Daily Archives: December 1, 2015

Just sitting here, thinking.

IMG_0079

I should be in bed, with a bag of ice on my head, but I sit here, with a nauseating migraine, looking at the graceful remains of the thanksgiving flower bouquet that I had so lovingly arranged, still beautiful, in its languorously droopy way. I am on a self prescribed lithium holiday! With the blessings of my psychiatrist, yes, really.  Still on Seroquel. And don’t worry, I’ll go back on the necessary, yet difficult to swallow, lithium soon, very soon, tomorrow in fact. My right hand, which shakes like a leaf when I am on 900 mg of lithium, has finally started shaking like a flag in a mild breeze. Only my right hand has tremors, not my left hand, and yes, I am right handed. My friends remark on it with horrified eyes, I tell them this tremor is the least of my worries. I tell them they should peak into my quaking brain when I am in the midst of mania or depression. Unfortunately, this mostly passes by, unregistered,  un-understood. But I can’t really blame them, they, and how fortunate they are, have no frame of reference with which to understand my statement.

My mind is awhirl. Going to Buffalo tomorrow for my son’s birthday :-) He is 25 years old! I gave birth to him a quarter of a century ago! How did that even happen! My adorable, blue eyed baby turned into my handsome, loving, adored young man!

ARAL 5 mos and meAral, 5 months old!

Aralster and me!Aral, 24 years old!

Then, I’m going to Pakistan at the end of this month, I will be seeing my aunt and giving her all my love. Can’t believe it’s December already. How time just takes upon its wings and soars. And we are left standing, graying and wrinkling, in its dusty wake. Oh come now, you are alive, you are healthy, yes, healthy, you want for nothing, you have family and friends whom you love and are loved by in return! What more can you ask for?

Well, I have to go pack for my trip now. I’m hoping this unforeseen and thoroughly unwanted migraine takes flight soon, before I have to get on my flight.


Rahm Delivers: Stop Police Mayhem!

http://www.foxnews.com/us/2015/12/01/chicago-police-supt-garry-mccarthy-fired-reports-say/

Finally some meaningful action in reaction to the shooting of a teenager who was holding a knife.  The incident happened in 2014.

The cop who shot the teen 16 times has since been convicted of first degree murder, a real step forward in this culture of protecting police who murder.

But Mayor Rahm Emanuel took it one step further, giving the boot to the Superintendent of Police in Chicagoland. 

I hope this will be the start of a trend to hold police AND their supervisors legally responsible for their actions.  Police are not above the law!  And even if the kid had a knife…there are many ways of subduing a suspect without using a gun.  Even if the cop felt his life was truly in danger, it doesn’t take 16 bullets to neutralize one kid with a knife.


Personal Growth and Goals

I've been thinking a lot about personal growth and pursuing dreams. This fall I started graduate school for my Master's in Social Work. And two weeks ago I started a beginner's course in Spanish. Both have been longstanding goals for me. And I'm finally in a place to pursue them.

I also want to be more deliberate about exercising consistently and eating healthy. There are so many benefits to exercising, both mental and physical. I want to reap the rewards. I also want to stop gaining weight. Between late last year and earlier this year I lost about 35 pounds. Weight that I had gained from one of my psychiatric meds, However, I've since gained back about 17 of those pounds. Lately I feel extra hungry and just eat nonstop. I'm sure it's a side effect of one of my meds. So I need to be proactive and cut back on my portion sizes, make better food choices, and exercise again.

The last goal I have for myself is to get my driver's license. I have a lot of anxiety and fear around driving. That's why I'm a non-driving 32-year-old. I took driver's lessons a few months ago, but then I didn't go to my road test. I'm hoping to kick this fear and get the daggone license once and for all. Wish me luck!

Lastly, I wanted to ask you all: what have you been putting off? What do you want to do? Hobby, career, fitness/health/nutrition, etc? We get a brand new month today. How are you going to use it to get one step closer to the YOU you'd love to be?

Let's become our best selves together!

