Daily Archives: June 1, 2018

Inside Out

So there I was, so proud of myself for performing basic hygiene and making an effort to not appear like a hag…And I went out in public with my shorts on backwards. OOPS. What’s a girl to do? Find a bathroom, go back home…Nope. This girl just turned them inside out behind the wheel in wide open. Why? Because I bloody well can and really don’t care who likes it. Nothing to see here but some zebra striped undies, perverts, move along…(See??? Getting the appointment and trip to town over with and getting home safely instead of the car stranding me brought back my piss and vinegar!)

I’ve started rocking the ‘that’s not appropriate for your age!” hairstyle of pig tails to keep the sweaty hair off my neck and I’ve gotten several compliments. So fuck you, 45 year olds can rock pig tails! Oddly, it’s men who have complimented. Women giggle and tell me I’m way too old to wear my hair this way. (Though a dye job would be an improvement, I admit.)

(And yes, I have a Tardis poster on my bedroom door…EX…TERM…INATE…DALEKS ROCK!)

So…some little toddler boy in the doctor office waiting room for whatever reason decided I looked like a good playmate and kept rolling a ball to me. I played along, of course, even though I am wary of doing so lest the adults think it’s some weird pedo thing. Idk, kids have always liked me and I think kids are a pretty good judge of character sometimes, they sense a kindred spirit. Because, hey, deep down, I’m just a kid who loves soda pop, Pop Rocks, and Pinky And The Brain.

The appointment with Dr. H was a disappointment because she refused to raise my Cymbalta dose, erring on the side of caution and ‘well, it’s only been 3 weeks at this dose, it can take six weeks to fully kick in, your med sensitivity makes me reluctant to do anything knee jerk that could harm you.” Pfft. I was in a depression so long, I guess knee jerk is my go to response but I admit, she has a very valid point. She advised me to make sure with my kid out of school that I take plenty of time for myself and get breaks so I don’t get as overwhelmed but she thinks I am doing a great job. (I didn’t mention the inside out shorts, we all have brain fade, right? RIGHT???) All in all, while she wasn’t on board with my (not necessarily right) wishes…she has the right idea, caution.

Bad thing is, when I went to schedule for six weeks…they took my name and number and said they’d call me when they decide who to assign me to. Which must mean they hired someone new and that is terrifying. I was resigned to going back to doc nurse, which could still happen, but then again, human nature being spiteful as can, since I switched from her she might not want me back. Whatever. Though the next time I am expected to get the lithium level bloodwork done and I hate that shit. Needles and blood aren’t my big thing, it’s going into the damn hospital that nearly killed me with misdiagnosis. Okay, it was 18 years ago but still…I just hate going there. Had they not basically held my newborn hostage, I’d have been out of that place 2 hours after giving birth, I dislike it that much. And well, being honest, I just don’t like hospitals, period. But you tend to hold a grudge against one that resulted in you getting brain damage because you were misdiagnosed and denied proper treatment.

The stress came when driving in 91 degree heat and the damn ‘low coolant’ light kept flashing on the car and the gauge kept rising. I was petrified and my dad checked the coolant last night, it’s full so that means…another malfunctioning gauge, ffs. I almost wish I hated this car then I could be all vindictive about its flaws but I really love Blanca. I may have lusty-drool issues for Mustangs and Camaros, especially the 60’s classics, but my Lumina suits me beautifully. It’s the newest car I’ve ever owned, which I suppose isn’t saying much, as it’s a 2001 and only cost $450. YES, you can get a car that cheap that actually runs in the midwest, one word-auction. Still, working gauges would be wondermous but I will cope. And my Xanax dose was down, oh, well.

I made it home after the necessary stops, including paying rent and am just enjoying me time. Spook’s little friend wanted to play but we were gone and now they’re in Peoria getting the dad’s other son for summer visit so, woohoo, I may have a break from running free daycare. Though the half brother is 15, can’t see him much wanting to hang out with a 5 year old. Today, though, I am getting a break.

