Daily Archives: June 6, 2015

Gut Health

I have horrible GUT Health. This could also be why I have a lot of things go on with me.

Check your gut, people!

What The Bacteria In Your Stomach Have To Do With Your Physical And Mental Health

leonard cohen


I am, for the most part, anxious Numbo. But I can feel the mood shift coming, and it’s gonna be a dark one. It’s tugging at my brain, clouding things in a gray haze…It’s coming. I know I am supposed to fight it, spew some sunshine, blah blah. My attitude is, I’m out of bed and dressed, what more do you want from me?

My mom called me at 2 a.m. telling me Spook was screaming in pain with an earache. I offered to come get her, take her out to the ER but honestly, other than an anti biotic, they weren’t going to do a thing for her. She stayed, though when I called this morning, the kid apparently kept mom up most of the night. Welcome to my world. She is an active child. Mom said, “I don’t know how you do it, I can’t keep up with her.” I barely can. Though the hyper thing is easier than the nonstop chatter. Just can’t handle rapid fire noise.

I went and fetched her before the arranged time because mom s0unded exhausted. Ha ha ha. She’s always carrying on about how hard my sister works and how tired she is all the time. Well, she had fifteen years of not working or even raising her own kid to save up the energy while I was working my ass off trying to be stable. It’s less bitterness and more…unlevel playing field. No matter how hard I battle, my mom always makes it seem like my sister has it worse. Considering what she’s married to…Maybe she does. I couldn’t stand a husband who refused to work or even do household chores. Alone is better than that. Meh.

Since returning home…The trip into the dish and the sunshine gave me a headache. My child has been in my face,yap yap yap, making my head hurt worse. I really want a dark quiet room. Not happening with Uzi child.

The descent. It’s there, tugging, pulling. I thought maybe before I picked her up today I’d  hit some yard sales. I didn’t feel the slightest inclination to stop when I drove by one. And once again, I wonder, what happened to me? Why am I suddenly numb to everything but the bad stuff? (And even that is gauzy and wrapped in latex.) I think I can stop blaming the Latarda now. I think this is the Trileptal. I don’t fucking like it, it’s as bad as Lithium haze. But if I don’t agree to the doctor’s “med flavor of the week” I can be noted as non compliant. Shit. I don’t agree with him that Lamictal was the problem. I don’t want him to take me off it. I don’t like Trileptal or at least how I’ve felt since I started it.

When he broached taking me off Lamictal he said, “I know you like it because it has few side effects, but I think Trileptal is the better choice.” Okay, first off, I’ve been going to shrinks for twenty years and this is the first time EVER one has ever mentioned this Trileptal shit. Second, what is with guilt tripping me for wanting a med that doesn’t give me ass trash side effects? How is it non compliant to not want to live your daily life shrouded in side effects? I mean, would the doctor take a Tylenol for a headache if it also gave him hives, the shits, and impotence? I doubt it. But that’s what we have with psych meds. Suffer multiple “inconveniences” we didn’t have just to treat the one thing we do have. Nutsy frigging kookoo.

Is it bedtime yet? I need darkness and quiet.

I caved and started watching Orange Is The New Black. Thus far…Not all that interesting. Sometimes hype is just hype. Only reason I watched it was because of a line I heard on izombie. Something about tampon sandals on Orange Is The New Black. Hmmm…Yeah, had to know. Now I don’t care. Two episodes, if it doesn’t start interesting me, I’m done.

Since I am feeling obligated to spew sunshine since venting is akin to feeling sorry for oneself (I dispute it whole heartedly)…I’ve dealt with both family factions already today so the rest of my weekend should be family free. That’s a relief. I sound awful but…You have to know them. Toxic doesn’t begin to cover it.

I should do some housework. But for now, since I can’t even find my Tylenol, and the child is stomping and screaming…I’m just gonna dim the lights and hope the headache dies down.

Tug tug. Descent beckoning. It was bound to happen, going off an SSRI and onto an SNRI. So far, the Prozac withdrawal has been minimal, just some tingling numbness in my fingertips. No brain zaps, thank the sacred spork. Those brain zaps make you understand shock treatment better.

I think it will be an early bedtime tonight. I stayed up til nearly two thirty a.m. last night and got up before nine, so I’m feeling lethargic. Whine and cheese, right? Blah.

Now this is my idea of spewing sunshine.