Back to Life-life

I feel much better today and have gotten a lot more accomplished–laundry, cleaning up, and doing homework. I think listening to some Christmas music has helped also :).  Watched the big Charlie Brown Christmas 50th Anniversary special last night with the young one and Bob and enjoyed that.   We have the original on VCR tape and it and the remakes on DVD. So theoretically we can watch it whenever we want. But we try to save it for Christmas time and watch it if we miss the TV showing.  Or if we just feel like it during the season :)

We’ve got to figure out a way to get to the Christmas trees.  THe path through the storage room where they are is blocked up with junk.  I don’t know how it happened, but we’ve got to clean it out before we can start decorating.  I’m queasy about  moving it because it’s gun cases that I don’t know if they are empty or not and I don’t know where to put anything–it’s all my husband’s stuff.  I just want to get decorated before my daughter gets home from college next week.

It’s rainy and cold out and that’s not doing much for my mood.  I know it has to get cold sometime for it to be winter, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.  Before Christmas it’s all right, but afterward I just want spring to get here and the weather to lighten up.  Luckily it usually does about mid-February.  So it’s not really all that long to wait.

I have one nibble for teaching the creative writing class next semester.  If that’s the only one to sign up, I may do it all online.  I’ll have to think about that.  I need at least two to do it in a classroom setting. SO pray for people to come to decisions about taking it and seeing how things go.,

Hope everyone has a good week!

 

 

 

 


Irate

Well, I don’t know what my problem is but I bet it’s hard to pronounce. I woke up in a pissy state. Traffic taking my kid to and from school just made me angry and irate. Ya know it’s never a good sign when you’ve said “for fuck’s sake” ten times and it’s not yet eight a.m.

I think part of it is, my panxiety is off into the stratosphere. The maintenance people are working one trailer down (it’s been empty three years, bout fucking time they clean it up) but there’s lots of trucks and slamming doors and guys yelling. It just makes me paranoid and nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. So I become irate. I am gonna have to take a Xanax before I head out for dish duty.

Oh, yes, his highness beckoned last night. After I’d gotten comfy in vanilla bean blankie fort and taken my sleepy time meds…Then he got irked cos I was sorta out of it. FFS, I’ve said not to call after nine over and over and yet…Fuck you.Besides, it’s my right to be monosyllabic at any hour, especially on the phone. I hate fucking phones. And of course, his iphone doesn’t get along with my tracfone or Magicjack/droid phone so there’s distortion and he bitches…GRRRR.

So I guess I went batshit tirade in my last post about his latest douchebaggery but I didn’t elaborate and this left some confused or feeling shortchanged. I was so stressed last night cos of the spawn acting out, it didn’t even occur to me to explain.

I’ve discussed how we do this barter system thing. I do something for him, he gives me his credit card to get things I gotta have. Well, then there’s him coming over when his wife’s out of town at work and he needs an entertainer monkey (me) so he’s constantly handing me the card to go get him more beer, or get us both smokes.

Thing he is, by then he’s usually six sheets to the wind so he forgets.

When the credit card bills came in, he went fucking ballistic. Adding things up, adding again, carrying on about having a $170 balance when it should have been under a hundred. And I point out the charges he okayed and he looks all baffled and says, “Are you sure I okayed that?”

Seriously, you fuckwad? How else would I get the credit card if you didn’t hand it to me?

THEN he calls the credit card company and puts it on speaker while he waits and this nice woman answers…and he starts yelling and cursing her because he’s only gotten X amount of skymiles over 2o years and it was just like…OMG, you’re drunk, shut the fuck up. She’s got nothing to do with corporate policy.

I just can’t wrap my brain around his logic. I’ve had access to AmEx info for four years now. I coulda done some serious damage with his 14 k limit. So why the fuck would he spaz out over seventy dollars of charges he okayed but was too drunk to remember?

And it’s not just when he’s drunk, he pulls the same shit while sober. Swear he didn’t say or do something when I damn well know that he did. (Yea, playing “messing with Sasquatch with the crazy lady isn’t fucking wise, dumbass.) Just…be fucking honest. Get your shit together.

“I don’t get drunk and I don’t forget things.”

Bullfuckingshit.

