Daily Archives: May 8, 2015

Depression help

Posted on May 8, 2015 by | Leave a comment

irisIris, it means heavenly colors.

Being in a severe depression is one of the most excruciatingly psychically (and even physically) painful experiences any one can ever experience. That’s when the bottom falls out from under you, the rug is yanked out from under your feet and in either case, there is a black, terrifying bottomless abyss into which you fall. At first you claw and scratch to get out, but then as the days go by, you give up. You sit down, you stay put. All hope is gone, you have no energy to fight, your inner voice has maliciously turned against you. It tells you you are worthless, garbage, not worth saving. You don’t want to listen but you have no choice, you have no energy left to fight this. You have no hope of getting better. And anyway, are you sick or is the the way you always were? Useless, hopeless, ugly, stupid, wrong, just plain wrong. Well this kind of depression, a severe depression definitely needs medication. But might someone in this kind of severe depression, or someone in a less severe depression be helped by another technique? My very good friend once told me of their experience with depression and how they cope with it in a very compassionate and positive way, which is to treat yourself like you are your good friend. So, you wake up, you feel so awful that you don’t feel like getting out of bed. Now you are treating yourself as your own good friend, so you say “Hmm, don’t feel like getting out of bed? That’s ok, just rest if you need to.” Then you check in with yourself and ask :How about now? You feelin’ any better?” Then later “Feel like takin’ a shower? No? That’s ok, maybe later.” And you go on like this, treating yourself as you would a good friend. With compassion, love, caring. No name calling, derision, hate. Remember depression is an illness, you are not doing this to yourself, you are suffering from an illness. What if you broke your arm and started calling yourself names and saying hateful things to yourself? You wouldn’t, you’d go to the emergency room, get a cast and NURSE your arm back to health. This takes me to the second thing I wanted to say, my fellow blogger Gentle Kindness just posted a post (http://gentlementalannie.com/2015/02/13/personal-care-and-depression-be-your-own-nurse/) about depression, in this post she describes depression to a tee and then offers the suggestion that when you are in a depression, you should be your own compassionate nurse! Another brilliant idea. Who wouldn’t benefit from a good friend and a compassionate nurse? Lately, I have been feeling the choking, ugly, bony fingers of depression around my throat. Tasks have once again become more difficult to do. There is dread in my heart and tears that spill easily from my eyes, and my heart feels like it’s breaking for things that would not normally phase me. yes, depression, unfortunately, definitely depression.Well, I am going to try an experiment. Instead of saying what I normally do to myself when I’m feeling depressed “You useless, sick, sad excuse for oxygen consumption.” I am going to treat myself with compassion and love, as a sick person deserves. Well it’s already working to lift my mood a little, it’s infinitely better to hear “It’s ok honey, you are sick, take it easy. You’ll feel better, you always do!” than the above dialogue. Be kind, be compassionate, use loving words and have hope and be resilient. You are hope and resilience. Hugs and positive thoughts for all those suffering from depression or other maladies of the mind or body.


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Jealousy

Posted on May 8, 2015 by | Leave a comment

jealousy

Prompt: What are you jealous of?

(P.S. This post is written a bit tongue-in-cheek…I’m not the mean, evil person described.)

Now I know the Christian and polite thing to say is “I have no jealousy of others…I am happy with what I have.” And I do feel that way to a certain extent. But I thought I’d search the corners of my soul and really come up with some good answers. Why not? I’m a little bit off anyway.

1) I get really jealous when certain friends of mine talk about things they did or are doing with other friends. This doesn’t apply to every friend I have, but there are three or four that drive me crazy when they discuss plans with other girlfriends. My best friend is one of these. She lives in another state, so of course she has other friends and I want her to. But it still kills me when I hear she’s out having fun.

2) I hate other people who are nice and thin. Not the kind of thin you see on models, but the “normal” kind of thin. I’d like to be able to buy clothes at any regular old store and have them fit easily. I’d like to not be hungry so much. I’d like not to be focused on the food at parties. It would be great to WANT to have my picture taken.

3) I am really jealous of people who can cheerfully hold jobs. Since I went out on disability, I have felt like a nothing. I miss teaching. I miss the other teachers and the kids. I miss having my own classroom with my name on it. I miss telling people that I am a teacher. Now I just tell them I am “early retired” and stopped working to spend time with my husband who works from home. I hate feeling disabled and unable to handle a job.

4) OMG…people who travel. I don’t even look at Facebook anymore. I just got too jealous. I have always wanted to travel and see everything. Now I’m getting older and I know some things are out of reach. It’s depressing. I worry about a big trip to Europe, for example, and wonder if my bipolar could handle it. Plus, I have my tight husband. We have the money but all I hear is “We have two kids still in college”. Gag me if I hear that one more time. We DO have some friends going on a European river cruise in August of 2016, so I am hoping to talk him into that.