Nerves of Steel

As you might imagine I am a pretty nervous guy. I guess that is par for the course when you...

The post Nerves of Steel appeared first on Pretending to be What We Are.

Down the Pub

One thing that I do to mask my illness enough to look vaguely functional is to operate almost completely out of designated safe spaces. The main one is, of course, my home. I’ve got a safe nest built with lots of comfort objects, and I relate to people most naturally from here. I figure that’s probably not too unusual, and I know that comfort objects aren’t unusual amongst my friends. Having said that, most of us have serious mental illnesses, or autism, or both, so it’s not exactly a proportionally representative group against the world population, ha ha.

For a long time after moving here, I tried to find a reasonable looking social group. I increasingly didn’t like being around people drinking to excess, and I never really got on with the club scene — I broke down crying once after being dragged to one in someone elses’ car because I couldn’t leave on my own steam and therefore forced the entire group to go home. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do, but it had to be not too frequently (once a week being too frequent, once a month being too infrequent), and had to be enjoyable enough that my anxiety about being out of my safe space would eventually fade enough for that place to also become a (relatively) safe space.

I’d started looking into crafting groups with little luck, until finally the Stitch ‘n Bitch group became known to me by happy accident. I’ve been going there for a bit over two years now, which includes a pub change. That was hard because it occurred while I was pregnant, so my anxiety levels were a lot higher due to being off of my meds. But besides that, it’s a really good group with a lot of understanding and caring people, so everyone is on board with the fact my brain is squirrelly and that I sometimes need special consideration. Other members who have participated in similar groups have expressed that this group is especially good and kindly, so I’m glad I stumbled upon it. It’s hard to take the risk of checking out new things because it’s so spoon intensive, so I’m glad that my ‘risk’ there paid off.

I still need comfort objects, though. I always bring my netbook with me so that I can chat with my husband while I’m at the bar. This isn’t any ‘we must be in contact at all times’ sort of thing — it just makes me feel a bit better and more able to cope with being out of my best nest by being able to connect that way. If I go to an appointment, or anything out of the house, I’ll take a book, or a Game Boy, or something that I can use to tune out the world if I direly need it. I usually don’t, but just having it there helps keep the anxiety to semi-manageable levels.

Really though, it’s easier (to me) to just stay home in my nest. I like it here, and people are exhausting.

And as I started writing this a couple of days ago and haven’t come back to it, I’m going to leave it at that. Hope everyone is well out there.


Love/Hate Challenge

Tessa threw this one out there, so why not? I only get ten things to hate? Do you even KNOW me??? I will try.


Ten Things I love:

My spawn.

My cats.

Heavy metal music.

Black eyeliner.

Cheesy horror flicks.

Crime documentaries/forensic shows

Menthol smokey treats. (sounds classier than cigarette. I say so.)

Fountain Dr. Pepper. I dunno why, fountain pop just tastes better to me.

Halloween. YEP.

Writing. I can be anyone, go anywhere, do anything in my writing and I don’t have to leave home or deal with dish dwellers. SWEET.

Things I hate: (seriously, only ten? Harsh, dude, harsh.)

Fake people. Just..ick. Have the balls to be real or get away from me.

Bullies. None of that “kids will be kids” crap. It leaves a mark and often childhood bullies just become adult bullies.

Animal and child abuse. People who do that shit should be stabbed with barbwire dildos. (Really, Zoe, that one is going to stick for life.)

Bright colors. It’s not some affect, they just set me off, make me nervous. I think it started when my building caught fire. Now colors like red and orange and pink just make me think of flames.

Homophobes. I wanna throat punch people who say “it’s a lifestyle choice.” No more than mental illness is a lifestyle choice.We are who we are, we are wired how we’re wired. I prefer men, but if I am drawn to a person…They could be an Oompa Loompa for all I care.

TRENDING. IDGAF if it’s net trending, fashion trends, it’s all just asinine. Reminds me of this ice cream shop we have during the summer with its “flavor of the day”. Guess I can’t expect more than that from an ADHD world that lives only to press buttons on a smart phone and listen to Taylor Swift warbling. My cats sound better than that when they’re in heat. Just sayin’…

Racism. Just…NO.

Fat shaming. I am fluffy, fuck off. Fat is in fried foods.