He also spazzed over a thirty dollar charge cos I won an auction on ebay and because Paypal’s been dicking me around all month I used his account and he okayed it up to a certain amount. Then it comes in and he’s all like, “You can come in tomorrow and help me and we’ll write that off…” After a ten minute discussion in which his drunk ass assumed the total charge was sixty when I was trying to tell him it was only thirty and 1/3 was shipping charges. JEBUS.

So he wanted me there first thing this morning. It’s 9 and I’m not even dressed. Part of it is…Ha ha. I am waiting for my mom to repay me the twenty she owes cos the car is on E. I don’t mean near E. I mean “hold my breath and hope I can get 1/4 mile to the gas station” E. Fuck. My horrorscope, to top it all off, informed me I am gonna have foot in mouth disease today and offend people with my lack of social skill.

Ha ha ha ha. Life is hysterical.

I need to breathe. And take a Xanax. And install a mute button on myself cos I can’t be trusted to turn off the snark and avoid the whole social faux paux thing.

Happy flipping Tuesday.

I already want alcohol.

 

 

 


pity party of one at the suffering olypmpics

“In those years, that marvellous mess of constellations, nebulae, interstellar gaps and all the rest of the awesome show provoked in me an indescribable sense of utter panic, as if I were hanging from earth upside down on the brink of infinite space, with terrestrial gravity still holding me by the heels but about to […]

Invasion of the Zombie Day-Traders

Dead AliveThe down-side of taking high-powered antibiotics and steroids is that they wipe out your microbial Security Team and hold up the process of sending in replacements.  This leaves a person vulnerable to opportunistic infections, those Wall Street-type pathogens that sniff out weakness and engineer a hostile take-over.

I got a wicked sore throat last week.  When I bought a little flashlight to get a good look, I can only describe the scene as Wes Craven-esque.  When I stopped screaming, I pulled out my dusty nurse-lore.  What I worried about being a strep infection was, in fact, thrush.  Two words, then I won’t traumatize you any further: Cheesy.  Pustule.  Now back away slowly from Google, grab up your shotgun, and run.

But all is not Night of the Living Dead-Serious.  My physical hobgoblins haven’t triggered any mental ones—other than a few wisps of depression that passed like cabbage-induced air biscuits (Oh, how I love fart humor.  Go here if you do, too).  And my friend, Linda, sent me some major distraction.

She used to own a shop in Minneapolis that sold crystals, semi-precious stones, jewelry and pan-spiritual gifts and tools.  She also let me try to sell my cards there.  The shop closed several years ago, and Linda stowed boxes and bags of inventory while she took care of other life-business.  Last week she sent me a twelve-pound box of beads, cabochons, broken bits, and a big grab-bag of unsorted stuff—mostly seed beads and tiny shells.  Linda’s clear-out was my Merry Christmas!

Chair VictorSo, after I gargle and swish my new medicine (sort of a cross between Milk of Magnesia and Lysol), I fight Henry for the good chair, then sit at the table and sort.  Henry likes to sit with me when I’m at my studio, but doesn’t care for the straight-backed chair that goes with the old dining table.  Even when I tart it up with his Girlfriend (a purple throw that he romances regularly), he still shuns it for my comfy, rolling desk chair.  He casts the Evil Cat Stink-Eye until I switch chairs with him.  If I’m not fast enough, he climbs in behind me and wedges me out.  Giving up the chair is a matter of self-preservation, not indulgence.  Other cat-keepers will understand.

Sorting BeadsIt’s a fine way convalesce: a hot mug of apple cider and green tea at one elbow next to my blazing Happy Light, one cat snoring at the other elbow while another swirls around my ankles, my Pandora station filling the air with The Civil Wars and Dave Matthews, a gallon of goodies to sort.

Oh, and then there’s the shotgun in the corner—just in case.

