Daily Archives: October 21, 2014

The Next and (Probably) Last

Richard ArmitageI’ve posted the fourth and fifth chapters of Technical Consultant, my little story about bipolar author Carrie Severide and her fling as a technical consultant for actor Robert Bierce (a thinly disguised Richard Armitage).

I knew actually going to London and meeting Richard Armitage in the flesh would either kick new life into this story or kick it to the curb.  And I’m afraid it’s the latter.  My plan is to go back to an earlier idea about a bipolar heroine that is rooted firmly in reality—less fan-girl fantasy come true, more grit and hardship.  While I still love Technical Consultant for its Heaving Bosom potential, I want to do something else now.

Thanks to everyone who nagged me to keep writing this story.  I’m forever grateful for your interest and enthusiasm.  I hope these last two offerings are satisfactory.

To read Chapter 4: Out of the Frying Pan, click here.

To read Chapter 5: A Curious Roundtable, click here.

Or to start at the beginning with Chapter 1: An Unexpected Journey, click here.

An Award.. I’m So Flattered


I Am My Own Island nominated me for the One Lovely Blog Award. Thank you so much. It makes me feel like my blog is worth writing and very honored.

Here are the rules:

Thank and link back to the person who nominated you
List the rules and display the award
Include seven facts about yourself
Nominate 10-15 other bloggers and let them know about the award by commenting on their blog
Follow the blogger who nominated you (if not already!)

Seven things about myself is hard to do. I never not share anything. Here I go.
1) I love movies that make me cry. Especially cartoons.
2) I am too quick to judge but that is actually changing.
3) Halloween is my favorite holiday.
4) I’m naturally blonde but my hair hasn’t been just blonde in at least 4 years.
5) I want to learn how to play guitar and sing.
6) I’m the oldest silbling of 5.
7) Even though I have social anxiety. I often act silly in public because it makes me feel better.

10 Blogs I am nominating are:
1)Kitt O’Malley
2)Birth of a New Brain
3)Struggles of A Bipolar Woman
4)Don’t Cross My Borderline
5)Uneven Jenn
6)Bipolar in Bloom
7)Having A Life Again
8)Bipolar on Fire
9)BP Nurse

Om non non non

I emailed my psychiatrist and told her I’m feeling abysmal (with a bit more detail). She said that lithium can take time to settle and work, and said I could take Wellbutrin short term if I was willing to risk a very small chance of mania. I said yeah. You guys know what it’s like, we are all kinda munching our way through all the pills like an unhappy Pac Man. So for a while I’ll be on two antidepressants (one ssri, one maoi) and lithium.

Tomorrow I’m going to see if I can get my internal stye lanced. Fun. Today I fixed the toilet. Yep, I’m having all the pills and all the fun; that’s why the rest of you are having a shitty time. Sorry.

Right now I’m miserably wondering what the suffering fuck to eat, because nothing tastes good. And where the hell do you go once you’re sick of soda water and toast and marmite?

I feel like all I do is whinge. I’m boring myself shitless.

My dogs are happy. I bought them cow hooves to chew.

Bipolar Roundup Yawn

I’m getting sick of news items about bipolar. Another celeb comes out, says two sentences and suddenly they’re a stigma warrior … e t c e t e r a …

Frank Bruno sectioned twice in the last 18 months
Rene Russo reveals she’s bipolar
Misty Upham’s body found
Justin Trudeau – privileged but painful childhood

Mental illness is a disease just as much as cancer or chlamydia. It is not elective, it is not fun, and it certainly is not funny. We don’t go around photographing chemotherapy patients, hoping to catch them in a fragile moment. When Angelina Jolie announced that she had undergone an elective double mastectomy, she was celebrated as brave and inspiring to women the world over. There was no bounty for photographs of her scars.

So why is it okay for paparazzi agencies to send out their goons when a young woman is publicly exhibiting symptoms of a mental health emergency? It isn’t. It’s shameful. It’s been nearly a decade since Britney Spears’ own well-documented, much-maligned mental breakdown, and the conversation has barely changed. That’s shameful, too. What is wrong with us?

why do we love watching mentally ill celebs?

Old Song

Uplifting Songs

The bronchitis has run its course, but the wake of bipolar ping-ponging still bounces me.  And I’m desperate to find some equilibrium.  Looking at my journal entries from last year around this time, I was a little shocked to see that I’m repeating myself.

From last year:

Kind of back to normal.  I’m still not sleeping well.  Just want to curl up in my chair and watch back-to-back movies.  Feels like I’m starting over after being sick.  So maybe I should look at what I want my life to be now.  What do I want to focus on?  Work toward?

I could have written that yesterday.  It makes my ass tired to think I’m back at this place.  Every time I get sick, every time I go through a long episode of mood swings, I have to pull up my socks and refocus.  I’m always battling my weight and compulsive eating, my inertia, my disappointment in absent friends.  BlahBlahBlah.  I’m sick to death of this same old song.

My TOPS membership will be due in December, and I decided not to renew.  I’m also resigning as the Weight Recorder.  Now I know that making decisions under the influence of bipolarness is unwise.  I also recognize this throwing in the weight loss towel as part of a different cycle.  I give up, say I’m going to accept myself the way I am, gain weight, panic, and go back to trying to control my eating.  So I fully acknowledge that these decisions are sick-brain-driven and, most likely, temporary.