5) People with ambitious kids are annoying. Our kids have accomplished their fair share but it is because we have stood over them with a whip. My middle son is amazingly bright, yet he shows no ambition and lost a scholarship because of poor grades. My daughter is somewhat ambitious but in high school never tried out for anything. And my youngest…the former pot smoker….spent time the hard way at McDonald’s. Do any of you get those braggy Christmas letters? Every one else’s kid is going to be a brain surgeon after they get back from their all-expense paid European tour.

6) This is a big one. I drool over people with decluttered houses. I love it when you walk in and everything is simplified. The hostess knows exactly where the utensils and pots and pans are. They have minimum dishware. If they ask you to open a cupboard or drawer you are not attacked by what is in there. I did read that clutter bothers bipolar people and I believe it. I wish poof! that some of my husband’s collections would disappear. And that his idea of a good time would not be Goodwill.

7) This one is somewhat lame. I am jealous of people who have one of those back up screens in their car. I drive an older Tahoe, which I don’t mind, but it sits up so high I hate to back it out. I actually hit someone doing that one time. No injuries, but I was sure embarrassed. I will park pretty far away from where I am going if I can pull the car through and not have to back out.

8) I am jealous of people whose daughters’ have big weddings. My daughter is 27 and shows no signs of getting married, but when she does I’d like to have it really nice. Of course, she informed me she’d just like a quiet, simple thing. Her dad will be thrilled! But I wanted to have all of my friends be able to come and see her in her dress. I sort of hope maybe she’ll meet a guy with a big family. And his mother will insist on something bigger.

9) I’d like a storage shed in our backyard. This isn’t exactly a fancy thing to envy but I would love one. It would get all of the tools and junk off of the back patio. If I could clean up the back patio I could get some furniture to sit on. Once again, since we have “two kids in college”, we are saving our money. (Since one graduates in December, my husband can’t say that for much longer.)

10) I envy my friend Debbie. She has three children (older than ours) and they are all married. And she likes all of the spouses. AND she has three grandchildren. She Skypes with everyone, keeps in close touch, and flies to see them regularly. She is like the perfect grandmother and mother-in-law. I’d love to be like that.

Of course, I wish I didn’t have a mental illness. I wish I could be up and running around with a lot of energy.

So there are the things I’m jealous of. If you’re jealous of something, throw it in the comments. We’d all love to hear it!

If you’re one of those people who are never jealous, I’m jealous of YOU!

hugs, lily

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Yoga and Invega Sustenna And Life

Posted on May 8, 2015 by | Leave a comment

I haven’t updated in a while. My old laptop’s keyboard stopped working,  I had to use an external, and the technician came two days late with the wrong part. Then I was told I had to send it in and have them replace it, since it can’t be done on the field by a tech. I could have done it myself, honestly.

I flipped out, and eventually my call got escalated so high they decided to just replace my laptop. So I reinstalled Windows 8 after backing up all my data, complete wipe and reinstall. I was supposed to get the laptop the next day.

No laptop.

A week later, I get an email “Its out of stock”. They order another one. Out of stock. Finally, they order the one I have now (which has delightfully nice specs, i7 core processor, GEFORCE Nvidia driver and 16GB of RAM, to start. The old one was i7, and had 8GB’s of RAM. I got it a week after it was ordered.

I flipped out bad on the phone with my mom one day. She listened to me, let me rant and cry, and then told me that a woman she works with has similar “issues” and finds yoga to help. She said “Don’t go throwing away your pills, but yoga might help”. I live on top of a yoga studio, interesting coincidence. So all I do is walk downstairs for class.

I go to my first class, Gentle Yoga. Everyone but me is elderly, but they’re very welcoming and nice. The first class is free. I went through the hour and fifteen minute class and time went so fast. The studio focuses on mindfulness and staying in the moment, as well as different types of breathing. I was hooked. My mom and I split on an Unlimited pass, so I could go every day if I wanted. I go four days a week.

My doc approves. I still need meds, obviously, but it’s therapeutic for me. The relaxing, the breathing. I like doing the poses and stretching. It’s helped my bad shoulder. I go to Level 1 and Gentle Yoga, as well as Bliss yoga at the end of every month.

I’d recommend yoga for those that have a temper, or bad anxiety. I have a temper AND bad anxiety. It’s so relaxing. And what my mom said: Don’t go throwing out your meds. It’s a good aid. And it’s cheaper than therapy. With the unlimited pass,  pay $15 a week when you work it out.