EXCEPT, the landlord came knocking an hour after I paid JUne rent in person. His little ledger book indicated I was $725 in arrears. Um NO. I owe $325 toward deposit, but all rent is current. We finally got it straightened out. I paid March rent on February 28th so he credited it to February but we didn’t move in until the 1rst of March,the missing security deposit is what is confusing him most. (Hey, guys, fundraiser is still open here, unless you’re donating to that ridiculous minister with three airplanes who now wants his flock to raise fifty plus million to buy another jet cos flying commercial means sitting next to demons-and I’m the crazy, greedy one????) Hopefully since the landlord wrote it all down we are squared now.

Ugh, who knew paying rent early could result in such a clusterfuck.

Now I have about an hour before they bring Spook home so I am going to mindlessly chill out. Because if she finds out her little friend may be gone for awhile she is going to start rioting and tantruming and I will need my bloody rest.

Thing is, when she isn’t being an emotional terrorist…the kid has crazy creativity that just cracks me up. Example: a zombie virus broke out in her dollhouse the other day so she made Giraffe his own biohazard suit from a baggie. This kid is fucking brilliant! And I pray not in a Theodora Bundy way.

My little unicorn.

Again…donate if you can cos we’re not asking for a jet, we’re fine traveling with demons…or just share because you care.

Kanye West, Welcome to the Club.

Hello Kayne.

Everyone here has been waiting for you. It’s cool. No judgment. The only thing we require is for you to be open, proactive, and try to get help. I’m not the right person to tell you that though, but it helps. 

Anyways, thank you and welcome abroad. If you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to reach out to any one of us. There are about, umm, I don’t know, billions. ✌🏿


Kanye West dropped his new album “Ye” on Friday. In it, he says he has bipolar disorder and calls the mental illness his “superpower.” The controversial statement follows several months of recent controversy on Twitter in which the artist proclaimed his support for President Trump, opined that “love is infinite,” and alleged that slavery was […]

via Kanye West says he’s bipolar on his new album — here’s what that really means — Headlines

Lurking Anxiety

Ever since I was a little kid, I would face enormous anxiety over doctor’s appointments. Over the years, no matter the amount of self bullying and pep talks, that lurking anxiety has remained. Today is no different. I see the shrink later and it’s like I am on hold and my mind is racing but I can’t distract myself with anything else. That would be healthier and more productive but I’m just not ‘there’. I may never get ‘there’. That’s not negativity. That’s realism. Sometimes, for whatever reason, we are just stuck with some things and this particular cross to bear is hell bent on sticking around.

In addition to the anxiety, there’s also a certain paranoia in my proximity. An itchy ear, ooh, someone is talking about me. Itchy nose, oooh, someone will call or visit. Damn my mother for instilling these silly superstitions in me, not that I believe them but they tainted me enough to make me perpetually on red alert…And damn my own mind for not getting over it. But scumbag brain just keeps whispering, taking things that are minute and inflating them to full fledge things.

Your blog was getting 4 or 5 hits a day, now you’re down to one- what did you to piss people off this time?

It’s ridiculous. Because even if I did alienate readers somehow or they’re just sick of my redundant rants…I give zero true fucks. Even with my ban on social media, though, I’ve been sucked into the ‘like me, I need validated a little’ trap. It’s pathetic.

I’ve been journaling my whole life. And no one read any of my hundreds of paper journals and I never wanted them to. So maybe blogging has turned me into a bit of a narcissist seeking outside validation and this is not who I am and I should walk away.

Or maybe I could just disable the like button? Can you even do that? And as for comments, geesh, even on the posts with multiple likes when I ask for input, I get nothing so…

Needy bitch much, Morgue?

And that thing is, a day or two from now, I will roll my eyes at this post and think, “What a fucking needy nutcase!”

