Daily Archives: November 17, 2015

Victim’s Husband Tells Terrorists, ‘I Will Not Give You the Gift of hate’

Antoine Leiris, whose wife was killed when gun-wielding militants invaded a crowded concert hall in Paris, has this message for the killers: “I will not give you the gift of hate.”
Mr. Leiris, a journalist for France Bleu, a network of local and regional radio stations, met his wife, Hélène Muyal-Leiris, 12 years ago, and has been left to raise their toddler son, Melvil, on his own.
Of the 129 people killed during the attacks on Friday, 89 died at the Bataclan concert hall, where Ms. Muyal-Leiris had been attending a rock concert.
In a moving tribute on Facebook that had been viewed more than 90,000 times by Tuesday afternoon, Mr. Leiris said he would not allow his grief to turn into hatred.
Addressing the attackers, he wrote: “You won’t have my hate. On Friday night you took the life of someone exceptional, the love of my life, the mother of my son, but I will not hate you. I do not know who you are and I do not want to know. You are dead inside. If the God for whom you blindly kill really made us in his image, then each bullet in my wife’s body is a wound to his heart.”
He went on: “So I will not give you the gift of hate. Even though it is what you were hoping for, responding to hatred with anger would be to fall to the same ignorance that made you the people that you are. You want me to be scared, to distrust my fellow citizens, and to sacrifice my liberty for security. I will play on.”
Mr. Leiris said he had seen his wife’s body after the massacre, after waiting for several days. “She was as beautiful as she was when she left on Friday night, as beautiful as when I fell forever in love with her more than 12 years ago,” he wrote.
“Of course I am devastated by grief, I will concede you that small victory, but that will not last long. I know that she will watch over us always and that, one day, we will meet again in that paradise of free souls where you will never be admitted.”
He ended on a note of optimism. “Now it’s just the two of us, my son and I, but we are stronger than all the armies of the world. In fact, I do not have any more time to waste on you, I need to go and get Melvil, who is waking up from his nap. He is only 17 months old, he will eat his afternoon tea as always and then we will go and play as always, and this little boy’s entire life will be an affront to you by being happy and free. For he will not hate you either.”

After the terror

I haven’t written or posted anything in a few days. At first I was just in shock from the terror attacks. Then I have been reading everything I can find, all the news reports, all the historical data, the commentary, anything I see that has to do with the events in Paris. I still don’t know what to say. Of course I condemn them, the acts, the people who perpetrated them. No matter what’s been done to the Middle East, and there has been a lot, such as the destruction of Iraq for no reason, such as the Palestinian issue, such as many things, why is IS the result of that? What I mean to say is no matter what happens to a region, why are cold hearted, deluded, murderous young men the ones to rise and take control of areas? Why IS? Why couldn’t it have been loving, peaceful minded, constructive people who took over? As I write this, I also come up with possible answers to that question. There is poverty, no education, no food, lawlessness. But many people are experiencing the same things and only a few of them join or become IS. So then what? Mental illness that is untreated, not even recognized? Who could set a living human being on fire? A sane person? Not by my definition. But if it is mental illness, then which one is it and what is the treatment? I don’t know. I have no answers. I just know I am beyond upset, beyond upset. My condolences go to the families of all those lost in the attacks. Are there going to be more? We are all fearful. I went to see the Bond movie, and for the first time in my life, I wondered if someone would blow themselves up or shoot me there. Also most of the objects of these attacks are other Muslims. People in Lebanon, Syria, Nigeria, Kenya, Pakistan. It’s awful, it’s heinous, it’s mad. What can we do, I don’t know. Rewire these mad people’s brains? If only. 