My old therapist charged $40/hour on the sliding scale (and she was one of the cheaper ones) and she SUCKED. I fired her and started yoga. I don’t recommend firing your therapist and doing yoga in replacement, but this tdoc really, really sucked.

Piportil was giving me warning signs of TD, and I was stuttering on it, involuntary twitches, bad akathasia if I didn’t take Artane in the am and pm (10mg total a day).  So my pdoc switched me to Invega Sustenna, which is given every 4 weeks, instead of every 2, like the Piportil.

So far, so good. I have to go to the hospitals medication clinic for the shots, my GP and his nurse can’t do it, which kinda sucks. The worst is paying for parking. The nurse that gives me the shot is super-nice. I’ve had the two loading doses (150mg for the first, 100mg for the second a week later) and start on 150mg next Friday (May 15th).

The doses are different from the US to Canada, I noticed looking around the internet.  234mg for the first loading dose, 156mg for the second. Weird.

The shot goes into the deltoid (upper arm/shoulder) and isn’t too terribly painful if at all, but there’s a lot of pressure. The nurse is really great. Her daughter horseback rides, so we chat about that. My arm does get sore for about 3 days after. Not super-bad, I can still use it, I can sleep on it, I don’t need painkillers (for the second loading dose, my nurse asked if I had taken anything for the soreness, how bad it was, etc).

Apparently injecting into the deltoid is 30% more effective than in the bum. Interesting! So far the only side effect I’ve had is extra salivation.

The Piportil is’t causing problems anymore, enough is out of my system that the side effects go away. Piportil was great, but even with Artane I had akathasia and EPS. Plus its getting harder and harder to get. It’s understocked and hard to order in.

I’ve been doing web design, PHP, MySQL, riding, lately. Trying to keep myself busy. Mother’s Day is this weekend, so I need to find something special for my mom. I’m getting her a fancy bouquet of flowers from the flower shop down the street. Last year I got her one with a big smiley face cup the flowers were in. She loves yellow smiley faced items. I’ll find something nice there, though.

So that’s life lately.

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Yoga and Invega Sustenna And Life

Posted on May 8, 2015 by | Leave a comment

I haven’t updated in a while. My old laptop’s keyboard stopped working,  I had to use an external, and the technician came two days late with the wrong part. Then I was told I had to send it in and have them replace it, since it can’t be done on the field by a tech. I could have done it myself, honestly.

I flipped out, and eventually my call got escalated so high they decided to just replace my laptop. So I reinstalled Windows 8 after backing up all my data, complete wipe and reinstall. I was supposed to get the laptop the next day.

No laptop.

A week later, I get an email “Its out of stock”. They order another one. Out of stock. Finally, they order the one I have now (which has delightfully nice specs, i7 core processor, GEFORCE Nvidia driver and 16GB of RAM, to start. The old one was i7, and had 8GB’s of RAM. I got it a week after it was ordered.

I flipped out bad on the phone with my mom one day. She listened to me, let me rant and cry, and then told me that a woman she works with has similar “issues” and finds yoga to help. She said “Don’t go throwing away your pills, but yoga might help”. I live on top of a yoga studio, interesting coincidence. So all I do is walk downstairs for class.

I go to my first class, Gentle Yoga. Everyone but me is elderly, but they’re very welcoming and nice. The first class is free. I went through the hour and fifteen minute class and time went so fast. The studio focuses on mindfulness and staying in the moment, as well as different types of breathing. I was hooked. My mom and I split on an Unlimited pass, so I could go every day if I wanted. I go four days a week.

My doc approves. I still need meds, obviously, but it’s therapeutic for me. The relaxing, the breathing. I like doing the poses and stretching. It’s helped my bad shoulder. I go to Level 1 and Gentle Yoga, as well as Bliss yoga at the end of every month.

I’d recommend yoga for those that have a temper, or bad anxiety. I have a temper AND bad anxiety. It’s so relaxing. And what my mom said: Don’t go throwing out your meds. It’s a good aid. And it’s cheaper than therapy. With the unlimited pass,  pay $15 a week when you work it out.

My old therapist charged $40/hour on the sliding scale (and she was one of the cheaper ones) and she SUCKED. I fired her and started yoga. I don’t recommend firing your therapist and doing yoga in replacement, but this tdoc really, really sucked.

Piportil was giving me warning signs of TD, and I was stuttering on it, involuntary twitches, bad akathasia if I didn’t take Artane in the am and pm (10mg total a day).  So my pdoc switched me to Invega Sustenna, which is given every 4 weeks, instead of every 2, like the Piportil.

