Daily Archives: May 1, 2013

Wednesdays Qoute: Kay Redfield Jamison

“Others imply that they know what it is like to be depressed because they have gone through a divorce, lost a job, or broken up with someone. But these experiences carry with them feelings. Depression, instead, is flat, hollow, and unendurable. It is also tiresome. People cannot abide being around you when you are depressed. They might think that they ought to, and they might even try, but you know and they know that you are tedious beyond belief: you are irritable and paranoid and humorless and lifeless and critical and demanding and no reassurance is ever enough. You’re frightened, and you’re frightening, and you’re “not at all like yourself but will be soon,” but you know you won’t.”
-Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness

Don’t Go Political On Me


Our President, Barack Obama just made a Presidential Proclamation making May 2013 “National Mental Health Awareness Month, 2013” and it included this statement:

“Mental health problems remain a serious public health concern, but together, our Nation is making progress. This month, I encourage all Americans to advance this important work by raising awareness about mental health and lending strength to all who need it.”

I mean, I’m not going to get all political on you, (so don’t you get all political on me) but I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS SENTENCE. I don’t know how much progress we, as a Nation, are really making, but to me, this is exciting.


The proclamation also says:

“As a Nation, it is up to all of us to know the signs of mental health issues and lend a hand to those who are struggling. Shame and stigma too often leave people feeling like there is no place to turn. We need to make sure they know that asking for help is not a sign of weakness — it is a sign of strength.”

Well. AMEN!

To see the full proclamation click here.

With Dropped Jaw,

Mrs Bipolarity

That Didn’t Work So Well

Almost as soon as I finished my from work post yesterday, my husband asked me if I’d like a ride home. I accepted readily and quietly; I was in that phase of things where no matter what you say, opening your mouth will release a flock of shitting harpies. After all, my head space was throwing a strop because I had nothing to drink and I was going to starve ’cause I couldn’t talk to people, woe is me, etc. I think most of us recognize that particular brain trap all too well.

This is my bubble. You are not welcome to sit here in my chair in my bubble. *nods firmly*

This is my bubble. You are not welcome to sit here in my chair in my bubble. *nods firmly*

So I went home. And my brain immediately did its best to make me feel like a total skiver. I felt contentment (complete with warm glow), and was productive on tinkering with blog things here. I realized that Askimet had eaten all my comments,  I finally remembered to turn Cloudflare on, and I even remembered to do smart things like asking search indexes to actually index my blog. I really am enjoying finding these little ways to make this space more user-friendly, easier to find, and all of that jazz. So I was doing something, but not yanno… the things that help the family pay the bills.

My husband is a good thinker though, and did me the favor of bringing the case of things I’d taken into the office back to the house. Well durr, I can totally work on things from home. I’ve done that in the past, after all; the nature of my employ is that sort of flexible. I’m not going to throw myself in headfirst, ’cause I don’t want to risk undoing what progress towards sanity I’ve managed to cling onto, but at least I *think* I’m feeling together enough to try and be properly productive. We’ll see. Circumstances mean I’ll only have to think about filling in an hour or two this afternoon, so fingers crossed that will be within my means.


The post That Didn’t Work So Well appeared first on The Scarlet B.

Questionable judgment and hypomanic randomness (possibly offensive)

I zigged instead of zagging today. I took my full 90 mg Cymbalta dose at one time instead of spreading it out thru the day. Why? Shake things up. Maybe it will make a difference, maybe not. Maybe it will prove to be a stupid idea. But the monotony of feeling the way I have every single night for so long is wearing me down to desperation. I am like sooo close to Beavis and Butthead territory here. Ya know, licking hallucinogenic toads for some sort of feeling that isn’t sucky.

I checked my email this morning and this is a prime example of how imbalanced I am: I saw that I picked up another “follower”. Well, this season thanks to my sister mentioning it, I began watching the Fox tv show The Following. Now I can’t see the word “follower” without it conjuring up images of psychotic “I will die and kill for you” cult members. Am I now on some FBI watch list for having followers?

Okay, it was just a funny thought, not a paranoid delusion, but it made me smirk.

I have long joked about starting “The Church of the Godless Heathen”. (My mom used to call me a godless heathen when I was growing up.) Unfortunately, I suck at commitment and with my attention deficit, I would confuse people more than lead them in some psychotic uprising or spiritual uplifting. I can’t even be a cult leader because of my mental wonkiness, ffs. Maybe that position for evil underlord is still open…

Now…a topic that is a loaded gun. I usually avoid out of respect for others’ beliefs, but today…I just need to write this one down to see if seems as asinine in front of my eyes as it sounded to my ears. Religion. No disrespect, just trying to connect some dots.

I asked R one day why he goes to church. He smokes, he drinks, he swears, he lies. He used to be the town’s biggest man whore prior to his current wife mentally beating him into a husk. But every Sunday he goes to church.