Webcams. I’m aware of my chipmunk cheeks and giant pores. I don’t wish to share them with anyone. Webcams can make the most beautiful person look like shit, what is that anyway?

The midwest. It’s like my prison and I got a life sentence. I don’t belong here. I’m not sure where I do belong, but it ain’t here. I’ve been other places and I wasn’t a misfit there, I was barely a blip of weird on the radar screen. Here, I am…going braindead from lack of things that interest me. Or used to interest me, now that I’m Numbo.


Sorry it wasn’t a nice one word list, but if I only get ten things to hate, I’m gonna elaborate. Short posts are not my strong suit.

Anyone else up to the challenge?


Life on Speed

CrackheadSay No to Drugs.  That’s been my mantra for the past five years.  After trying every psychotropic pharmacology had to offer, which either had no effect or made my bipolar symptoms worse, I chose to manage my illness drug-free.  I take a sleep-aide when insomnia pops up, because that can mess me up fast and hard, but that’s it.  I had to get over my dream of a Magic Pill.

A year or so ago, I also gave up the dream of losing weight.  I’d used every kind of diet and non-diet, mindfulness training and behavior modification, but compulsive eating always won in the end.  I felt it was time to shake hands with that old nemesis and accept it in the pantheon of players.  Better to accept all of me, I thought, than keep bullying the parts that didn’t behave well.

I’d never talked about my compulsive eating with the nurse practitioner at my psych clinic, but this spring I did.  It was part of my bi-annual check-in, a commentary on my relationship with myself.  But she had a different take on it.  Sarah said I was a poster child for Binge Eating Disorder, and that there was a drug that might help.

Was I leery?  Yes.  Skeptical? Of course.  One of the things I love about Sarah, though, is how conservative she is about medication.  She’s my loudest cheerleader, and our brief sessions usually consist of her grilling me on what new tools I’m using to manage drug-free.  I know to keep an open mind when Sarah makes a suggestion.  So, we talked about Vyvanse being a “clean” drug—it’s in your system or it’s not, no lingering effects, no weaning on or off it like the psychotropics.  Any side effects should present themselves right away.  We would start with the lowest dose and work our way up to find a level that would (ideally) curb the compulsion without throwing me into mania or insomnia.  I said, yes, let’s give it a try.

I tried not to have any expectations.  I turned down the volume on The Song of the Magic Pill.  I didn’t want to set myself up for another round of disappointment and failure.  Sarah encouraged me to focus on changes in the compulsive thinking and my feelings, not weight.  I created a chart for the back of my journal to keep track of those parameters.  I was ready.

Three weeks in and I’m cautiously, furtively whispering, It’s a miracle.

The first thing I noticed was the sensation of fullness.  I never felt full when I ate, not even after bingeing for hours at a time.  What allowed me to stop was a weird click in my head, like a timer that said I was done.  Feeling full was a totally alien concept, and I was astonished at the minuscule amount of food that produced the effect.

I also noticed when the Vyvanse wore off and the compulsion returned.  It was like fire ants scuttling over my brain, a swarm of nattering food-thought—What do I want? What do I need? Where? When? How much? What else?—that hadn’t been there a moment before.  It was fascinating.  And it helped me identify the compulsion more clearly.  I could see the difference between the frenzied drive and habit.

Habits are the things normal people deal with—popcorn at the movies, a snack with TV, a trip to Dairy Queen to celebrate.  I found that without the engine of compulsion pushing my habits, I could brush them aside.  I spent a couple of hours reading without eating.  I watched a movie without a snack.  Habit carries its own power, so I have to be intentional and mindful, but now mindfulness actually works.  I still overeat and make crappy choices otherwise.

With time and attention, habits can be changed.  This is my hope.  I went to Starbucks the other day and stopped before I ordered.  I thought my regular Venti latte might make my stomach uncomfortably full.  I was perfectly satisfied with the Grande I ordered instead.  I can’t adequately express how weird and wonderful that little triumph felt.  With nary a fire ant in sight.

I’m on an Adventure.

krizz kaliko

Binding While Broke: I Tried All These Cheap(ish) Chest Binders so You Don’t Have To!

The image features two characters talking. One says to the other, "My binder is so old I can put it on over my head!" They laugh together.

Comic via Tumblr

So if you didn’t know, I got married last Saturday! Hooray! It was magical, and queer, and everything I had hoped it would be.

