Daily Archives: November 16, 2015

Hi. Poe. May. Knee. Uh…

*big loud screeching noise*

*laugh track*

*laugh track*

*honkey tonk guitar lick*

*words words words words words words*

*the sound of my tongue moving in my mouth*

*tasteless lesbian porn*

*laugh track*

*trains, lots of them*

*I can hear my eyeballs slide*

*Ok Ok Ok Ok Ok*

*distant hisses*

*laugh track*

*uh, um, uh*

*lightbulbs popping*

*a belly flop from which I never recover*


Theory: I am, in fact, my dad’s kid even more than I thought, which is to say, my natural state is quiet, ponderous, shy, and introverted. The only reason people don’t believe this about me and the reason I don’t always believe it about me is because these traits are squashed by my big, loud, sexy hypomanias. Which means sometimes I don’t live up to myself (?) which, in turn, causes a fair degree of dissonance upstairs ‘specially  when I have to perform Laura when Laura is feeling quiet, ponderous, shy, and introverted.

One Reason To Think This: I’ve been hypomanic for about 2 weeks and it hasn’t been particularly euphoric but hasn’t been irritable either. It’s been creative above all else and it fucking rules. I’ve been reading and writing frenetically and, while I’ve been enjoying other people’s company more comfortably than usual, I’d rather be in my office makin’ shit with my suddenly cartoonishly oversized brain.

Another Reason To Think This: I’ve been super, super good about not drinking and this is probably the first hypomanic episode I’ve had where I haven’t had a single drink, not even once. I’ve had to learn about 9 times (non-hyperbolic) that Laura + hypomania + booze = a noise blasting sex monster that’ll chew your damn ear off. Instead of expending this energy and disinhibition on trying to fuck your girlfriend, I’ve been shoving creative production out of my being with superhuman strength and I’m enjoying it a great deal.


What about the eventual fall?

What about it? Fuck you.


So I can’t sleep for shit. I’d been self-medicating with weed or NyQuil (or both) until my doc asked me to please stop doing that and prescribed me Sonata. Cool thing: Sonata gives me crazy vivid dreams. The people in my dreams are so lifelike, I’d deem them identical to their IRL forms. I dreamt of my dad the first night. I saw his real face, his real height, his real glasses, and I heard his real voice. I’ve not seen, in any hallucinatory form, my dad so lifelike since he was actually still alive. SO. FUCKING. COOL.


What about the eventual fall?



So, I’m sober, sleeping about 7 hours a night, laughing ’til I get stomach cramps, writing, writing, writing, writing, writing, just diggin’ it, really. I haven’t frightened anyone yet, not even myself. Good. More than good.

FRENETIC. The word has a great mouthfeel and is an entirely apt descriptor. I’m good with it, I’m just good. Barking for a speeding ticket, gesticulating even more than usual, tying together the windblown threads of my savaging ming because there is good stuff up here, and despite alienating people who might be put off by my pace or my presentation, I’m fine. And safe. And diggin’ it. Absolutely.


What about the eventual fall?

Not even dignifying that one right now.


Tagged: alcohol, bipolar disorder, dad, dreams, hypomania, identity, insomnia, marijuana, sexuality, sobriety, the car analogy, writing

Best Bipolar Medications, Volume II

Here is a synopsis of what I have used, and how it has worked. I’m not saying it will work the same way for you, although it might!  I don’t think any of them will kill you, although they say that Latuda has the potential for an awesome deadly rash.  Bad-ass!

Lithium: Seemed to work as a mood stabilizer.  Side effects:  One minor side effect was that I HAD TO PEE A MINIMUM OF FIVE TIMES A NIGHT!!!!  Dr. Drugs considered this to be a negligible side effect.

Clozaril: Worked as a mood stabilizer in that it kept me glued to the couch watching tv.  No motivation to get up, get out, go see the world, and certainly I couldn’t work up enough motivation to kill myself.  Side effects:  Pot-like munchies, causing me to gain THIRTY POUNDS.  Dr. Drugs considered this to be an acceptable side effect.  When I told him that my PCP was concerned that I may become diabetic, he replied “Then we treat the diabetes.”  Not cool, Dr. Drugs, NOT COOL!!

Lamictal: Stabilized me to a point that I was completely flat.  No affect whatsoever.  Couldn’t think of a thing to say, do or be.  Side effects:  See above

Abilify:  This is my current drug.  I’ve always hated Abilify because of their stupid fucking cartooney commercials.  BUT!  This shit is working.  I’m stabilized, and I have a personality.  My long-lost creativity has come back, after two years of hiding from me.  I think Dr. Drugs took it and put it in a box somewhere.  Side effects:  It is possible to have herky-jerky involuntary muscle movements.  So far I have punched myself in the face only once.

What’s the commonality among all of these drugs? None of them give you diarrhea.  This is a good thing people.  They will not send you hurtling towards the ceiling, the noxious stuff shooting out of your butt.  Oh how I wish I could say the same for this cocktail of antibiotics that I am on for the Oh Glory H. Pylori!  My head is now flat on top.  And I hurt.  HURT!  In the nether regions.