So I guess my moods haven’t leveled out enough to let me be me. That badass who writes to purge demons and nourish my own soul. I’ve been writing since I was 7 years old. I didn’t just decide I ‘am a writer’ because the internet allows anyone and their dog to ‘write’. And just being able to string together sentences, use spell check, and proper punctuation and editing for typos doesn’t make anyone a true writer. (Maybe it’s statements like this that piss off people?) But it’s true.

My whole life people have said, “If you’re not being paid for it, you’re not a writer.”

To me, this is like telling someone who cooks that they aren’t a cook because they don’t have a culinary degree therefore the hours they spend cooking don’t count.

A writer is someone who sweats and bleeds for their art. “Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep.” I don’t remember who said it, but for 20 years I’ve lived by it. And this blog, well, mostly these are my mistakes. When I finally church out ‘art’, I will know it. So I’m not the least bit deluded. My writing is rambling, filled with typos and brain farts, profanity, and a sense of humor few can appreciate. But it is 100% realistic and honest. Which is probably why it sits in the corner alone. Vapidity and hatred are what the masses want.

I’m fresh out of both.

“Better to have no public and write for yourself than write for the public and have no self.”

LOVE that quote, too, sorry if I can’t remember who said it.

So panxiety is today’s word, children. Paranoid anxiety. (I also make up words, but meh, if Twerk is a word, so is panxiety.) I will be glad to get this appointment over with. I hope the doc will agree to my plan on the med increase. My kid will be spending a few hours at dad’s today so I should get a break from her and her little friend drama and stress. All in all…

I bathed last night, am wearing undergarments, did my hair, put on some make up…This is who I am when not devoured by my disorders. This is who I want to be all the time. Bathing and basic hygiene should never be considered some sort of luxury but in my world, they truly are.

I am just gonna metaphorically “LIKE” my own post and let my own validation be enough. Because this needy bitch thing isn’t me, it’s byproduct of my anxiety disorder. And maybe it’s a little borderline-y but what the hell. One more diagnosis that the next doctor or counselor can change.

Now I need to put on more anti-perspirant because in spite of 3 prior applications, I am dripping with cold nervous sweat again. Anxiety is a spiteful bitch.

Don’t Look Back. You Should Never Look Back.

Fuck that title.

Today I’m doing some major reflecting.

I really don’t feel like paying a person to talk to them about my past and see what the issues are, so I guess I’d rather do it myself.

For free. Badly.

I’ve been thinking about the times in the past that I have been happy. The 90s were an easier and happier time for me. Meeting my husband and moving out of my Nana House was happy. When I was doing magazine stuff and going out and talking to people made me happy.

I’m trying to understand my horrible depressed moody mind so I don’t fall in the same old trips.

I’m tired of this


We are getting ready to pack the oldest one’s car–she has gone and gotten her oil changed and is filling up with gas so as to be ready to head out tomorrow morning. My mother-in-law is coming over to help us so that should be interesting.  I expect a lot of work so that is why I’m posting so early.

Made my second video for  YouTube in my regular weekly installment–the channel is “Julie Whitehead” and the vlog is “Julie Whitehead’s Day by Day”.  I thought I had lost the recording and had to hunt around and find it on my computer–I just need to be careful how I save them from now on.  I need to find a better spot lighting-wise because of the shadows cast by the lights in the kitchen and whatnot.  I’m just not sure anywhere else in the house would be better.

SO I guess I better sign off and get going on what needs to be done.  Hope everyone has a good weekend and a good week while I’m on hiatus while we’re vacationing.



What are YOOUU doing up?

Me? Once I wake up for my son, I’m up for 2 hours. My mind is running about everything that has ever happened to me.


Although I’ve always been a night owl. Nighttime is peaceful and quiet, but my life and priorities have changed. I’m the same mentally illed lady just world shift.

Any else trying to hold on to bad habits but know your lifestyle has changed. Congrats! I’m you…only more depressed.