(And if you somehow missed the momentous announcement, this is a great opportunity to like our Facebook page so you’ll never miss another update like this again. Harhar.)

As someone who is trans and has a lot of dysphoria around my chest, one of my biggest concerns for the wedding was finding the right binder. It had to be comfortable enough to wear for the entire day, offer excellent compression for all of those wedding photos, and breathe so I could bust out my best dance moves without feeling gross. It also had to accommodate my larger chest and tummy.

Most importantly, it had to be cheap, because, like many trans folks I know, I have very little money.

For the last year, in anticipation of my wedding, I’ve been trying out a whole assortment of binders. And as a service to those of you who are broke but still wanting to bind, I thought I’d review three of the binders that I think are worth knowing about.

For the record, I’m not getting paid to review any of these binders… though if I’m being honest I totally wish I was (hit me up; I’ll be waiting!). I’m doing this because I know what it’s like to desperately need a binder but wonder if emptying out my wallet was really worth it.

From least impressive to most, here are the three cheapest (but still reputable) binders I could find, and how they held up:

Tri-top Chest Binder from Underworks


My smile is deceiving: This binder is a pain!

Compression: 5/5

Comfort: 2/5

Mobility: 2/5

Price: $30 + shipping

The tri-top is a really popular binder, priced at around 30 dollars. It’s often the first one that folks will try out because it’s such a recognizable name. But despite its popularity and hype, I’m personally not a fan.

The compression was superb; I am a very busty queer and getting things to flatten out is a real challenge. If your primary concern is compression, you won’t be disappointed.

It is an enormous challenge to squeeze into at first, but overtime, this binder will lose some of its shape; great, because it’ll be easier to get on, but not-so-great, because it will also lose some of that impressive flattening. This is the case with most binders, but it’s a complaint that I hear about tri-tops most often.

Even with its magical compression, I couldn’t get past how uncomfortable this binder was. The material has very little give to it, my mobility and breathing were noticeably restricted, and no matter how many hours I spent in it, it wasn’t the kind of binder that I “forgot” I was wearing – I seemed to be aware of its annoying presence almost constantly.

Even after trying a couple different sizes to ensure I had the right one, it never felt right. It’s a basic binder that is fine for shorter hours of use, but it’s not a binder I find myself wearing often, if ever.

Overall, I wouldn’t say this is the worst binder. It’s just not an exceptional one. It’s worth noting that there are folks who absolutely love the tri-top, and it tends to rate highly, so as with any binder, what it really comes down to is personal preference.

Just not my cuppa tea, it seems.

Extreme MagiCotton Sports and Binding Bra from Underworks

The image features the author waving a rainbow flag and saluting.

Thought I should look as queer as possible for this photo. Featuring: The binding bra!

Compression: 3.5-4/5* (depending on cup size)

Comfort: 4.5/5

Mobility: 5/5

Price: $35 + shipping

This is one of the best kept secrets of the binding world. Because this is marketed as a bra, most folks miss this one entirely. But if you’re binding or interested in trying it out, you need to know about this binder’s existence.

I first heard about this from a couple of trans guys who were buying these damn things in bulk because they were great for working out. A traditional binder just doesn’t offer enough mobility for exercise, so they sought out something specifically designed with athletes in mind.

In the time since I first wrote about this binder on Tumblr, I’ve found out that folks who have chronic pain and can’t wear traditional binders have also started trying this one out. I can confirm, as someone with on-and-off pain in my shoulder from an injury, that this is an option worth looking at if you need a binder that’s less harsh on your body.

An additional benefit for some is that, if you are still not out as trans and living under your parents’ roof, this passes easily as a sports bra and won’t raise any red flags.

The downside is that because of its stretchy material, you might not achieve the same level of compression, depending on your cup size. As a larger-chested queer, I definitely wouldn’t wear this binder if I needed complete and total compression, but I can assure you, smaller-chested folks need not worry about this.

With a little bit of layering, this can totally work as an everyday binder for larger-chested cuties; with a smaller chest, layering isn’t necessary at all.

I love this binder, and I wear it when I’m exercising or when my body needs to recover from a couple days of more intense binding. I now consider it an essential in my closet.

It’s important that we take care of our bodies as we bind; binding definitely takes a toll. I’d recommend that everyone who’s interested in binding give this one a shot, especially if comfort is your primary concern.