He said, “Why do you go to your psychiatrist?”

I said, “Because I have been told there is something wrong with me and I am trying to correct it.”

“That’s why I go to church, because I am a sinner.” He said.

And I took a moment and said, “Yeah, but you don’t change the behavior so it’s akin to me going to the doctor but not taking the meds prescribed.”

That blew his mind. He stammered and made excuses because he had no logical answer. I get people needing to have faith, to feel better, to purge their wrong doings and seek forgiveness and peace of mind. I get it, and I respect it.

At the same time, R also said to me, “My church welcomes everyone, including gays. They figure gays need church as much as anyone since they are sinners according to the Bible.”


Some of his friends are gay and yet he still views their sexual orientation as a sin when scientific evidence says homosexuality is not a choice. Pardon  me, but I am NOT setting foot near anything that basically says my existence is a blasphemy and needs cured by some deity. I am not setting foot near a group of people who would even have that mentality. “Love thy neighbor,  unless they are gay.” I don’t think so. THIS is my problem with religion.

People make the choice to smoke, drink, swear, screw around, et al.od

Who you are attracted to is a baser instinct. It’s not conscious. Most people figure it out before they’re even 14 years old.

How can being born a certain way be a sin you need to atone for  yet making bad choices is a forgivable sin?

IF I were religious, MY GOD would love everyone who tries to do better and is true to themselves. A being more perfect than mere man would have the wisdom and heart to do this. A God would not condemn and judge and be full of contradictions and hypocrisies.

This may lose some followers for me, but I am tired of focusing on my bipolar while letting my personal beliefs lay dormant. Those around me sure don’t care who they offend with their views. And besides, it’s not like I am asking anyone to agree with me. This is what I believe. Me. No one else. It is not to detract from what others truly believe, I respect that. In a fair mindset, my views would be respected as well.  But having seen so many “My god can kick your god’s ass” arguments amongst people of differing religions…I doubt the mutual respect thing for each other’s beliefs will ever happen for the masses.

And that is all I am gonna say on that subject.

I promised myself I would make a top 5 of things I am grateful for, since it seems all I do is rant and whine about all that sucks. Here goes.

1.) My kid. She is trying at times (she’s a child, duh, that is their job) but yesterday she said, “Mommy your tummy’s rumbling.” So I went Llamas with Hats on her and said, “I have a rumble in my tummy only hands can satisfy.” That made her laugh and she offered me her hands and said, “Eat my hands, Mommy.” We also play zombie shark. My mom finds this sort of thing inappropriate and says it may scar my kid. Um, this from a woman who bought me Fangoria magazine when I was 7 and let me watch Friday the 13th and My Bloody Valentine at the same age? Yeah, that judgment is going to be dismissed. The real monsters don’t wear hockey masks and carry machetes.

2.) Cats, cats, cats…The kittens are driving me nuts with their climbing antics but they are so adorable. Just little balls of anti depressants. They look at me with the sweet faces, their purring motors running, and it’s like…Angry psycho chick melts into marshmallow man.

3.) Shelter, power, food, transportation. People take these things for granted but not a day passes I am not grateful to have them. It makes me wealthier than a rather large percentage of people.

4.) Books. When things get truly bad, I know if I find the right book, I can at least for awhile forget my problems and focus on a story about someone else’s problems that will be resolved by the last page. Life should be so tidy.

5.)  Xanax. Last night when I started to spin and feel paranoid and panicky…I took my final two pills and while I didn’t just zonk out or immediately feel light and goofy…My head did stop spinning, logic overruled the paranoia, and eventually I slept. I kept waking up but at least my thoughts were coherent and not a juxtaposition of “the new neighbors are gonna break in and murder us in our sleep” and “god I need to go do housework but I am so panicky…” yay, xanax.




Not Only Shouting: Different Types of Emotional Child Abuse

Reblogged from The Invisible Scar:

Click to visit the original post
  • Click to visit the original post

April is Child Abuse Awareness and Prevention month. At The Invisible Scar, we are focusing on exploring the definition of emotional child abuse, such as the various types, how to help emotionally abused children, and  resources for healing.

When emotional abuse is shown in movies or TV programs, the abuser is often a huge, ugly, fierce-looking adult. The abuser never looks like the kind-faced person next door.

Read more… 2,072 more words

Well, folks, this is April 30, the end of April's Child Abuse Awareness Month. But let's not stop being aware of child abuse just because it's the end of April. If you see a child being abused, speak up. If it's a parent screaming at a kid in a store, dragging him along by the arm with a "Just wait till I get you home" hissed between clenched teeth--what can you do? That's a really tough question. If you go up to him and say, "Excuse me, but you seem to be abusing your child," the pathological parent may very well stop his behavior and make some lame excuse like "Oh, I we were only horsing around," and then when they get home the child REALLY gets it for being the "cause" of "attracting attention." I just don't know the answer to that one. But I do know that if you hear angry voices and sounds of violence coming from the apartment next door, your call to the emergency authorities might save a life. Make the call.

