Daily Archives: April 29, 2014


My day started in a good mood. Manic, almost. I went to the shop and of course R and Kenny were in bad moods. Ha! It never fails, even with my beloved Bex, ass trash . And while she gets it, the others around me think I am being a mocking bitch, as if to say, “Look, you’re down and I’m happy about it.” Can’t get it right.

After I came home (I only stayed an hour because that’s as much human contact as I can stomach) I got a knock on the door that sent my anxiety soaring and my OCD into hyperdrive. My place with cited by the code inspector for too many cats and a messy yard. Ass Trash.

I’ve picked it up three times. The kids just bring their trash and leave it in the yard. The cats, well, I have gotten rid of three, ffs, and I put mine inside. I can’t do shit about the ferals. And the maintenance man/devil incarnate said, “Well, I’ve been setting traps and I’ll bring my dog over here to tear ‘em to shreds.” IDIOT motherfucker. Hate people like that. You’re fine with a dog, but you have issues with cats? You’re okay with animal cruelty? Waste of oxygen, as far as I am concerned.

So now I am jumpy and paranoid and my brain is obsessing about it non stop. I TRY so fucking hard. I can’t get it right.Reminds me of my old apartment, after my near death from a med interaction and week in the hospital. My idiot landlord said my housekeeping was bad. DUH, I have lower standards than someone who lives on the ritzy side with a fucking maid. He made me get an independent living advisor to keep an eye on the place. She, and her boss, came in over and over and said it looked fine to them. He evicted me.

Can’t get it right.

I try. I fail. I wonder why I bother.

And the kicker is all these people who are so willing to pass judgment refuse to acknowledge my illness is legit and I might occasionally need some help during the depressions so things don’t get out of control. I’m willing to admit I am in over my head sometimes. I even offered my sister money back in August to come help me and she refused. She’s too tired.

Ass Trash

This is the stuff that leads me to despair. I am willing to ask for help, no one is willing to lend it. But they are sooo fast to judge and criticize. Weird thing is, if I purposely walked into a tree chipper, I’d have visible wounds and they’d all clamor to help. But mental illness isn’t real in their world, it’s a character flaw.

Is it any wonder I prefer the company of cats and kids? They don’t judge.

Another irritation…Now that I am on the mood upswing, suddenly R wants me around the shop. Cos Kenny is working and he has no company, and my current mood amuses him. Yet during my darkest hour…He didn’t want anything to do with me. Kinda like when we lived together.I’m good as long as I’m not sick, then it’s time to shun me.

I sometimes wish I could sue them all for the emotional trauma they inflict. They’re clueless as to the damage they do. Intentional or not. I mean, how the fuck do you think you get damaged and have personality disorders and unsavory traits? Usually because something has happened often enough to brainwash or traumatize you. Or people ostracize and fail you over and over again. THEY do the damage and I am the one stuck with all the dysfunctional labels and it’s me who has to clean up THEIR mess.

I am not absolving my own faults. But I sure as hell didn’t give myself an inferiority complex or fear of people. That would be nine years of being called names, spit  on, and bullied for no reason other than I didn’t fit the redneck mold. You move on, but you never get over it. I am the posterchild for “bullying is not “kids will be kids”. It is NOT harmless.

Nor is being rejected for having an illness.

Ass  trash.

****Did I link to you enough, Rebecca? :p

Neurotic People Prefer Inaction

A recent study published in the April edition of The Journal of Personality suggests that people who are neurotic avoid making decisions that can improve their lives and accomplish their goals. Why do they avoid these decisions? Well, based on the study, they don’t accomplish acting towards their goals because they don’t want to. or […]


Recently I was in a collision with a car. I was cycling down a main road when I saw a car in a side road, edging too far forward to join the flow of traffic, advance into my path, into the path of the oncoming traffic.There was nothing I could do – I was at most 3 metres away. I tried to brake, but nothing could avert the thud of dread and relief as my front wheel hit the driver’s door. I leant forward, my legs astride my bike, my let arm  against the driver’s window staring at her in disbelief, anger and relief in my yellow cycling jacket. After half an hour, or maybe a few seconds, the opening and closing of her lips and the darting movement of her terrified pupils pierced the window and I heard her say ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.’

I took my hand away from her window and she moved off across the traffic. I put my feet back on the pedals and moved forwards. A few metres further on and the traffic came to a halt as the lights turned to red, and a traffic warden on the pavement beside me asked if I was alright.

In truth I had been lucky. My bike was undamaged (the last time I had had a slow motion altercation with a car – several years ago – my bike was written off). I was shaken but otherwise intact. I cycled on to the shops, ran my errands, returned home, and told my family what had happened. Naturally they were concerned, sympathetic and relieved that it had not been more serious.

I kept cycling about town as usual, cycling down the same road where it had happened.

Life went on. Everything had changed.

I hadn’t been hurt, my bike was in good working order. My confidence hadn’t been dented. I wasn’t sure why, but I kept thinking about my leaning against the car with my left hand in it’s fingerless cycling glove splayed against the window.  I saw her silent mouth moving, her pupils fidgeting, uncertain, with nowhere to go.

She was the one who was more shaken than me. She had been in the wrong, not me.