So far, so good. I have to go to the hospitals medication clinic for the shots, my GP and his nurse can’t do it, which kinda sucks. The worst is paying for parking. The nurse that gives me the shot is super-nice. I’ve had the two loading doses (150mg for the first, 100mg for the second a week later) and start on 150mg next Friday (May 15th).

The doses are different from the US to Canada, I noticed looking around the internet.  234mg for the first loading dose, 156mg for the second. Weird.

The shot goes into the deltoid (upper arm/shoulder) and isn’t too terribly painful if at all, but there’s a lot of pressure. The nurse is really great. Her daughter horseback rides, so we chat about that. My arm does get sore for about 3 days after. Not super-bad, I can still use it, I can sleep on it, I don’t need painkillers (for the second loading dose, my nurse asked if I had taken anything for the soreness, how bad it was, etc).

Apparently injecting into the deltoid is 30% more effective than in the bum. Interesting! So far the only side effect I’ve had is extra salivation.

The Piportil is’t causing problems anymore, enough is out of my system that the side effects go away. Piportil was great, but even with Artane I had akathasia and EPS. Plus its getting harder and harder to get. It’s understocked and hard to order in.

I’ve been doing web design, PHP, MySQL, riding, lately. Trying to keep myself busy. Mother’s Day is this weekend, so I need to find something special for my mom. I’m getting her a fancy bouquet of flowers from the flower shop down the street. Last year I got her one with a big smiley face cup the flowers were in. She loves yellow smiley faced items. I’ll find something nice there, though.

So that’s life lately.

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A Young Student Athlete’s Depression, Hidden on Social Media

Posted on May 8, 2015 by | Leave a comment

blahpolar:

tw suicide.

Originally posted on Longreads Blog:

The day after Madison jumped, Jim walked to the top of the parking garage. He read the phrase, She had wings on. He spoke with Madison’s friends. He compiled clues.

Then he stopped. He could spend his life trying, in vain, to make his child whole again, he thought. Or he could work to keep others from breaking apart.

The Hollerans are trying now to deliver a new message: It’s OK to not be OK. It’s OK to show people you’re not OK.

–Kate Fagan, at ESPN, on Madison Holleran, a University of Pennsylvania student who committed suicide in 2014 at the age of 19.

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Finals

Posted on May 8, 2015 by | Leave a comment

Gave my first final today and give my next one on Monday.  Everyone showed up for it this morning, so that was good.  Had to extend the time to finish for three people but not for too long.  I really think finals should be three hours long, but that’s just me.  Some are going to do well and some aren’t–I could tell looking at them as they turned them in.  But it will all shake out in the end and everyone will get the grade they earned–one way or another.  That’s the way it is every year.

Take my middle child out to eat tonight to celebrate making a 31 on her ACT–we’ll go to a fancy joint called Table 100.  That’s our standard award for mighty achievements.  She went when she made the drumline back in freshman year, and our oldest went for earning a full-tuition scholarship to the college of her choice.  So we’re excited about that.

Another hectic week next week–I have appointments and we have dance recital coming up with all the rehearsals that go with it.  But after that it should be smooth sailing,.

And my oldest is home today from her freshman year.  Not sure what she’s going to do this summer, but we’ll figure something out.  She’s sleeping off her drive down right now, so I’ll let her rest.  I think it’s going to be a good, good summer.


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spammers have feelings too

Posted on May 8, 2015 by | Leave a comment

Another crop of nonsensical and sometimes amusing search terms and spam comments.

(scheduled post)

cavern in the hithaeglir, bilbo meets a hobbit with dissociative identity disorder
If memory serves, Smeagol was ‘like a hobbit’ rather than an actual hobbit. I could be wrong and I cba to find out. Anyroad up, here is the unholy grail.

wpid-c75fa7327862ab885510bddf3674df1b-1.jpgFuck you I’m a bipolar bitch
Well fuck you too. 1. I don’t believe you.  2. Anger management is your friend.

What you feel about means of boy
Meaning? Net worth? I’m not following you and what’s more, it’s about 20 years since I last felt a boy anyway.

Sometimes I just keep quiet because I know what I have in mind
*taps side of nose in conspiratorial fashion, then strokes an imaginary goatee ominously, then ponders imaginary goats* What was the question?

Disappearing spoon quotes about lithium
Goodreads has far more, but here you go, o shiny little absinthe spoon of delight.

Bipolar awesome
No, it really isn’t. Or is this some kind of Charlie Sheen moment? “I’m not bipolar, I’m bi-awesome!”  Nope, you aren’t.

Songbreak!