GC2b Half Binder from GC2b Transition Apparel


Before the wedding ceremony! Featuring: The GC2b!

Compression: 5/5

Comfort: 4-4.5/5* (depending on size)

Mobility: 5/5

Price: $33 + shipping

Let this photo from my wedding speak for itself.

There’s Ray on the left (my spouse, whoa) and me, wearing the GC2b, on the right. This binder not only made my chest look terrific, but I was able to dance at my reception and party the night away, comfortably and happily. I forgot I was even wearing a binder.

Seriously, I forgot. It was amazing.

And, y’all, you would have never guessed that I have a large chest, right? It’s magic.

I’d first heard about this binder through a rave review at Autostraddle, and from there I kept seeing gushing reviews popping up all over the net. I was skeptical, but as it turns out, I didn’t need to be – this binder is fabulous.

The design is quite brilliant and one of the reasons why folks are so excited about it. There is a panel on the front that flattens, but the material on the back is more of a stretchy mesh – which means the binder can expand and contract as you breathe, but the front will still compress just the same. It also means it’s more flexible than your typical binder, making it easier to get on and off.

This thing is comfortable as all get out, which, if you didn’t know, binding is seldom a comfortable affair. I was amazed that this was nearly as comfortable as the binding bra I mentioned previously, but was much more effective at compressing.

There are some downsides – the cut won’t work for everyone, especially us chunkier babes who may find there’s some arm spillage or a little more pressure around our ribs depending on sizing. I’m actually in-between sizes, so I own both a large and extra large (the large for when I want extra compression, the extra large when I want more comfort).

It’s a lower cut, which I recognize can be a good AND bad thing. Good so that you can rock that v-neck with no problem, but bad if you’re dysphoric and the last thing you want to see is cleavage when you bend over or take your shirt off.

That being said, this is now my favorite binder and the one I rely on for near-daily use. Usually you have to sacrifice some compression for comfort or vice versa, but I find that it binds exceptionally well without sacrificing your comfort or safety.

This binder gets my absolute highest recommendation. I’ve heard mixed reviews here and there, but I’m in love with this binder and I think it lives up to the hype.

* * *

But, hey, wait. Before you run to grab your debit card, here’s some shit I want you to know:

First of all, binding isn’t a walk in the park. It can leave you feeling a bit sore, constrained, and uncomfortable. But that being said, if binding is causing you a noticeable amount of pain, you, my friend, need a different size or a different binder altogether.

Do not settle for pain or think that pain is a necessary part of binding. Binding shouldn’t hurt and it shouldn’t make it difficult to breathe.

Too many people – particularly trans folks – are somehow convinced that hurting themselves is just part of the process when, in fact, it shouldn’t be.

It’s also worth knowing that a binder could be recommended a thousand times over, but it just might not be a good fit for your body. The tri-top comes with some serious praise, but no matter how I contorted my body and what size I tried, it just didn’t work for me.

In other words: It’s silly to think that there is one binder that’s ideal for every single person. It’s just a series of trials and errors before you get something that works for you.

Lastly, I recognize that 30-35 dollars isn’t “cheapish” for everyone (and honestly, it’s a stretch even for me these days). So I want you to check out Micah’s list of binder resources over at Neutrois Nonsense (and just familiarize yourself with Micah’s work because it’s fantastic), which includes some binder exchange programs.

I also hope folks will weigh in via comment if they know of any great initiatives that help increase access to binders or have any thoughts about binding more generally.

That’s it for now! I’m off to enjoy my “honeymoon” now (ie Netflix, eating leftover wedding cake, and cuddling with my sweetie, because what else could a queer need?).

 Sam Dylan Finch is a queer activist and feminist writer, based in the SF Bay. He is the founder of Let’s Queer Things Up!, his blog and labor of love. With a passion for impacting change through personal narrative, Sam writes about his struggles and triumphs as genderqueer and bipolar with the hopes of teaching others about his identity and community. When he isn’t writing, he’s probably eating takeout and dancing to Taylor Swift.

Connect with SDF: Website ; Facebook ; Twitter ; Tumblr

Lizzie Boredom

Lizzie Borden t0ok a spork, gave her burger forty whacks when she saw what she had done, she gave her french fries forty one…

Oh, yes, I know I am not right. I like it that way. My father once bought me a button for my denim jacket in high school. It said “why be normal.” I agree. WHY???? Normal is booooring.