ψ


Oh Right… This

I’ve decided as of this morning that I am going to move all the Seroquel back to night time starting tomorrow. This month has been miserable with the fogginess, and I’m not convinced that it’s helped with depression (which is why I shifted it around in the first place). I think giving it a month was a fair go. I also think that my level of functionality has completely gone out the window for having to deal with the morning fog crap though. Like, chores? Ahahaha, nope. Work? Not really. I’ve managed to do my two daily blogs, and occasionally flipping through y’alls posts and commenting, but not nearly to the point or depth that I would have liked to.

At least, if my last post is any indication, I should have a fairly immediate return to morning functionality. I look forward to that. The whole thing is somehow even worse for the fact that I wake up, feel vaguely alert, take meds, then start falling asleep again. That’s just the rudest shit, let me tell you. Add in having a childling that likes snuggles before naps and my inability to nap (tl;dr it makes me feel ill, physically and mentally) and that making me drowsy… eargh.

So yeah, why did I move them around in the first place. I think it was to see if I could do something about depression. I’m not sure if it did much since I’m pretty sure I’m still going through some low grade crap (though not seasonal; I freaking love winter and the dark). It might have, but the level of fog makes it all so freaking completely not worthwhile. I could feasibly ask my psych to up my antidepressant again next time I see her if it starts to spike again.

Anyways, hope y’all out there are doing well, and hopefully I’ll start making the rounds again a bit better soon.

<3

DNA Repair Protein BRCA1 Implicated in Cognitive Function and Dementia

BRCA1 in neurons_2130x1198

Wow! The BRCA1 gene, mutations in which lead to breast cancer, has now been implicated in cognitive functioning, dementia and the development of Alzheimer’s disease!

BRCA1 is a tumor suppressor gene, this encodes a protein that repairs DNA mutations. If these mutations in the DNA were not repaired, the cell would become cancerous. So the repair of these mutations suppresses tumor formation, hence the term tumor suppressor gene. If there is a mutation in BRCA1, the mutations in DNA will not be properly repaired and can lead to oncogenesis.

What’s very surprising is that these genes, first discovered in relation to breast cancer, have now been seen to have an important role in neurons! In post mortem studies, it was seen that BRCA1 was 65-75% lower in patients who had dementia than in normal controls. It was found that β amyloid (the proteins that accumulate in brains of people with Alzheimer’s,) depletes BRCA1 in neurons. Faulty DNA repair was known to occur in the neurons of people with Alzheimer’s, now with the involvement of BRCA1, it makes perfect sense.

BRCA1 is involved in Alzheimer’s disease, wow! Could it or some other DNA repair proteins be involved in mental illness?

As I said in another post about why elephants don’t get cancer (https://bipolar1blog.wordpress.com/2015/10/11/wow-this-is-the-reason-why-elephants-dont-get-cancer/), elephants have 40 copies of a particular tumor suppressor gene called p53, whereas humans have two. I wonder if overproducing BRCA1 in neurons, either by increasing the number of its gene or by delivering the BRCA1 protein in nanoparticles into the neurons of people with dementia, would that halt dementia, or at least slow it down?

Curiouser and curiouser… it is all interconnected!

Breast cancer proteins seen in dementia; neurotransmitters, neuronal messengers, seen in the gut and muscles; interleukins, immune cell molecules, present in the brain…

http://gladstone.org/about-us/news/dna-repair-protein-brca1-implicated-cognitive-function-and-dementia

 


Snap, crackle, SPLAT!

Morgue knows a little about this, a little about that

What Morgue knows best is when moods go SPLAT

Everything that goes up must come down. As usual, I felt myself being tugged downward all day and then came the crash landing into Splatland. My kid started acting out big time for the first time in days. I’m still running on that ninety minutes of sleep from last night so I am tired and cranky. The cold and rain have motivated me to want nothing but vanilla bean blankie fort and unconsciousness sleep brings.

Suddenly everything seems stupid. Pointless. Counterfuckingproductive. All the mental health pros and their advice to not withdraw, to interact with others cos it “will help.” LIES LIES LIES.

People are the biggest double edged sword you can find in life. You pour out your heart and soul, thinking your sincerity is returned, only to realize…AGAIN…They’re doing that sin of omission or flat out lying thing all the while telling you YOU got it all wrong. Soo bloody sick of people’s bullshit.

