Daily Archives: April 7, 2015

A Room with a View


If I could be magically transported to any place, any “room”, there’s no doubt where I would want to go. It would be my own brain.

As you can see from the beautiful map above of my brain there are lots of rivers and tributaries to explore. There might even be a lake or two. And we all know about those deep, wet, swampy folded areas.

This isn’t just a pleasure journey. Oh, no. This is a rehab job. You’ve seen those DIY shows on TV? Well, this is like that. We’re going in there and fix some things up. We might have to knock down some walls and change out plumbing but that’s okay. We’ve got the budget.

I’m taking along some apprentices. Anna and Tanya are deeply depressed. Denise has bipolar. Ted deals with suicidal urges, and Gina with wild mania. Ron is just real sad. We’re going to have to watch Gina but the rest of them will be easy to have along. They’re not complainers. They’re pretty tough people. The good news is that we have a guide. He’s seen it all twice.

We’re going in a raft-like vehicle. Sort of a cross between “The Magic School Bus” and whitewater rafting. We’ve got tools…lots of them.

A small snip and we’re in. We paddle away like crazy and let our guide know we want to get to “hunger”. We’re sick of hunger. We all take meds and they make us hungry. After we get everything fixed today, we won’t need meds (we hope!) but we’re not taking chances. We get to the right valve and make a quick turn. No more overeating! No craving sweets. No embarrassment over weight gain. Some depression is lifting already.

It’s hard to hang on with the rapid water but we’re going to get on to exercise. With less hunger, we’ll be thinner. And able to move more freely. Our guide uses his machete to cut a piece of the depression net away.

As we go, there’s an overlay of black net. It has a pulsing quality to it. Everyone except Gina recognizes it. But when we hit it, we just chop and keep moving. I look back and I’m getting a grin from the depressed people. I know I’m on the right track.

Gina can’t wait to get to our next stop…hypomania…and Ron has to hold her in the raft. But we’re not interested at all in that dangerous mania, the overspending, hypersexual, job losing mania…we just want a slight hypomania. I’m going to use it to maintain my energy and get a lot of good done.

All of us smile at the next stop, kindness. There’s a wall to knock down here. It’s fear. Fear from years of hiding with depression and not really being able to show my true self. There’s a lot of excitement in the boat about kindness. At the last minute, Anna nails up a shelf for forgiveness. We all approve. The smiles are getting a tiny bit bigger.

There’s clot of depression up ahead. It’s a bad tangle. But we are patient and we get through it. We have some time to think and we decide to head to good memories. We jury rig some sort of wire thing up to replay a loop over and over of good memories. Not too far down the river, we hit bad memories. There’s a lot of fear here, but our guide says we can make it. He leads us into making a one time loop of bad memories. I pick out the ones I can fix and throw the rest away. I save that loop for later. I know I will fix the memories I can fix.

We’re getting better with our machetes. The depression is becoming almost fun to cut away. We sail around to intelligence and artistry. There isn’t a whole lot to do here, just some cosmetic changes.

Oh, god. I knew it would be here. The one I was dreading, anxiety. But Ted tells me the “bones” of it are good and it just needs the floors refinished. Sure, we can do that. We adjust it so we only have anxiety at the right times.

We’re on a roll now. There’s a lot of energy and enthusiasm in the boat. One more stop, faith, and we all give a huge sigh of relief. We knew it was there, it was just hard to find.

Amongst a round of hugs, we reorganize our gear and take a breath. Gina’s brain is waiting.

Dawn Mumble

You stole all the blankets, I find, and then / you're up at the crack of six / (Isn't that some kind of sin?)

Where Have I Been?

That’s a good question.
I mean, that’s a REALLY good question.

See, I went to Michigan to pick up my little RV, whose name is Jenny–like a female mule, you know–and proudly took possession of her on March the 4th.

My life changed immediately upon climbing up into her new-smelling, spiffy cab, and trundling off into the not-quite-wilderness, as I spent my first night parked under the glaring lights of a friendly Wal-Mart.

They had every right to be friendly, as I spent hundreds of dollars provisioning for what was to become one of the most liberating, exhilarating months of my life.

I did not open my computer even once.

I did not check my email.

I did stop at my friend Jan Bloom’s, in Paw Paw, Michigan, and commissioned a totally custom-built tenor guitar.  Jan is a crackerjack luthier, and a very much adored pain in the ass.

Then I headed off the beaten path and into some wild and wonderful adventures.  Pictures to follow.

Now I am boondocking in my own driveway.  (“Boondocking” is RV lingo for camping without an official campsite.)  I tried to dump the black tank (the shitter) into my outhouse, since the black tank is getting rather full, but the discharge hose wouldn’t reach, so that means I have to find someplace with a dump station and pay money to dump my excreta.

Come to think of it, my “house batteries,” which run the lights and everything else, could use a good plug-in, since I’ve been charging them off the engine generator and it’s been too cloudy to get the coveted assistance my solar panel adds on sunny days…so tomorrow night will likely be at some local overpriced campground that has no better scenery than I already have in my driveway, which sits on a cliff above the North Toe River.

You may think it strange that I am sleeping in my camper in my own
driveway, but Jenny and I have a special bond…

How To Write An Offensive Or Boring Post

My blog.

Bore, offend, invite trollfucks…I am a full service blogger here.
I’ve also come to believe I am flypaper for number floozies. I will pick up a follower, reciprocate by following them, then suddenly I’m down a follower.
If you do shit like that…I hope I offend you. Shallow people deserve to be offended. I can Unfollow is just as easily if that’s your game so think twice. I have a voodoo doll…

What can I say about today…
I bottled up my vitriol just to keep the peace.
That lasted about four hours. During which I did nothing but get dispatched to WalMart (trauma pay should have been included) and watch the latest X Men movie while listening to R carry on about how great his weekend was, his amazing his kids and grandkids are. When I tried to join the conversation, ya know, like mentioning my weekend…As usual, it’s ignored and right back to busted shit or his family or well, HIM, anything in his orbit. I still remember during his custody battle when both parents had to go in for a psych eval and I told him he was going to be labeled a narcissist. He swore I was wrong.
Yet that was his diagnosis and I don’t think a nail has ever been hit more squarely on the head.
He still denies it which is all the proof I need that I have evolved yet he has not. Which means I should take anything he says or does with a grain of salt.
Anyway…I got my Focalin, and I told him I’ll continue to not answer my phone if it suits me.
I may have to suffer fools but I don’t do it silently.
Why limit who I offend, the more the merrier.
Besides, dealing with him after 7pm once the beer starts flowing, not even Mother Theresa would fare well there. Much better when he sobers up. (Not that he drinks too much, just 96 ounces a night, seven nights a week…Denial is gorgeous.)

My mood was low earlier but also was my anxiety.
Then I took the first Focalin. Ok, the generic stuff.
In what I can only call amazing and maybe too good to not be a placebo effect…I actually feel calmer now that my brain has slowed down and is on some sort of track. I have a headache but otherwise, no side effects. It’s one dose and I need to be cautiously optimistic but…
It’s 7 pm and I haven’t hit rock bottom and slithered off the bedroom crypt. This is progress, of a sort.
Who knows, in a week’s time I might actually write a post that makes sense even to the mundanes, I’ll be so focused.

Or I could sprout wings and grow a unicorn horn and become a pegacorn.
Maybe that’s why I keep tying knots in the end of my rope. You never know what is around the corner in this life.
Hell, it might even be something good.

I think the pharmacy gave me acid, I am apparently tripping balls with that optimism shit.