Daily Archives: March 25, 2017

Crisis Text Line

A long time ago I discovered Crisis Text Line at a time when I was definitely in need of crisis intervention.  I was too scared to use it though, and ended up being distracted by some people making a spectacle in Steak ‘n Shake.  The number did end up on my safety plan, and Sadie recently […]

Reblog – Yay, Yay it’s Saturday…

Originally posted on LadiesWhoLunchReviews,etc:
Some days are like this…

Equilibrium, Fragile

A lot has happened since my last post. No, I don’t mean in my life, I mean in my mental state. Last weekend my kid spent Saturday night at my mom’s and for whatever unknown reason…I kicked into super high gear and got a ton of housework done, even catching up on some long depression delayed thing around the house. Ans thing was…It was boring, of course, cos I hate housework,  but I wasn’t weighted down so much that it felt grueling. And I actually felt the sense of accomplishment afterward.

And bubbling beneath the surface the terror of when I’d go “splat”.

No one can fathom what life is like when equilibrium is so delicate. You feel fine, until you don’t. You feel good…until you don’t. Tiny little things can undo what was so hard fought for.

But going into Monday, I did not go splat.

I started writing again for the first time in 2 years. And that too was fragile, waiting for the block to happen, terrified all the little hassles of life would throw my off balance.

But I wrote 15 pages Monday. I wrote again on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Over 100 pages in under a week. Not my best work because I am in the hellish withdrawal state from Pristiq and I’m bobbing between being half manic and feeling half conscious. It’s hard to explain what anti depressant withdrawal feels like. I can say that sometimes I feel like I am in moving car when in fact I not moving at all. The tension headaches in the muscles of my eyes are awful. I find myself grasping for basic words and can’t be sure if that is withdrawal or the condition itself or artifact from all the meds I am on to treat it. Even the flavor and texture of food has become gross.

But I quit the weaning doses last week and have been toughing out all the wonkiness. No point in going back because it’s just gonna be the same way. Rip off the bandage.

What is weirdest though is how solid I felt all week. Not happy. And oh, dear, not lacking anxiety even though this week R didn’t hound me to be at the shop except for Friday so I was getting my anxiety freak outs from my neighbor’s barking dog and my kid bickering with her devil friends. And you don’t want that when dealing with creativity or mental disorder because the tiniest bit of upheaval can bring it all crashing down.

It was a nice respite, not being pulled in ten different directions by R, not having money thus not having to endure the dish…Able to lose myself in my writing, yet still lucid and functional enough to deal with being a mom and taking care of the house and cats. It was a little like someone just “lifted” a heavy layer of gauze off my brain. I don’t confuse stability with happiness, I still think the Welbutrin needs increased, but wow. What a difference a season makes. I honestly think my bipolar is tied more to seasons and temperature than it is light. Not that a shrink will ever admit that. They’d have to pay homage to circadian rhythms. (Cripes, I had to look up how to spell  rhythms cos my brain just keeps blacking out on certain words, grr.) Ya know, rather than worship at the altar of big pharma and “it’s all your fault so go pay for someone to tell you how screwed up you are.”

This week alone, even with the season change, I found out just how sensitive I am to temperature extremes and shifts. Monday it was damn near 80 degrees and 87 percent humidity, we were melting like the wicked witch. Tuesday and Wednesday cool to the sixties but remained sunny. Thursday it dropped way down and rained, no sun til afternoon, and by then it was so cold when I went to pick my kid up, I was actually shivering in my hoodie. And then bam, Friday we are back to warm warm warm and I didn’t feel so lethargic or compelled to curl up under a blanket.

I don’t know that I will ever truly be helped by a doctor because they don’t want to admit the importance of these things. Even when carrying on about seasonal affect disorder, they lay it all on lack of sunlight which for me is maybe an eighth of  it. The neverending temperature extremes are my bete noire. Short of physically relocating, I think I am doomed to the depressive cycles.

I got off track somewhere…Oh, well.

Bottom line is, it was a better week than I’ve had in some time. And woo hoo, to be writing again…It’s like I was unplugged and now I am plugged in.