I can handle corrupt people. I can  handle those out to save their own ass. Just admit what you are, don’t bullshit me . (Can anyone say R-sole?)  People too fucking weak to admit their own corruption are people I can’t waste time on. I mean, my litmus test since age 18 for whether to trust a guy was, if he says “I’m trustworthy, I swear….” RUN SCREAMING INTO THE FUCKING NIGHT.  Because ya know what’s worse than simply being an asshole? Being a LYING asshole. Admit you’re a jerk who will probably at some point fuck me over in some way…I can respect and roll with that. Promise me sunshine beams and puppies with curly q tails…I assume you’re lying. And the thing with liars is, they never stop lying so even when confronted with evidence or witnesses of their wrong doing, they continue making the denials, omissions, and everyone is wrong but them.

I don’t even know what the fuck that is.

And before anyone gets on a high horse and goes for a pony ride…WE ALL LIE. It’s a fact, not just a line from House. Even the finest most decent upstanding religious people lie, be it with a sin of omission or the socially polite “You look great” when inside they are screaming FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, THAT DRESS MAKES HER LOOK LIKE SHE STOLE THE BIG TOP FROM THE CIRCUS!. Lying is the human condition, anyone who says otherwise is wrong. Just being a parent and playing along with satan,er santa, and the easter bunny and tooth fairy qualifies us as liars. Oh, that’s different, though, right? Not really. Because you can lie for good, to spare feelings, to give a kid a more magical childhood…

But lying because you’re lacking the nards to face up to what you said or did…(R-sole)…Beyond uncool. Not even worth my fucking derision but I’ll be damned if I am keeping it inside to poison me.

Just…damn. Every time I start to think maybe I am the problem, I am too negative, too misanthropic, too damaged, too paranoid and suspicious….Some ass clown dish dweller has to prove me right to be all those things and have such contempt for mankind. I wasn’t born this way. Lying backstabbing fake ass people throwing me under the bus to save their own asses made me this way.

That and the bipolar. Oh, and probably that nasty disposition gene that runs in my family…

Just grrrrrrr.

This is why I stick to fiction soup. Real people just disappoint. At least in books, on tv, or in my own writing they get a chance at redemption, to grow as a person, to prove people can actually change. Guess that’s my fairytale.

So I am disillusioned, feeling a knife protruding from my back all in the name of “friendship” and the depression has me fairly certain that no matter how many passes on this hamster wheel of life I make…It’s never gonna get any better. Because while everyone else wants money and fame and success and true love….

I just want to meet a few people who are what they claim to be. No facades, no front, no deception or denial. “I’m a drunken asshole who will probably call you a fatass.” Great opening line.

My reply: “Great, I already assumed you were an asshole with a drinking problem so I’ll be calling you a jackass, idget, and dumbass every other sentence.”

*Mutual high fives*

I just want something real in my life.

Sadly the realest things keep turning out to be fictional characters.

I’m partly to blame cos I am damaged to the nth.

But when someone gives you cart blanche to be honest, no judgment, and still you lie to them repeatedly…

Sometimes I really wanna take Jason Vorhees’ machete and hack away at the ties that bind. I’m not perfect but I sure as hell have after 20 years earned some damned honesty and respect for being smart enough to handle that honesty.

I should have just stuck to my original philosophy: “If a person’s lips are moving or their fingers are typing, they’re lying.”

Lying until proven otherwise.

I hate these venomous moods. And I think the only fix is a brain reboot. I need fort blankie’s comfort and a few purring cats nearby.

Besides…a brain reboot ain’t gonna change the fact that Morgue don’t do social. My social skills are limited to that of a chimpanzee. If you expect more…you will be continually disappointed.

Least I have the balls to be honest about it which is more than I can say about  many of the people in my life.

“I didn’t say that, you’re remember it wrong…You took it out of context…”

When I finally snap…And I am whacking away at their heads with a sixty pound bronze Buddha statue…I shall tell them, amidst the bloodshed and their cries and screams, “I did not hit you, you misunderstood. I am just exuberantly high fiving your skull with this statue.”