he was hospitalised and spent four months in a psychiatric hospital.


WTFuckwit things:


My autocorrect refuses to learn that after the word manic I add the word depression more often than not. I have to type depr otherwise the idiot gadget wants to make it manic deposit.

A Mother’s Perspective

Yesterday, my mother and I had a candid conversation regarding my mental and physical health. Of late, I am struggling with just how much both my bipolar and my migraines are affecting me. I’m missing work, my finances are suffering and I find that I just don’t care. I take a couple of baby steps forward and then I get knocked back a yard. I’m trying to step up and take control, start really and truly taking care of myself, as I always should have from the start. In discussing several options as far as work and finances go with my mother, she told me what it is like for her to see me suffering:

“It’s like you and I are out hiking and suddenly it starts to rain. It’s raining so hard the ground immediately turns to mud. I make it to cover and dry land, but you slide in the mud and fall down in a ravine.I try to grab you and catch you, but you fall so fast I can’t do it. I can see you from where I am, I’m throwing a rope to you to pull you up. The harder you try to get the rope, you can’t reach it. When you do reach it, I am able to pull you up a short distance but then the mud gets too much and you fall back down. Sometimes you just stop trying and I can’t get you to move. Eventually the sun comes out again and you walk back up the hill on your own power. But while it’s raining, you are miserable and nearly unreachable.”

Needless to say, I was pretty overwhelmed by what she said, and it added to the guilt I already feel for being a less than perfect kid. But she is true in that she never stops trying to reach me, to help me. She never asks me to be perfect, she just asks me to love myself. I wish I could, but I don’t know how. I’ve been battling myself and the things within me for so long I don’t know how to stop, how to accept that I am flawed but still worthy of love. I’m figuratively becoming paralyzed by the struggle, unable to work, to eat, to treat myself well. I’m either going to quit or get fired or wind up in the psych ward. But you can be sure the first person there to help me will be my mother, as always.

Filed under: Self Discovery, Wellness Warriors Tagged: bipolar disorder, depression, family, love, migraine, mother, pain, struggle

Back In The Shallow Again

Yeah, it just hit me today when I ventured back into the dish again per R’s request for “a visit”…and I was out 15 minutes before my precarious mental state slipped closer to the precipice.
The Aerosmith song “Back In The Saddle” screeched into my head with the word “shallow” instead of saddle.
Because I am in the fucking shallow end, the kiddie pool, of life, surrounded by people that vapid and lacking in emotional intelligence.
Now, I do know myself and my moodiness. This went beyond that.
I got to the shop and R’s friend S was there. Ok, she’s nice, she visits before she goes to work sometimes. No biggie.
But then her and R got into a conversation on “whiny” people who claim they are depressed and see a doctor when they have nothing to be depressed about.

That is the most ignorant, offensive mindset I’ve come across in my lifetime behind racism and homophobia.
And oh, yes, I opened my mouth.
And it just lead to a debate of, “Oh, this is my dad, you don’t know him, he’s in decent health for his age, he still has money, he has no reason to be depressed.”
OMG, the ignorance alone made my brain nearly implode.
I’m not an expert and even if her dad is the biggest malingerer on the planet…HER mentality is exactly what is wrong with a large part of society.
Depression doesn’t give a fuck if you are healthy, rich, have everything to live for. (Robin Williams ring any bells?)
It’s an illness. And when moronic people, even if well meaning, treat it so trivially…I get bent.
I walked away.

I knew I wasn’t ready to be back in the dish again, but after opting out for three days, I felt obligated to make an effort.
God, it was a mistake.
Because no sooner than I stopped gnashing teeth over the depression debacle…
R called a customer who said they couldn’t pick up their (electronic gadget of some sort) until they got paid on the 3rd.
So he went on a tirade about people on disability being useless bags of shit who expect everyone else to support their good times.


So I casually said, “Ya know, I’m on disability and when you say shit like that, I get offended.”
Rather than even think he might be, ya know, behaving like a dickhead, he said, “What, you think the rest of us should support you?”

At which point my mood became rather contentious. And he made note of it. Then when I didn’t laugh at some youtube thing he found funny, he told me I was being snarky.

I am no genius. Hell, I’m not even that great of a person.
But I am nowhere near the level of vapid asshole that I am surrounded by here at every turn.

On the plus side, I’m pretty sure I made my point when I told him, “You think you need someone here to keep you company every single day, be a big boy for once.”
Yeah, well, don’t start shit, won’t be any shit.
Polite is off the table in light of the unbridled rudeness and judgment those around me can fling about and still consider themselves such great human beings.

These great people who are already telling me I am a moron for taking back in a friend who hurt my badly. Well, I look back and think of all the people I hurt with my bad choices..I was not beyond redemption and neither is my friend. It’s the last chance, because I don’t have the strength for another knife in the heart and back.
But she was there for me several times over the years when no one else was and I am simply returning the favor. It’s what you do when you’re really a decent person and a good friend.
So while all these so called good people around me are so quick to judge me “you’re just gonna get fucked over again, don’t cry to us”…
Truth be told, I still trust her over them because she damn well knows she hurt me and she learned her lesson in a way that hurt her. Those around me think they are above causing psychological pain. Awareness of flaw and willingness to own it…That counts for a lot with me.

It just hit me like an epiphany today.
The world is a giant pool.
Most people spend their entire lives wading in the shallow kiddie end, having a grand old time, cooling off.
I’ve always liked the deep end, having to bob down to touch bottom and claw my way back up, enjoying the exhilaration of the dive in, the gasp of air when you burst through the surface.
No one would judge you for where you prefer to swim in a pool.
But because emotionally, I am the deeper end, I feel judged for not being shallow enough.

And the fact that the world at large is so shallow…
Makes my soul cry a few tears.