But, I would like to accept myself the way I am.  I would like to, once and for all, let go of the fantasy that I can lose 150 pounds and be at all desirable to the opposite sex.  I’m not hideous.  I’m just an obese, middle-aged woman on the way to crone-hood.  I want to accept that and find some happiness in THAT, not wait for a body or a partner that are never coming.  I mean, I went to freaking England by my fat self and had a fabulous time.  I don’t want to wait anymore.  For anything.  Or anybody.

And I guess I’m grieving that old fantasy, both embracing the full truth of who I am and pushing it away.  But the more I can wrap my arms around myself, the braver I’ll be about going after what I want.  Like deciding to spend two weeks in Tucson this winter.  I’m renting a little house on the desert because I loved Tucson twenty years ago when we vacationed there and have always wanted to go back.  Because my allergist said I would do better in a warm, dry climate.  Because my shrink said to get out of the dark this winter.

So, I’ve been taking my cats on practice runs to get them used to being in the car for long stretches.  Because I want them with me in the desert.  And we’re figuring it out.  Like I’m figuring me out.  And we all may get car sick on the way.  And we all may cry, and mew, and protest.  But at least that’s a new song.

Bofa On My Sofa

I doubt most adults remember Dr. Seuss unless they have kids they read to.My kid has fixated on “Wocket In My Pocket”. And I have read it two dozens times.
The line that sticks most for me is, “That Bofa on the sofa, well I wish he wasn’t there.”
That’s how I feel about my mental issues, mood,anxiety,and personality disorders. I don’t want any of it here.
I’ve tried denial, self medication, banishment…
It’s the elephant in the room.
The bofa on the sofa.

I’ve been stressing and pissy and venomous the last few days. Feeling like I might explode if I don’t speak all that is bottled up inside. Because while everyone around me buries their head in the sand and focuses on their issues…I am drowning here. No one seems to care.
I tried to talk to R tonight. He just flung it back in my face. “How do you think I felt when I tried to tell you you were stressing me out and taking money I didn’t have?”
He thinks I am pissed because he told an ugly truth.
I am crying because he only speaks up fifteen years after the fact and I have asked him dozens of times the last three years if I do anything that hurt him. He said no.
NOW he says my sarcasm hurts and pisses him off and I should treat him better.
Seems like deflection to me.
But what do I know.
I tried in the past to do whatever it took to please him.It was never enough.
And surprise, it’s still not enough.
I try to be point blank and get the truth.
He pays lip service then when I am at my most vulnerable…THAT is when he decides to come clean. And rather than my snarky comments designed to be biting… He fixates on the very sarcasm I repeatedly told him was a defense mechanism.
Odd how he gets to remain narcissistic and self absorbed even if it hurts or offends me.
This defines every person around me no matter how well meaning they may be.
I bottle up the truth about how I feel.
They wallow and bury their heads in the sand.
My biggest flaw may well be indulging them and allowing them to feed on my limited mental resources.
R says I can troll but not be trolled. I tried to explain all I have ever known is being criticized so maybe a smirk or sticking out his tongue might clue me in. Even that is too much effort for him. I can be trolled IF I know someone is trolling and not being serious. I mean, I use the sarcastic “tongue out” emoti type thing or say “Trolling You”. I give a clue.
I am ranting. Because I am hurt and angry and irritated and..PISSY.

I suck. I can’t even go watch an ep of Dr. Who without it becoming some stupid drama. Which was never my intent or end game. It’s a defense mechanism and one that has served me well over the years. The bullies at school may not have been silenced by my snarkasm but it definitely slowed them down and confused them. I tend not to argue with something that served me well.

My tears have dried up. Finally.
My apprehension has not lessened.
But I said I would be there to help R in the morning and I will be. It will be a bitter pill to swallow but I have to choke it down. He said he would buy my kid’s Halloween costume if I help him. I am at the point where he could tell me to cut off my arm and I wouldn’t have an option. I have too many people counting on me while they wallow in their self absorption.
I have tried sooo very hard to be patient and sensitive. I am just exhausted from trying and fighting while those around me just…wallow in denial. I am scared because as much as I want to be a good,understanding, compassionate person…
The reality is that I am melting down, exhausted, stressed out, running on fumes and terrified of losing what little I have because I am not, in my quest to be kind, being forthcoming in some stuff. I am the one facing penalties still trying not to be hurtful while surrounded by those who simply seem not to care,
Being honest and talking solves nothing for I am ignored (just like my kid does me).
I am so…lost. Worn down. Feeling alone.
So sick of pasting on the happy face.
Now I am being castigated for my sarcasm, the only weapon I have in my arsenal. Which I have explained ad nauseum to perhaps the ONLY person on Earth who doesn’t get it.
Okay, I visited Mangoritaville and am making no sense.

I get it. I am bad. I am evil. I SUCK.

I just don’t believe it deep down.

Fuck it. I am worn down enough all I want to do now is cuddle up in bed with a cat.

Cats don’t judge or hold grudges or need their quirks tapdanced around. They are simple- meet their needs and they are good.
I want to be a cat.

I know, I am sad, pathetic, and need to get a life.
I am the devil. I suck.
But I am trying to be honest, no matter how untrendy that may be.

The bofa on the sofa… Well, I wish it wasn’t there.

Sexual Frustration

So hubby asnd I are going to do the thing natures likes us all to do since we have the house to ourselves and bam! in walks the mother in law yelling is anybody home? Hello? Hello?

Well the fucking car is in the driveway lady obviously we are home.

I’m pissed! We rarely have sex and I’m rarely in the mood for it and it is ruined.. fuck fuck fuckity fuck..

No fuck..