Mmmm, The Power Of Scents

Ahhh, the power of scent.  Not much is said about how scent can be mood-elevating.  I am soooo susceptible to scent, though!  I often say that I am the Bad Smell Police.  I can’t stand bad smells!  If someone takes a dump in my vicinity they damn well better be spraying some anti-stink spray and turning on a fan, like, stat!  On the other side of that, though, I was lucky enough to be given a wax simmering pot last Christmas, and I LOVE this sucker!  It’s very safe, it’s warmed by a light bulb, so I don’t have to worry about burning the house down.  At Target (and every other home store you can find) they sell little packages of wax squares and my newest love is called “Be At Peace” (love the name) and it smells of Balsam Fir and Juniper and a little sprinkling of fairy dust.  It smells sooooooo damn good and makes me happily anticipate Christmas, but in addition to that, it just plain tickles me pink!  I walk down the stairs to my apartment, and I just breathe a deep breath of “Ahhhhhhhhh yesssssss.”  If you have never tried scents for mood elevation, I highly, highly recommend that you get your bunzitos to the store and start sniffing.  Who knows what they might evoke?  It could be good.  It could be VERY good.  Peaches!

Filed under: Bipolar, Psychology Shmyshmology Tagged: Bipolar, Hope, Humor, Mental Illness, Psychology, Reader, Scent for Mood Elevation, The Power of Scent

Missed a Day

We were without internet all day yesterday.  SO very frustrating.  But it was up and working the morning so I’ve gotten more done than I did yesterday.  So that is nice.

Everyone is spending some time being sick.  Bob and my little one had a tummy bug yesterday and the middle one has sinuses.  SO I am getting ready to take the middle one to the doctor and see if we can’t treat it early.  I hope so,.  And I need to get my shot with I will try to do tomorrow.  We will see if the schedule works out for it.

SO I need to get her to her appointment.  HOpe everyone has a good start to their week!


A Tail of Two Kitties (apologies to Mr. Dickens)

They’ve been with me through the worst of times, and through the best of times.

Hanging Out

First there was Paris (named after the guy that conquered Helen of Troy because he “forced” me to adopt him). You might think I rescued him, but he rescued me. He found me at a time when I needed him most, and never left my side (or lap) unless he was certain I was OK. I was devastated when he died. Yes, I know that sounds melodramatic, but he meant that much to me.

Meanwhile, your blogger, the skeptical curmudgeon, learned about energy healing, chakras, and animal totems. black-panther-close-up-1280x800Finding out my animal totem is a black panther, did not come as a shock. What did, however was that I could feel Panther’s presence when I needed her. Sitting on the floor of the shower with a razor in my hand, I could feel her leaning against me, reassuring me, it was almost as if she took the razor out of my hand. While doing my chakras, every time I came to my solar plexus Panther would fill me with strength. Then my human guide was taken away from me, I thought I could do it alone, but I couldn’t. My depression took over and I forgot how to do it all myself. But then there were those times when I was at my worst, crying out for help inside my head, and Panther would come to me. She would lean against me again, fill me with strength, or just lay by my side. I realized then, she never left me, she just quietly waited until I needed her.

And now there is Bob. Bob loves him some Ashley

While Bob lay nearly lifeless in my lap from an infection and a parasite, Panther was passing healing energy through me, and I could feel Paris wrapped around Bob, just like he used to take care of “his” cat, Zoe.

Paris and Zoe
Paris and Zoe


And now we come to last night…this latest med-go-round is not good (I see my psych in a couple days). I’m back to severe mixed episodes-agitated mania and depression at the same time-and last night was bad. But then little Bobbycat (that’s what our 2-year-old granddaughter calls him) crawled under the covers and lay next to my abdomen purring, which was when I felt Panther filling my solar plexus with strength, and Paris laying next to my back.

This post is dedicated to Jill, who has selflessly helped me to get this far, and from whom I have so much more to learn.

Tagged: alternative medicine, animal totem, bipolar disorder, cats, chakras, depression, energy healing, hope, mixed episodes

November Rain SUCKS

The weather and the song. (Love G N R but that song was overplayed to audio ipecac level.) As for the weather…It rained all day and night yesterday, it’s pouring cats, dogs, and octopi this morning. I love warm rain. Love the sound of it. Ice cold rain? Not so much. Not to mention the blowing wind and the hassle of getting drenched and having wet feet cos shoes aren’t water proof and the general ongoing gray gloom…If my mood wasn’t shitty to begin with, this knocks it down several pegs. Throw in the return of my child acting like a demon and me being irritable and anxious..

Last week’s respite has come to an abrupt end.