As the days went by, and I continued to cycle confidently around town, or in the countryside, I thought about the incident, and about the driver in particular. The traffic warden had shown concern for me, had been on my side. But she she had described the driver as a ‘girl’ – I forget the rest of the sentence. ‘The driver was a woman!’ I shot back before continuing down the road. I felt affronted by the infantilising description the (female) traffic warden had used. As I played this part of the episode over and over again in my mind during the coming days, it dawned on me that I felt empathy with what I imagined she must have felt, and perhaps, still felt. My confidence had not been damaged by the incident, but I thought of who I had seen through the window, her silent lips moving, trying to communicate through the window, the panic in her eyes as she finally moved away across the road. Had she been able to continue driving, apparently unperturbed, as I had done? How had she felt the next time she sat behind the wheel, or saw a cyclist on the road?

Of course things could have been a lot worse.The road might have been clear in front of me – I could have been going at double the speed. What then? I could well have careered into the car and put my head, my face, through the window. I’m relieved that that didn’t happen.But what if it had, and my face would have been badly cut, scarred in fact, from the impact? Who would have suffered more then?

This episode has made me think. It has reinded me that there are people sicker than me. I don’t mean terminally ill, on dyalisis, cerebral palsy or spina bifida. Well, actually I do – when it comes to spina bifida. I was born with a condition called hydrocephalus. You can read about it in an earlier edition here: puncturerepairkit.wordpress.com/2010/10/31/i-robot/  My point is – even with a serious medical condition as this is – most people born with it also have spina bifida. I don’t; and what’s more my hydrocephalus, though it rquired several operations during my childhood, is no longer a medical factor. ‘Cured’ is not quite the word, but it is no longer of any concern. So that’s a good thing.

And mentally, too, I have got off lightly. In my working life, in the field of mental health, I regularly encounter people who are, or have been, a lot sicker than me. I have never had a psychotic episode, been sectioned (for overseas readers unfamiliar with this term it means being detained in hospital against one’s will) or spent a single night on a psychiatric ward. No scars on my wrists.

I am very fortunate. But all this, the ‘bike bump’ – ‘crash’ seems too dramatic – no spina bifida, no psychiatric hospitalisation, makes it all feel insignificant. And so I persist. You don’t really think I am suffering? Well let me show you! I suffer a relapse (real enough, I assure you) and I am signed off sick, I have to increase my dose of mood stabilising medication. That’s one thing I can be proud of – I take no less than 5 tablets a day in an attempt to keep me on an even keel. I was signed off work for 3 years (2002 – 5). Now do you believe me?!

Now do I believe me?

In his novel set in Bucharest in 1989, at the point of the collapse of communist dictatorship there, ‘The Last Hundred Days’, Patrick McGuiness writes: ‘But all I have learned from past mistakes was how to commit new ones more knowingly. Self knowledge for me was always clarified inertia.’

Do I need to fall under the wheels of a lorry before I start to realise I am not a professional racing cyclist?


A state you must not enter

with hopes of staying,

quicksand in the marshes, and all

the roads leading to a castle

that doesn’t exsist.

But there it is, as promised,

with its perfect bridge above

the crocodiles,

and its doors forever open.

Stephen Dunn (1939 – )






Living Life

Just a short post to say I haven’t fallen off the face of the Earth, rather I have been bucking my set routine and actually living life. Hung out with a good friend and did some volunteering this weekend and it was great! My sleep schedule is a bit off now but it’s worth it. Sometimes you have to indulge yourself and do something a little different. More updates to come later in the week, including (hopefully) some good news!



Filed under: Self Discovery


My mood went into the gutter last night. Like in bed at 7:30 pm gutter. Then my mind began to race. So I took a double dose of Xanax. And zonked. Only to wake at 4 a.m. and be  totally coherent and unable to get back to sleep. I finally fell back to sleep..Ten minutes before the alarm went off. Needless to say, I hit snooze until my kid pretty much missed the bus. OOPSY.

My mood lifted though and I accomplished several things today, things that I had been dreading for months and I just tore in today and got it done. I do things strangely, I guess, but I have to work in my own way. Which is little increments otherwise I get overwhelmed. It may sound nutsy kookoo but it’s what works for me.

Returned some calls that I had been putting off because, uh, I began to panic when I picked up the phone. No idea why, they’re friends I talk to all the time. I just get weird like that.

Other than that…Uneventful day. It’s good when a mood goes on the upswing after crashing *that* low. I was in “death is better than life” territory. Which still freaks me out no matter how many times I am in that space or how many times I survive it. I worry about the one time it completely brainwashes me. I fear that more than actual death. The brain can be pretty convincing when sending out faulty information. Kinda like Windows Vista. Unreliable.

I’m off the lithium and the nausea is totally gone. BUT my kid said she didn’t like me earlier and I was totally numb. At one time that would have truly hurt me and put me into tears. Now she might as well be telling me about the weather. Is it apathy or just growing a thicker skin? Because if this is what I have become, emotionless except for anger, then I am screwed. I’ve become the very thing I hate. I can’t stand people who bury emotion like it’;s some dirty little secret and I especially despise people who simply don’t have the capacity for emotion.

Yet here I am, chiseled in stone emotionally. After a week, it stands to reason the lithium should mostly be waning. Yet I am still…like this. Disconcerting, to say the least.

I mean, one of my cats found a new home, and it’s a good home, but back in the day saying bye to a cat made me bawl my eyes out. Today, numbness.

I wouldn’t mind if my toes were numb because Voodoo is chewing on them and kittens have really sharp fangs.