Every time i assumed, do your bride that day will be, you are a time to erase my imaginary boat, i do not know when it long ah, when ideas will mature
I promise that I won’t do your bride, or erase your imaginary boat. Imaginary goats are where it’s at these days anyway.

I prefer to consider this the continuum of privacy, on the left side we make the modes of communication they all agree are unsecure and lack any privateness. On the right, the modes we deem secure and very own. It might differ just a little by person, but for the most part if you may well ask people for their choice to a private conversation, you’ll likely get the same results.
You ate a dictionary and then barfed it up, right?

Guest of the Guest DC just released its own movers and shakers list in the “Hot Number of.” In a city full of such talent, how did you whittle within the list in order to century of candidates?
The whittling was accomplished by David Bowie with a bowie knife (in the drawing room with Colonel Mustard).

Delete all those friends not often obtained truly notice. Now that you’ve created that list of unknown friends, you must make the big step of deleting them from pals list. You may difficult. Shouldn’t a grieving process involved, but it done.
FacadeBook advice? I can’t thank you enou… no actually, I just can’t thank you at all.

wpid-images-63.jpg.jpeghave discovered this with regard to easy way to use their bogus plans. They have created a fake facebook dislike button. A person don’t see wall posts for instance “I just got the Di Hackers slike button, so now I can dislike each of your dumb posts lol!!” or any other suspicious posts in addition to a attach. If you click that link it leads us to a page which looks like the pages which requests for permission to access the loan application. If we click take automatically leads us in order to complete a survey. Finally it dubs itself like a Firefox add-on with the name “Facebook dislike button”. But this add-on doesn’t seem to make any viral threats which really relief.
The final sentence of your drivel makes everything before it completely redundant. Begone before I slap you silly with a whale shark. Shoo! (Another minute I’ll never get back.)

Therе’s definately a destiny tօ watch ɑbout thiѕ issue.
І have it off аll of tҺe poіnts you sustain made.
Yoda! Green dude! Wtf are you on/on about?

Hi there i am kavin, its my first time to commenting anyplace,
when i read this post i thought i could also make comment due to this sensible article.
We need to talk about kavin. Mostly about his execrable command of my mother tongue.

wpid-images-25.jpg.jpegFor a one one interview male youth, apparently noticed right away that yu geng, if somewhat enlightenment, but not to a plough of greeting, all busy all.
Words like that will probably turn you into the next televangelist messiah. A plough of greeting to you too.

He always wears a white or a plaid shirt, revealing a clavicle, reminiscent of the korean actor, clean, beautiful.
I think this reflects the simple fact that sentiment is coming off such a depressed state in August, that we have settled into a blah type phase
A homoerotic bipolar comment if ever I read one,  and by the way, I am a big fan of the word ‘clavicle’. *initiating blah type phase* I’m very tempted to make feeble double entendres involving the word ‘thrusters’ now.

de qu difcil es aprender una lengua como un adulto y no tener mucha compasin para inmigrantes que tienen acentos pesados o son demasiado tmido para probar English words afuera de sus pocos y aprender mayor cantidad.
This comment is instantly recognisable as Spamish – and it’s not often that google translate actually makes sense: ” what is difficult to learn a language as an adult and not have much compassion for immigrants who have heavy accents or are too timid to try Inglés words out of his few and learn more.”  Wonder why they translated the word ‘English’ back into Spamish.

Did you play the troll song?

All the way through?

How much do you hate me right now?

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Embalmed Mom

Posted on May 8, 2015 by | Leave a comment

It’s 4:41 a.m. and I am awake. Woo hoo. In all fairness, though, I was tapped out last night and fell asleep before ten. I only woke up five more times and by 4, it was just “fuck it, I gotta pee, I’m thirsty, and I can sleep all day once she’s off to  school and mom’s.” Unfortunately I am too anxious to sleep, to sleepy to be alert, and I feel embalmed.

It’s all become so…exhausting. I hemmed on the fence yesterday for two hours over a simple try to the eye doctor so my kid could get the rubber pads on her glasses replaced. “I can’t handle the dish again.” “I don’t have the gas an extra trip out there is going to cost, I need it to get her to school for the next three weeks.” “But she has no padding on those nose pieces and they hurt her face so quit being a shit mom and get her out there already.”

I took her. It should have been so simple a task, any other parent could have done it in a split second. Yet for me it was this mountain to climb. And of course, I have to count every bleeding penny so even a trip to a store six miles away is an expense I can’t afford. And no, I am not being a whiner or expecting sympathy. I have made a mess of my life with all my ups and downs and instabilities, I own it. Doesn’t make it suck any less. I remember the manic periods when I was stable enough to work and I waited tables and tips at the end of the night were like this high. I could buy stuff and make bills and not go insane worrying over spending an extra ten cents for my cheese. If I could go back there, I would in. But that’s not the path I ended up on.