Part of me entertains going full blown Munchausen’s, not for attention, but because obviously, if I am so sick I calm  down enough to not spaz out over every tiny thing…I just hate the being sick part. I’m a wuss that way. I like walks on the beach, moonlight, and poking dead things with sticks. I do not like puking, spewing, and praying for death. Cos then someone would poke me with a stick.

I showered yesterday for the first time in three, four days, IDK. I felt embarrassed and ashamed, seriously, hygiene is as basic as breathing but…My give a damn is beyond broken. The house has reached biohazard six now. I can’t catch up. And because I am so overwhelmed I don’t have the energy to even try so it piles up more. I do put the ass in procrass-tination.

Last night sucked. My kid was unleashed, screaming at me for every tiny thing. Talking calmly to her made it worse. So I either yell back (yeah, yeah, not cool,whatever) or I ignore her. The fits are made to get attention, denying it seems appropriate. She even hit me twice. I was depleted and defeated by 7 p.m. One more vote for Munchausen’s, at least when I am sick I don’t find it all so offensive. Of course, she had a good patch while I was at my worst so…Sigh. I may just have to accept that I am a shit mom. Life would be easier if I could accept my parenting ability as mediocre and just go with it. Super parent ain’t gonna happen even with me at my best. Which I am not right now. Not even close. I got a brief glimpse of stability last week, of not clawing at my own skin with anxiety, of not wanting to hide in the closet under a stack of blankets.

And that makes the fall into the abyss that much worse and maddening. Don’t give me quick picks then pull the rug out from under me. Just give me a baseline, even if it’s misery. Bobbleheading isn’t working for me.

My mood and anxiety worsened last night when R called and beckoned for today. He has like two things he needs me to do but told me “first thing in the morning.” I said “nine-ish.” He said, “Soon as possible.” Fuck that shit. Seven hours in the dish is too much for me, especially when all he wants is someone to keep him company. If I wanted to be a companion I’d be a high priced call girl, ffs. And of course he points out he doesn’t ask much of me and I benefit for just sitting around (today is for a Wednesday 13 back patch to go on my leather jacket) but maybe that’s the problem. If I am gonna be in the sucky dish, keep me too busy to think about the anxiety of being in the dish. And I don’t mean so busy I panic worse, just…Two things and you want me there all day, like maybe I didn’t have plans of my own. (Grocery day.) Let me drop everything cos you’re bored and lonely. (Think about that awesome patch, Niki, think about Wednesday….)

I find when my mood is this low being around others is a powder keg. By staying away I am really doing them a favor. Forcing me through guilt and obligation when it could damn well wait til my mood shifts…you deserve my bad attitude. I am quite content sitting home with Chaos purring on my shoulder and enjoying not having my kid screaming at me. I’ve done every discipline I can think of. And I am so sick of, “Let me have her for a few days, she won’t do that to me.” So easy to be arrogant when it’s not your kid and she doesn’t do it for others, just you. I am apparently the problem, me and my boundaries, sooo strict. More likely it was letting my mom babysit her daily for over a year. My mom gives zero discipline and thinks anyone who does is mean. This is what she taught my kid. I am so fucking screwed.

Least the razor blade gargling is gone. Not that I slept well, nope, I was up seven times during the night. That was with 9mg of melatonin. I am to the point of getting out the Trazadone. If only it didn’t come with the headache hangover and lethargy for ten hours after waking. Can’t you make a sleeping pill that works without the heinous side effects, big pharma?

Ok, I am gonna watch Blindspot, bask in the sound of purring kitten right next to my ear, then I will grace his highness with my presence. If he expects sunshine spewing he is in for an unpleasant surprise. I feel pretty damned surly. Stupid cold rain. Much as sunshine blinds me and heat kills me…The cold isn’t any better. No happy fucking medium for Morgue, nope. I am starting to feel like the princess and the pea, never content with anything. And it’s not for lack of desire or effort. Hard to fight the enemy that is your brain when it’s in control of your perception and reactions. I can only fight it so much…If I were victorious, I sure as hell wouldn’t shovel the pills.

For the record, anyone who believes depressed people choose to wallow and stay depressed…That is as fucking ignorant and asinine a thought as thinking someone would willing sticking their genitals into a fucking Cuisinart.

Thank pegacorn stupidity isn’t contagious. Or genetic.