Chicken Soup, Soul, Bad Spells

I was gonna title this post Chicken Soup For The Soul During The Bad Times but then though, well, fuck, with copyright laws and everyone so libel and lawsuit happy, I might get sued…Plus, things haven’t been as bad, as far as the bipolar depression goes, the change in weather and Cymbalta have done sooo much good for that aspect of my disorder…so calling it ‘bad times’ is a misnomer and I try to be transparent and honest in this blog so…I went with the term ‘bad spells’.

The other day even with excess stressors and noise, I went hours and hours without even taking a smidgeon of Xanax. And it felt damned good, not hitting the pills to cope at every turn. And honestly, I personally don’t view it that way because for me, Xanax works to calm my brain and body in a purely positive way, there’s no copping a high or seeking a zone out or coma sleep. It just levels things in a good way, but thanks to a bunch of assholes who abuse the drug for purposes of getting high or avoiding reality, somehow I end up feeling like some junkie with a legal prescription, too weak and lazy to handle my anxiety on my own. And I know that’s bullshit, I am a badass, inasmuch as I do my best and try my hardest not to rely on the ‘fast fix’ of pills. But when something works, you use it. And while Tylenol helps for headaches and cramps for me and I take them IF needed, well, Xanax is the same.

Today was not a good day, anxiety wise, and I utilized my prescription and full doseage of Xanax, for the sake of sanity. It is a redunant theme in this blog, but it is my sincerest hope that by being transparent and yes, redundant about my battles on this front, that it might help one or two others experiencing the same realize…you are not alone. You’re not crazy or lazy or in this alone, at all.

Today’s major stressor that pushed me to the brink was my daughter’s little friend coming over for almost 3 hours. He’s a sweet little kid, but man, is he picky and if he so much as gets breathed on wrong, he bursts into tears and just starts sobbing I WANT MOMMY over and over. You can’t reason with him, calm him, he just goes on and on and on. And then I say, okay, well, let’s get you home to mommy, and he keeps repeating the want mommy mantra…then decides he doesn’t want to go home. And the constant hunger, inviting himself to eat then declaring what we’re having isn’t appealing to him, plus their bickering and he’s constantly getting minor booboos leading to big tears and the mommy mantra…And my kid is even more demanding and needy and MOM MOM MOM MOM MUM MOMMY MUM LOIS (yeah, she hates the Family Guy/Stewie comparison but if the animated shoe fits, prance around in it, baby) when she has a friend over… It’s so bad, I cannot get through a 21 minute show without pausing five times because she never…lets…up.

So, yeah, by the third time he got a booboo (by not listening to me when I said to calm down and not bounce on her bed), my sympathy was on life support, my nerves rubbed raw, and my tolerance maxed out. Once things returned to normal with just me and her and I managed to work up energy to cook supper…It was better but I still feel jarred and it’s like, geesh, can these people keep their kid home with them for just one bloody day? And then of course my own brain chimes in, asking what the hell kind of selfish mom monster would bar her kid from playing when there’s nothing else to do just because it exhausts me in every way…But, really, OTHER PARENTS WHO READ THIS!!! Please, please, chime in, I rarely ask for advice but on this one I could totally use some perspective and advice…How much playtime is fair for an 8 and 3/4 year old? How much time am I obligated to give her to my own detriment so I am being neither too selfish or too neurotic?

I took her to a child psychologist a couple of times over this problem and the professional’s advice when I asked her, “How much playtime is fair?” And she told me that Spook just requires a lot of stimulation and enjoys the company of others, so while she needs that, I have to draw the line where I see it as enough. And what the actual fuck, lady, when I’m basically crippled by bipolar depression, anxiety, and easily overloaded thus avoid too much social interaction? My idea of fair is playing twice a week if I am the one who always has to provide and fetch food, play referee, etc. My ENTIRE GOAL as a mom, though, is to not allow MY issues to place some sort of unhealthy limitation on her socialization and childhood. But yeah…I could use some advice if you know, someone would care enough to comment.