Ok now…it’s your turn! What’s working for you?  Let’s get this mofo cookin’ with some good, current info on what works for us Bipolars, YEAH BABY!  Peach out, homies!!!

Filed under: Bipolar, Psychology Shmyshmology Tagged: Best Bipolar Medications, Bipolar, Bipolar Humor, H. Pylori Humor, Hope, Humor, Mental Illness, Psychology, Reader

A Slice of Christmas Cake

Christmas Cake 2015: one of them, at least

Christmas Cake 2015: one of them, at least

More November fiction for you

A Slice of Christmas Cake

She baked it back in October, when things were merely bad, rather than downright awful. It was something she looked forward to each year: a precursor of the festivities to come.

Each step in the process had its own ritual. First came the gathering of supplies: dried currants, mixed peel, glazed cherries. Next, the purchase of cranberry juice, and lemons. Fiona liked to put in the spices – cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, whatever they had to hand – along with the fruit and the juices to soak. She always used the same bowl: a blue ceramic pudding basin which had held a particularly pricey Christmas pud one year.

Autumnal feet

Autumnal feet

Next came baking day, when Fiona nearly broke a wooden spoon trying to stir the stiff batter. Still, it was worth it: not only for the finished product of two loaf-shaped cakes, but the gorgeous smell which filled the house – not to mention the slightly naughty pleasure of licking the spoon, and the bowl.

That year, the year things really fell apart, she had baked them, put each loaf in grease-proof paper and then wrapped them in foil. Once wrapped, she put both cakes safely away in a cupboard.

By mid-December, the cakes were forgotten, along with everything else that had previously had any importance in Fiona’s life. Her life – and thus Adrian’s – was in chaos, following a prolonged mental tailspin which resulted in her being signed off from work. Once home, she did as little as possible, only eating when Adrian insisted she eat; lying in bed, but not sleeping. When she wasn’t obsessing aloud about work, she would sit, silent as a pillow, on the settee.

Winter, 2014: Doncaster

Winter, 2014: Doncaster

Fiona’s confidence plummeted along with her mood. Rather than a season of good cheer, Christmas was an endurance test, one which she, and Adrian, barely passed. New Year’s Eve was equally miserable.

A few days into the new year, Adrian suddenly said, “Didn’t you say there was some Christmas cake?”

Fiona nodded. She had forgotten about the cakes, let alone telling Adrian about them. After some coaxing, she rooted about, and found one, then watched as he ate a slice of cake.

“Tastes good,” he said.

She tried a bit, though she wasn’t hungry. And it was good, surprisingly so. She had become convinced of her uselessness, that her failures were universal. Here, though, was proof otherwise: proof that she could do something right.

It was a start.

On a winter's day: 2014.

On a winter’s day: 2014.

“A Slice of Christmas Cake” was previously published in a Doncaster Mind Newsletter.

If you enjoyed this short story, please check out the “Storytime” section of this blog, and my short story collections, “What! No Pudding?” and “Koi Carpe Diem”. You can also come to Doncaster Brewery & Tap and hear myself and other writers read on Thurs 26th November from 19:30.

Gargling Razor Blades

My throat is so sore today, I may as well have been gargling razor blades. Nothing that sexy, though. Just waking every hour on the hour (quite literally, the clock is now my mortal enemy) having an allergy induced coughing phlegm spewing fit. Miserable. Never had this until after the spawn and old age. If this is a sneak peek of things to come when I am really old, kill me now.

It’s cold and gray today. Well, the bank temp thingie says it’s 55 but it feels like 35. Maybe my temp gauge is off and I just perceive it as being cold when it’s not. I still haven’t taken my Halloween stuff down, cleaned the yard up from last week’s wind storm, or scooped out my car. The housework is just taunting me and I am flipping it off.

I was up til ten last night. Once spawn zonked, I just pacified myself with endless games of Word Poker. Spelling calms me, I don’t know why. Maybe because it’s the only thing I’ve ever truly been good at. I am spell check, for fuck’s sake, sans a few words that still get me fucked up. Spelling soothed me til just before ten so I went to fort vanilla bean with Chaos purring in my ear. Then came the falling to sleep (after a half hour of cyclone brain drove me to melatonin) only to jolt awake several times. I woke like ten minutes after finally drifting off. Then a half hour later. Lather, rinse, repeat. I saw every single hour on the clock all night. This is not a healthy sleep pattern, especially after a year of it. I got more solid sleep when my kid was a newborn, ffs.

It’s funny cos pre kid, pre mood stabilizers, during mania I was a whirlwind, chirping, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” Post all that, I am desperate for eight solid hours of sleep, fuck all else. Except the problem isn’t my kid waking me up, it’s my scumbag brain refusing to stay asleep for more than two hours at a time. So yeah when the disability people want to know how my conditions impact daily living….THIS. You can’t run on empty 24-7 and be expected to be at your best, all the while juggling the misfiring of scumbag brain.