The cycle has begun on R’s continual usage of  me. Wife comes back, he doesn’t even reply to my texts. And it was about a new DC comic show which is his thing so, wtf, I’m not asking to be worshiped, just sharing some cool info. Ya know, polite civility dictates at least a one word response to acknowledge. Or I am super needy and pathetic. I don’t know, I hate friendship, it’s just as stressful as a romantic entanglement. Because I never know when my needs are important or illogical and it’s so easy for people to convince me my feelings are invalid by using my mental illness against me. I needed the space, of course, I am tapped the fuck out but he wants to preach the friendship thing yet blows me off at will and if I do the same, he reads me the riot act. Play fair or get out of my clown shoeing sandbox.

I am not a morning person, 0bviously. Five a.m. I should only see this hour if I’ve been awake all night on a writing streak. I am famished and yet food makes me gag. I am half ass watching the last ep of season 5 of Weeds and like a lot of shows…It’s gotten pretty far away from its beginnings so my interest has waned. That and again I DON’T DO MORNINGS.

One part of Weeds that totally resonated with me (and I have no idea what ep or season) but this big bad ass Mexican drug enforcer sands people’s faces off to get them to talk then kills and mangles their corpses. But a cockatoo got shot and he damn near whipped. “The poor innocent bird, who shoots a bird?” And it was like…Fuck, that’s me. Okay, I’m too squeamish to sand faces off with a power tool but still…Kill assholes all you want. Leave the sweet animals alone. I am so broken. And yet it really doesn’t feel wrong. I don’t kill people. I don’t even particularly want to kill them (unless I’m menstrual, in a panic, in a depression, aggressively angry manic because under all my venom, I do believe in the sanctity of human life.) But my line in the sand, absolute and unwavering, is NO harm to animals, ever. That I could share common ground with a murdering drug dude is both disturbing yet cool. Of course, it’s a fictional show.

Oh, wow. Mothering 101. Season six, episode one. Nancy’s youngest son kills the evil bitch Pilar with a croquet mallet and flippantly says, “I couldn’t find a golf club.” Yep. I see my kid’s future. I can barely keep a straight face when a kid’s grinning during a lecture. I’d be as fucked up as to advise my kid on proper weaponry. (Always use a spork!!!)

It boggles my mind that I can have so many ideas and so few of them actually stick to my brain so I can remember to write them down. And no, it’s not like any were cures for cancer or deep insights, but there are times when I have thoughts that make sense to me and I feel compelled to write them down. I think since my memory has let me down, I shall work on getting a digital recorder to carry at all times. I have an old one that works with micro cassettes but with a fifteen minute record time before having to flip sides…I love retro but maybe upgrade is good. Then again, I miss VHS simply because I could record eight hours of shows on a single tape. Lucky to get 3 hours on a dvd unless you fuck with the speed and get the synch all off.

Neither here nor there. Getting lighter out, birds are fucking chirping and my brain just keeps getting busier with thoughts that amount to fuck all.

Has someone ever said something to you that sounds polite and flattering yet…There’s this sliver of you wondering if they’re mocking you, insulting you, basically letting you know your problems are pretty silly compared to yours…Do I even make sense? I don’t like to assume the worst but it seems every time I take things at face value, I end up being proven right to be suspicious and wary because, hey, the personal totally was fucking with me with pseudo politeness and veiled “you’re such a whiner, my life is harder than yours” implications. Think it all goes back to that whole thing where people invalidate me and use my mental illness against me. Like being honest when I say “this is hard, this sucks” is the equivalent to bellowing oh woe is me with tears flooding and a sign that says FEEL SORRY FOR ME.

Think it goes back to a friend telling me that I rant too much. Well, from someone with a subdued submissive personality who can’t express their honest feelings I suppose my bluntness seems like mindless ranting. For me, it’s simply venting. I rant to vent because therapy is expensive and I have trust issues due to a counselor’s betrayal so this is my counseling. Perhaps much of it stems from coming from a family of complainers who screamed and bitched but never realized they were doing it and never mad an effort to change a thing yet kept ranting.

Thing is…The more mental health blogs I read on wordpress, the more I see how others also apologize for “ranting” or “whining.” I think it’s asinine that we should feel guilty for purging what would otherwise make us implode. Being able to put your words down and put your feelings into words is a sign of strength, a gift, really. How much strength does it take to bury your feelings under fifteen layers of denial and pretend all is well so you don’t have to take a long hard look at yourself? So while I may apologize for writing long winded posts or not staying on topic well…I am done apologizing for “ranting” or “whining.” Much like one stretches and limbers up before exercise, mental purge is a warm up for us before we take on the marathon of daily life. Let yourself have it.