As for the chicken soup part…well, it’s little things. Like my freebie digital TV antenna pulling in, however briefly, a crime show channel called Escape and getting to watch the shows I love (Forensic Files, yess! Never mind that I have them all on digital file, without a desktop, I can’t run that loooong playlist, laptop overheats too easily.) And this morning, my kid gave me the chuckles when she declared a zombie virus outbreak in her dollhouse and put Giraffe in a biohazard zombie protective suit made out of a baggie…I saw a video on the news the other morning of a squirrel latched onto a spinning birdfeeder and damn, that fucker wasn’t letting go for anything until he finally went flying off. And then I get an email about a shelter pet who recovered from abuse and neglect and got their forever home…

These little things count for a lot with me, even if I seem to bitch and moan more than I mention it.

I must admit, the one ‘luxury’ soup I miss the most is being able to check books out from the library but that damn out of town resident $60 fee, it’s just not within our current budget means. I love reading. Paper and ink books are like…catnip for me. It nourishes my soul. So hell yeah, I miss it so much. Who knew the mere act of having a library card would become a luxury item by moving 8 miles out of town. One more thing living in Armpit has cost me.

Much as things have calmed down now that Spook is asleep…I have some rabid anxiety that the landlord will show up in the morning wanting his rent money. I get postal money orders using my debit card and of course, the post office here doesn’t accept debit cards and oh, it’s only open from 8-11:30 a.m. every day, and the local ATM charges me like $6 for cash withdrawals, I just prefer to go into town and do it. But since they bumped my shrink appt to 2:50 p.m. I can’t pay him before that without making two trips and I’m not gonna do that on a 90 degree day.

I’m also wary of my doc appt, who knows what mental state she will be in, considering her days there are coming to an end in JUly, she may have already mentally checked out on the patients and be non conducive to my thoughts on increasing Cymbalta…

I’ve started to ponder the whole borderline personality thing again, because as was pointed out, it does often coexist (comorbidity, is that the term?) with other disorders like bipolar. I know when it comes to relationships, I can totally go borderline but deep down, I just hate being tied down and like my alone time so it’s less true neediness and more PLEASE DO LET ME RUN YOU OFF. As for the mood swings…I’ve been doing pretty well on that front.Until the anxiety goes metastatic and then yeah, the bipolar depression is stirred. But having discussed the borderline topic with the counselor I saw for two years and her saying I have traits, but mostly bipolar symptoms…It’s not just that I want to believe her, it’s that I agree with her. Not because I want to to absolve myself of yet another negative label but because I see parallels but I also see them dissipate during stable periods, especially if I am not in a relationship juggling my emotions as well as someone else’s and their inability to handle my emotions.


At least I am willing to recognize the traits even if I don’t agree that two appointments warrant completely changing my entire 20 year diagnosis by a newbie therapist.

It’s a shame, I always found therapy helpful but that woman, and knowing who else works there and how contrary her psych views are toward bipolar people…my only option isn’t an option. Not until I feel I can trust them to do more good than harm. It’s not an unwillingness to seek help. It’s the rural area, insurance, and system telling me, ‘this is your only option’ and I opt out to protect myself from further damage.

So I vent and flood post and it helps to purge the venom and racing thoughts and maybe on occasion…someone reads it and says, “THIS! Geesh, this chick gets how I feel, I’m not so alone!”

I never started this blog with the goal of likes or followers or even really readers. I kept journals for over 30 years on paper, didn’t start blogging til 2006 and only shared the link with two friends. This blogging thing was never about being popular or feeding my ego. I just know how alone I’ve felt all my life dealing with these issues and…

The thought that my rambling could help even ONE person feel less alone…well, that is the ultimate chicken soup for the soul.