I’ve been sans spawn for six hours now and I am…a little lost. For all my whining and bitching, the mom gig is less a gig and more who I have become. It’s not all I am, no more than my mental issues are who I am…It’s all just an aspect but remove an aspect and leave a void…It’s like, wtf do I do with myself?

I could spew more venom. I am never at a shortage, that’s for sure. I could puke some sunshine but I am very irritated with people who only want that version of me.  I mean, I get it, spewing sunshine is YOUR way, but it’s not MY way, so let’s respect that about each other. The world…has other ideas. Frankly, if you are so weak that my “negativity” brings you down…Meh. I didn’t make it to age 42 by being a weakling brainwashed and dragged down by reality.

So…Lizzie Bordome. YES. I like it. Oddly, the one show I cannot seem to get into IS the Lizzie Borden Chronicles, on Lifetime. And I think Christina Ricci is awesome but the show…just doesn’t do a thing for me. It’s a bummer to have my favorite “unsolved” mystery made so utterly…boring. Given, I am in my post Latudalyptic numb days but still…How can you make an axe murder boring? Seriously. That’s just stupid.

I will confess…I’ve had some libation that has calmed me enough to not just listen to music, but enjoy it, as well. So…before I am accused of being an alcoholic, an evil being, bringing my own depression on myself…I want to post some music that makes my pulse quicken. I have a vast span of what I like, spanning from pop to country to metal to rap (Eminem.) No apologies. Appreciating a good song, regardless of genre, takes courage. And making it metal just…fucking…rocks.


That’s my new favorite band. I normally abhor metal bands with a female singer (reverse sexism much?) but this band…kicks ass.

Under the heading of, “Do you like anything that isn’t obnoxious???”

That song was played at the end of an ep of Grey’s Anatomy and it’s too damned catchy not to be infectious, even for a metalhead like me. Fuck.

More pop music? How about we make it less wussified? Metal it the fuck up, bitches. For my spook-a-poo.

I grew up in the “glitter glove” days of Michael Jackson so this was always one of my favorites. Pellek just made it more awesome. (Soo wanna adopt him, he’s just so frigging cute and talented.)

I NEVER liked this song, not even when it was played on my like, favorite ever, show, Supernatural. I consider it classic “southern” rock which is icky. Yet…Pellek made it not suck.

(Seriously, I want desperately to adopt this boy, he is so fucking amazeballs!)

A song that is not metal  yet has a decent guitar riff, strong vocals, and the lyrics speak to me ten times over:

I dedicate that one to all my exes. They did make me stronger. I’m not easy to deal with but I never faked my dedication through thick and thin. Who’s character does that say more about???

A song I’d NEVER have known about, or even given a chance, had I not heard it in the background of an episode of Torchwood (The new Dr Who rocks the casbah but Torchwood is EPIC!!!):

“The situation isn’t getting any better…”

I think that one resonates because it can apply to mental illness. “Just to feel something.” “The situation isn’t getting better…” “I scream down this hotline…”  It’s got that smooth melodic/screaming satan thing from Slipnot and Mudvayne, which I used to be absolutely disgusted by. Now…It makes my toes curl. YESSSSS.

2015’s “Rebel Yell”


That one reminds me of hypocrites like R who drink 7 nights a week to avoid reality yet look down on people who take meds for a legit illness. IDGETS.

Not that I agree with the anti meds message this band seems to have…BUT this line, and this song, grew on me like a moldy stinky fungus.

“Here’s a pill…why don’t we take it…’cos I heard it makes…everything okay…”

This one I first heard on an episode of 21 Jump Street. I th0ught it was both obnoxious, loud, and annoying. I also thought it was an anthem for my teenage years when I needed one thing and everyone else dictated I needed something else and I’m the one who got screwed without a kiss.

Mindless “I don’t get it but it still fucking rocks” metal.

Odd thing is…,my sister was a huge Manson fan in her teens and early 20’s and I couldn’t stand it, it was too harsh. I was still hung up on my fuck toy hair bands and their bubblegummy pop music. Now…she’s doing the bass thump trance and 80’s shit and I am the one demanding my music HARDER LOUDER MORE OBNOXIOUS AND ANGRY. Complete turnabout for siblings.