My brain is an omelet today. Just…scrambled eggs, some sausage, some veggies, some bacon bits, a shot of ketchup (even though ketchup on eggs is as blasphemous as al fredo sauce on a pizza.) I’m thinking of random shit that irked me but it slipped my mind or I got distracted. So while it may seem disjointed…Chances are if it still irks me days later, it’s worth venting.

So back in 2013, I came home to find someone had helped themselves to my tv and laptop. TV I didn’t give a fuck about, flat panels are absolute shit anyway. But my laptop, losing it was a crushing blow. It wasn’t even two years old. More than all that…it had pics of my kid on it that I hadn’t backed up to external drive. (Odd how I remembered to make duplicates of my digital files of Dr Who and Torchwood.) R promised that same day that he would see to it I got a replacement laptop.

That finally happened in ’13, but I had to take the frankensteined dinosaur made of left behind parts from the shop to my nephew to get the drivers and such. Because genius R stripped it all and oh, the reason it didn’t get wifi was because the wifi card was unplugged and the repair guru didn’t even check that. Needless to say, I got a computer that is old, heavy, clunky and the sound card is fried so I have to use an external port with speakers. Still…I’ve been pretty happy with this thing. Screen is nice and big. Keyboard fits my speedy typing well. It’s flawed but functions better than my Vista computer. (Ughhh, it wasn’t choice, it was my other desktop died and I had to take what I could get.) I digress…I was promised a laptop within a week of mine being stolen and it took over a year and most of the work and parts were done by myself and my nephew yet R wants all the credit for donating the skeleton and a hard drive. Yay.

Few months back, I stopped by and his friend Brent was there with this Toshiba Satellite. (Vista, barf.) But it’s only problem is a cracked screen and he didn’t want to spend the money so I asked if I could take it. He said sure. I found a replacement screen for sixty bucks. Of course I never have two coppers to rub together so it’s still not up and running. R was going to give me a spare laptop since he got a deal on a couple. I brought one home, it was great, but then the one he wanted turned out to be circa 2001 with no wifi built in. I had to take back the one he gave me. Then he found another laptop that belonged to his middle daughter. I got that all cleaned up and functional and he decides not only does he want that one, he’s keeping the other one as well BUT he will “save up” and buy the screen for the Toshiba. This from the man it took a year to give me a laptop I had to get working myself. This from the man who promised me my dancing water speakers for Christmas yet five months later has yet to deliver. And now he’s got the laptop he promised me and I am in holding pattern while Mr “I can loan my kid and her husband five grand to buy a car even though they both have good paying jobs” whines that he has to save up for a sixty dollar laptop screen. I don’t think my frustration with him is unwarranted. I mean, he’s the one who all but insisted after that batty bitch crashed into my Chevy that I should buy that stupid not so grand am his daughter used to drive with the insurance payout. The transmission blew after a year and a half. He damn well knew that I was not likely to ever have cash to buy another car and I wasted it on that piece of excrement based on his word. So I have to go back to driving my mom’s car and being under thumb but his kid and her hubby have six times the income I do and he helps them.

It just seems…stupid. Or I am. I think I’m just irritable and R is like soap in your eyes. No matter how many times you do it and try to avoid doing it again, it happens, it burns, it blurs, it hurts, your vision is distorted..But eventually you grab for that bar of soap, assume you’ve rinsed your hands thoroughly , scratch your eyelid and wham, Irish Spring in the eyeball, irritating as hell.

Course that describes me, too. Corrosive, sarcastic, acidic, irritating…And those are just my good qualities.

Perhaps what has set me off the most with him is…I tried to have an adult heart to heart with him, as one parent to another. And we all know he thinks my kid is satan, his are angels, blah fucking blah. But I was reaching out to him, confessing my worst fears, worrying about my kid’s behavior. Happy, sad, crying, pissed off and aggressive. And it was like, “God, I hope I didn’t pass the bipolar thing to her.”

He had the audacity to say, “Oh, no, don’t you be giving her excuses like you use.”

So fucking typical of someone who doesn’t believe mental illness is real. I’m baring my soul here, voicing concern for my child and what is an illness that runs on every branch of her family tree…And he deduces illness as making excuses. Maybe she is. I know I’m not. But my parents let me drown rather than pay attention and get me help so pardon my if I am a little vigilant in looking for signs my kid may need help.