Paranoia rising

It started out earlier today. My car smelled funny. The gauges said all was normal. But my brain became convinced that the smell was something on fire. I firmly held it at bay with logic, but man…Logic is no match for paranoia. I am starting to think maybe I DO need an antipsychotic. Which scares the fuck out of me ‘cos NONE I have tried have done shit except turn me into a comatose zombie.

Now it looks like I am finally after a year getting new neighbors on the other side. Thus far they have been talking loudly, swearing, and look rather shady. And it is all right next to my kid’s bedroom. I am holding back judgment, but it does not bode well, especially after the last assholes who lived there and made my life hell and wreaked havoc on my mental state. My mom says I  can’t get along with anyone. Well, when everyone turns out to be an asshole, duh, I DON’T get along with assholes.


Went into the shop nervous and irritated. I think my reactions to the small stuff- spilled drinks in my lap, clothing caught on a loose nail, a slow moving kid, and people blocking me in my driveway may be over reactions. I never know. It did put me in a mini mood, though. I just told R the truth. Since he swapped the fried hard drive for one out of a different brand computer, it’s not detecting any of the old hardware and patching it isn’t going to fix it, just fuck it up. He of course had to double check on line and when it said the same thing I had just told him, he accepted it. That’s not the least bit insulting or irritating. Oh, wait, it is, because it happens every single fucking day.

Kenny was in and out several times today. At one point we were joking around and it seemed fun. Then I made a remark about my hair being flat and he said, “It’s because you’re too lazy to do anything with it.” That was a turning point for me. Because the man knows fuck all about me. I spent forty minutes one day last week teasing and spraying my mop into some semblance of style…and by the time I got the shop, it had fallen flat again. So, I am NOT too lazy to try, but given the choice between doing what the hairstylist says is needed for more volume (chopping off six inches) or having flat hair and being called lazy…I’ll own lazy and hump it’s leg because I am NOT cutting my hair. I let her do that once and it’s taken two years to reclaim the six inches she took. Never again. Just the nerve of a man who left a bag of garbage in the middle of the shop, too lazy to take it outside, telling me I am lazy for not doing anything with my hair…are you fucking serious? I walked away. Before I said something rude that would have earned me another “you’re too mean to kenny” lecture. Yet Kenny can say all the shit he wants to me and my honor is never defended. Tells me exactly where I am in the food chain.

C’est la vie.

Boring boring boring day. R was stuck on three non functioning plasma tvs and losing his mind trying to figure it out. I was busy trying to not fall asleep. Once again, my distraction was mentioned. Dear God, if I am being criticized for something I don’t get paid to do, how am I ever going to handle an actual job? They make wheel chair ramps for those in wheel chairs. They have Braille for people who cannot see. But ya know what? It seems no one has a support program for mental illness. It makes me feel bleak and hopeless at times. Especially in light of being called out last week about my mood swings. It was a low, I wasn’t yelling, I wasn’t even talking, and I was doing what I was asked to do…But because I wasn’t bouncing off the walls happy and being an over solicitous fan girl…Well, that’s a problem.


Now…My kid is asleep and I need supper but I feel the strong pull of my safe bedroom for some reason. Going on about fifteen months now. For whatever reason, if I am not in my bedroom at 8:30- even if I don’t sleep til midnight- I start feeling like  I have bugs crawling under my skin and freaking out. It makes no sense. This is MY time. During the day I think about all the things I can do when I get home and mommy is on light duty while the kid sleeps…Then I get home and my mood just crashes and the paranoia and anxiety rise and….It’s like some sort of fear induced depression but I have no idea what I am scared of or depressed about. It is relentlessly clinging to me. I’ve tried to talk to the counselor only to get a snap out of it speech. Geesh, if I could snap out of it, why would I need the pills?

I am exhausted and frustrated. And I think the biggest problem is that I am nocturnal, always have been. Since becoming a mom, I have had to rewire everything and become a daywalker. Only the night brain won’t rewire to being a day brain. It takes more energy to deal with people and life during the day. By the time night comes, I know I have to go recharge to survive another day. It makes less sense because even before her father left, I was up by 7 am every single day and some nights, didn’t go to bed until 1 or 2 am.

Difference is now, I am trying to be functional to everyone else’s needs and it’s costing  me a lot of myself because my body rhythm just can’t seem to adapt.

I bitch, therefore I am.

I need to eat. I was gonna cook pork chops. But the safety of the bedroom calls out to me more and more with each noise from the new people next door. Let them be nice and quiet, for the love of god. Thus far, I’ve lived next to a pedophile and drunken rednecks one of whom…turned out to be a pedophile. I’d like to say it can’t get worse than that but…I’m not that stupid.