I think perhaps the strangest thing was…I hated the Eurythmic’s song “Sweet Dreams” when it came out. It was remade by Marilyn Manson and even then, I said,ughh, too harsh.

Enter an epic depression, I catch it on the soundtrack of Tiffani Amber Thiessen tv movie called “Sweet Dreams” and suddenly…it’s  awesome. Maybe musically I AM mercurial.


I am wondering, can I even use all these audio/video files with my freebie wordpress account? No idea. And IDGAF. I’m burning bridges and hanging by a thread so if this post is fucked up…Meh. I wish I cared but vague is my default these days. If you have any ideas on how to fix it, I am all ears. (And yes, I know, if I were a REAL blogger I’d pay for the fancy account but hey, my kid eating comes before me being legit in the blogosphere.)

I got this one, a song I’d never have given a second thought to, from an episode of Bones, though it apparently got famous on the Vampire Diaries soundtrack and I don’t even remember it.

It’s damn near impossible for my moody ass to choose a “favorite song”, my mind changes so often. BUT given the last 8 years…It remains this version of this song and yes, I feel appropriate shame because I am fairly sure Jared Leto is a douchebag but…I don’t argue with talent that gives me goosebumps. Clown shoes. (Guys in eyeliner rock!!!!)

Having admitted to my sexism and lack of love for hard rock female vocalists…This song is an exception even if not exactly hard rock. (They can’t all be Lita Ford.)

It’s sad that I spend so much time griping how stressed my kid makes me, then I get a break from her and I have zero idea what to do with myself. If I were writing, it wouldn’t be an issue. But so much of my life is up in the air right now, I can’t lock into the safe space I need to dissolve into my fiction writing. And believe me, I a DYING to dissolve into that world with vampires because fiction isn’t nearly as depressing and scary as reality…But forcing creativity is like trying to fake an orgasm. Why bother? It’s still fake no matter how much work you put into it.

I sometimes wonder, because, yes, I DO read the blogs of those who follow me and note their religion/faith, if my stance on the issue is offensive. I am assuming it is but no more than it is for me having faith crammed down my throat when it is at odds with what I believe. My faith is in myself, my choices, the heavens, fate, karma…I fail to see how that is so different from having faith in the Bible or God. Either way, faith is a concept that would normally earn us all a “delusional” label were it not the societal norm. So why can’t we just respect each other’s views and agree to disagree?

Great question. No one’s given me the answer yet and I am really sick of tip toeing around, feeling I can’t be who I truly am without offended those with faith. Just because I don’t share your belief, please don’t think I don’t respect it. I think it was Voltaire (paraphrasing) who said, “I may not agree with you, but I will fight to the death to defend your right to say and believe it.” THAT is me.

Unless you’re moron who thinks mental illness is fake. On that one, we go to war. I live this shit and I assure it,it is NOT a fucking choice.

THIS one is very old, very obscure…But the lyrics have always spoken to me like nothing else ever could. Jonathan Daniel had a way with lyrics.

My dark metal idol for the last nine or so years, even though he’s like pocket sized and I could carry him in my purse…

I once wrote a poem about someone’s “demise.” My insane roommate found the journal I wrote it in and told everyone I was crazy and plotting to kill her. Narcissistic much?

My idea of  Yummmm…(akin to men who like petite women with blonde hair and big boobs, etc, we all have our fetishes…)

wed guitarIt’s the hair, eyeliner, guitar, and the amazing music, duuuude.

I watched the Lifetime “mini series” “The Secret Life Of Marilyn Monroe” today…And I can’t even tell you when I got into the Marilyn Monroe thing because I never thought she was *that* pretty or talented…But over the years, watching movie after movie, reading book after book…She was mentally ill and no amount of money, success, or beauty could change it. Was she difficult? I don’t doubt it. But even the people who allegedly loved her treated her like crap.

So when she was quoted as saying, “If you can’t handle me at my worst, you sure as hell d0n’t deserve me at my best…”

THAT made her a legend in my mind.

Because nothing cures mental illness, no matter what the party line would have us believe.

On that note…An obscurish metal song about being in love with a bipolar woman…it’s the lyrics, someone knew what they wrote of…

“You’re  a beautiful wreck, you’re out of control…”

Morgueticia out. It’s time to do something. Like ponder why boxed wine doesn’t have a straw glued to it. Important stuff, ya know?