I am really not at all OCD. Except on occasion someone will say something that hits me wrong and then it will worm its way in and nag at me and make me mad or irked and I just want to slap them…Yesterday it was my brother. I wasn’t griping about money or asking dad and them for anything, I just pointed out the three hundred bucks to transfer the car to my name and get mom off my back isn’t gonna happen with Christmas and all coming. So my dickbag half brother says, “I know a job for you…You need to go ring bells for Salvation Army.”

(Because that never occurred to me during the two years of half ass stability when I applied and even they rejected me.)

I guess what made it so audacious is him nearing his 21rst birthday, still living with mom and dad, no job sans lawn mowing and fetching mail for a neighbor lady, and all he does it sit inside playing video games. Here’s a thought; YOU go ring the fucking bell, assclown. I can never ever get over the disparity in which my siblings and I are treated. Once I was done with school, I was told to get a job or get out. I had to pay for half of my first car. Sis and brother were given cars and allowed years of not working. It’s not a jealousy thing,it’s a play fair thing. Aside from having a way higher IQ than those two (thus everyone expecting way more from me) they are far less disadvantaged when it comes to the mental illness.  But they’re the youngest so…it all falls on me. I get nagged relentlessly like I’m still a child.

And ya know, if I were living off either parent, maybe they’d have cause. But I don’t rely on either faction so why is it their business if I work or whatever?

And dad went off on me for not signing Spook up for Toys For Tots. I tried to explain, they give one toy and then winter coats, gloves, etc. Well, Spook already has her winter gear thanks to kind benefactors, so it’d be akin to taking away from a child who really doesn’t have those things. Is it so wrong of me to want to take help only when I have to? Maybe I can’t get her a lot but what I do get her for Christmas is coming out of my budget. I don’t know why he can’t grasp that. Besides, we have all learned that no matter what we get Spook for Christmas my mom will outdo us and spend every cent on toys and then be bitching they have no food for two weeks. Same shit every Christmas since I was a kid. My mother will never grow up. I am done with the contest of who buys more loves my kid more, such bullshit.

But yeah, both parents on my case, why wouldn’t I loooove the fucking Hellidays. I snarked at dad yesterday, “You and mom both bitching at me every time you see me, it is a mystery why I’m not closer to my parents.”

Fuck him. And before anyone starts prattling about, “If I talked to my parents that way…” You gotta know my family, it’s how we communicate, right or wrong. He tells me to get off my lazy fucking ass and pick up my yard. I tell him to get off my ass cos he ain’t a diaper. We put the fun in dysfunctional. And I still wanna be an orphan.

No plans today. I should clean but it happens or it doesn’t whatevs. Spook really pushed me over the edge yesterday. I need to recharge for the next round. So I am gonna stay in my bedroom crypt and watch shows and rot my brain and chainsmoke while hoping my sore throat goes away soon cos it’s very uncomfortable.

Gotta stop sleep gargling razor blades.



Keeping Calm On 4th and Long

Well, it’s been an interesting week. Will has been sick with nausea and vomiting almost since he began a new cancer drug three months ago, and now we’ve thrown low blood sugar into the merry mix. Finally, he reached a crisis point where he became disoriented and even somewhat combative, fell in the driveway, and I had to call 911. He should’ve been admitted to the hospital right then; instead the ER gave him some fluids, anti-nausea medications, and a bit of sugar water and called it good before sending him home with me.

Next day he was supposed to have an MRI, but by that time he was so weak that he couldn’t tolerate the procedure even though he was lying down. The MRI tech was so worried about Will that he called the oncologist, who told my son and me to get Will to a different hospital ASAP. He was seriously dehydrated, and his blood sugar was so low that he could have slipped into a coma and died. Thankfully he’s as tough as they come…I’ve seen my share of people in similar circumstances who didn’t make it. But after only two days in the hospital (and discontinuation of the cancer med that was making him sick) he felt well enough to come home, and today he’s almost back to normal.

To say the least, it’s been hard to stay calm and cool during all this. I have been so worried about Will that I couldn’t maintain my customary clinical distance; I’m just the wife and suddenly it feels like I know nothing about “medical stuff”. I have to check his blood sugar every morning at 4 AM and we’ve learned very quickly that it tanks around that hour and he must eat. This makes neither of us happy, but we don’t want a repeat of the festivities! We’re leaving for our trip in 17 days and there have been times I was uncertain if we were going to make it. I’m still not sure we will. But we’re certainly going to do whatever we can to make it happen.

Obviously, my own illness has had to take a backseat to all this, and in a way I’m glad of it. I can’t very well think about being depressed when my dearly beloved is in trouble. He is my everything and I’m not ready to be without him. I’ve cried more in the past week than in the past year. The nights when he was in the hospital were long and lonely, and more than once I pictured myself spending the rest of my nights without hearing him snore or worrying that my cough is keeping him awake. I know that time is coming…but I’m not ready for it, even though I know it’s getting late in the game, it’s fourth down and long, and we have no real chance of winning.

In the meantime, he is sitting in his favorite chair in the living room watching a funny show on TV, grinning and laughing occasionally, just like on any of a thousand evenings we’ve spent together in our long marriage. His cackling is music to my ears. He looks much better, his sugars have been decent today, and it’s been more than 36 hours since he last threw up. It’s all good…for now anyway.