Geesh. It’s 6:08 a,m. Spawn is still down for the count. I’m awake but already I can feel it all closing in on me. Hunger, but can’t eat because I will gag. Birds chirping and I want to whack them with croquet mallets simply because happy chirping pisses my non  daywalker ass off. Far as I know, I am beholden to no one today so I thought I might find a yard sale or two since I have a couple bucks in dimes and nickels in the car’s cupholder. I know I gotta clean house, it’s all snowballed again. Pretzel gut is kicking in. I should dye my roots, it’s getting to the point people will assume I am Spook’s grandma. (Sadly, I was born with jet black hair so I started going gray at age 20.)

Okay. I think my mind is quieter now. For now. Day is just beginning.

And remember people…No  more apologies for ranting. Vent, vent, vent. It’s healthy and no one is being held at gunpoint forced to read your venting. So just do it and stop feeling bad for doing it. Go feel bad about the endangered species status of isporkacorns or something.


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Fear and Loathing in Central Doncaster

Posted on May 8, 2015 by | Leave a comment
My first general election: 7 May 2015

My first general election: 7 May 2015

How I Learned to Embrace Facebook, with Additional Musings on the UK General Election, Mental Health, & Oysters

Doncaster isn’t where I planned to move When I Grew Up (1). I had this vague idea of living in the Southwestern states. I’d wear a cowboy hat, and take trips back to Michigan, where I would be a popular, eccentric auntie.

As Mr Loaf so nearly said, two out of six ain’t bad.

This is one of many reasons I love my adopted home town:

Doncaster UKIP office: 7 May 2015.

“Reject the politics of fear”: sign taped to Doncaster UKIP office, 7 May 2015.

We saw the above on our way to our favourite Turkish restaurant, whilst returning home from the polling station. Whilst I’ve been a citizen awhile, this was the first General Election in which I could vote. Between the Parliamentary and council elections, I voted for four different parties.

None of them were UKIP.

What does this have to do with Facebook (FB)? I have some close friends, and an even larger group of warm acquaintances, who I chat with on FB. Some got quite passionate about the election: to the point of strongly disagreeing with each other, including me.

And that’s great. Because any democracy where people can’t discuss politics in a lively, honest way isn’t worth a stuff.

“Never talk about politics or religion.”

Who the hell said that? Because I want to track ’em down, go down the pub or the cafe or the Turkish with them, and do just that.

Play nice, or there'll be no smiling ginger biscuits for tea.

Play nice, or no smiling biscuits for tea

And, whilst we’re setting the world to rights, we could clink glasses, mugs, mead horns, or whatever else we happen to be drinking from. Maybe even become warm acquaintances, or, eventually, friends.

If you can’t do this with your friends on FB, let alone down the pub, maybe that isn’t the fault of social media.

Maybe you need new friends.

I used to disappear from FB, whenever my bipolar disorder got too much for me.

Not any more.

I’m fortunate to have friends with whom I can be honest about my sometimes frequent, always terrifying, trips aboard the Self-Loathing Express. It’s through this honesty that I’ve discovered other carriages: full of people I know. Not all are folks I’ve gotten to know through the mental health community.

I don’t expect my friends to like everything I do (2), and realise that many have their own versions of that loathsome, lonely old train.

All I ask is that we give each other a friendly wave from the station, and be there with a cuppa – real, or virtual – when we finally step down from the carriage.

I don't think this chap's having a very good time of it.

I don’t think this chap’s having a very good time of it.

(1) Whether I have or not is a subject of on-going debate.
(2) Although Gerald says I should make an exception when it comes to liking Doctor Who.

 

 

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Dude, You’re Getting A Dell!

Posted on May 8, 2015 by | Leave a comment

Actually, I’m not a dude, and I already bought my Dell. Yesterday. At Costco. Now I can type my blog posts once, not twice as I did when I had no Internet access on my old computer—I was having to compose the posts in Documents and then type them into my phone. As you can imagine, that was quite a process, and more than once I nearly gave up because it was such a gold-plated pain in the ass.

But sweet are the uses of a little extra money, and thankfully I got five months’ worth of Social Security payments all at once so I had the cash to buy a new computer. It’s my very first laptop and I’m thrilled with it—it’s got all the bells and whistles I could have asked for and more besides. It’s not top of the line but I don’t need that; I just wanted a more portable computer that didn’t take up the entire desk when I set it down AND worked with my landlady’s wireless service. Which it does beautifully.

So if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to learn a little more about this marvelous piece of technology before I get back to posting my usual wit and wisdom. I’ve got a few bugs to work out in the user . See you soon!


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