I do wonder how much is related to the season change, or going off Pristiq or going back on lithium. Who knows. I’d like to figure out the winning formula. I’d also like to be 25 again and have my boobs where they used to be so…

Aside from the improvement in my mental state (functional is better than crippling depression, even if it’s not quite happy) the only other news from my crypt is our cat Pantera had 4 kittens yesterday. I named 3. Wrath, Venom, Slash. Healthy little buggers, The 4th one I promised I’d let the spawn name. Last night she called and said she wanted to name it Rose. Or maybe Random. God knows what it will be today. This name changing shit was how we got a cat named Feet, I got irked and said “Change the cat’s name on more time and I am just gonna call it Feet.” And  she did and so I did. Queen Neferfeeti.

I swear before I have a cat named Rose I will call it Gargamel Gay Gray Socks. I can’t stand boring names.


The Cranberry Battle

The offending item was dried cranberries. They were expensive, disgusting, and I was NOT going to bring them home with us.

My husband Andy and I have a game we occasionally play at the grocery store (because maturity is overrated). If Andy puts something in the cart that I don’t want, I try to sneak it out without him noticing (and vice versa). You might think, “Wow, how lame. That would be easy.” If you’re thinking that, you’ve clearly never played this game with Andy.

He knew I didn’t want the cranberries (first mistake on my part). He put them in the cart anyway. Game on.

It wasn’t two aisles later that he stopped, looked in the cart, and immediately started a frantic search. He found them by the peanut butter. “Nice try,” he said, “but you’re going down this time.”

I waited about ten minutes, and then I asked him to go get a can of corn that I forgot to pick up. While he was gone, I disposed of the cranberry bag. When he got back – you won’t believe this – he was carrying another bag of cranberries! He said, “I got the corn. Oh, and I picked up another bag of cranberries since I bet you just hid mine.” He looked in the cart and then let out a triumphant, “HA! GOT YOU! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” People started looking at us weird.

A few minutes later, I successfully hid the new bag. We were on our way to check-out. I thought I might win…then he stopped us by a display of Jewish food for the Passover meal. “Wait a second,” he said suspiciously. “Let me check something.” Blast.

“Where are the cranberries?!” he asked.

I had hidden them long ago at that point, so they could have been anywhere. I threw my head back and let out a loud, “MUAHAHAHAHAHA!” Now people were really looking at us weird.

“Fine,” he said. He looked around. “Hey, we forgot to get matzo crackers for our Passover meal, didn’t we?” He grabbed a giant box of matzo crackers and added it to our groceries. It took up literally half of our cart. “And we should make sure we have enough,” he added. He put another box on top of that one.”

“What are you doing?!” I grabbed the box. “We’re not even Jewish.”

“We need more crackers!” he said. He put two more boxes on. The pile of cracker boxes was almost as tall as he could reach. “Tell me where the cranberries are, and I’ll stop adding crackers.” He grabbed another box.

“Okay, okay!” I surrendered. “The cranberries are in frozen foods. I forgot exactly where.” He immediately ran to frozen foods, like someone was going to see them and take his precious cranberries. I started putting matzo crackers back.

We finally got to the check out, and all of the items (including the cranberries) made it onto the belt. Andy got a text, and when he pulled out his phone I realized that this was it: my last chance. My buzzer shot. Now or never. I swiped the cranberries off the belt and put them by the magazine rack. The store was busy, and the people in line on both sides of the aisle must have thought I was nuts. He put his phone away. I smiled sweetly.

As Andy was bagging the groceries at the end of the aisle, he suddenly said, “Whoa…wait wait wait…where are the cranberries?!”

“I’m sure they’re in there,” I said. “Keep bagging. It’s busy in here.”

The Meijer employee spoke up. “Um…I don’t remember ringing up cranberries.”

Shoot. “I’m sure you did,” I said. “Seriously, you’re fine. Just keep ringing.”

“I’m not sure…” he said. “Well, maybe I did. I ring up a lot of stuff. I could have subconsciously rang them up and not noticed.”

“I’m sure that’s it.” I said.

“Hey! Who’s side are you on?!” screeched Andy to the teller. “Where are my cranberries!?” Andy was laughing, but the worker looked freaked out. He put his hands up in defense. “Hey, I’m totally biased here. Not on anyone’s side, I promise. I don’t know about the cranberries, I swear.”

(I ignored the fact that “biased” was not the correct word to use there). I felt bad for the guy, so finally I said, “Okay fine. I’ll get the cranberries.” But, astonishingly, in the two minutes of this exchange, someone grabbed the cranberries from where I left them by the magazines. I’m not kidding. There were a lot of people in there, so it could have been anyone. I started laughing. “They’re gone.” I said. “Seriously, I left them right there. I promise. They’re gone.” Swish! Buzzer shot was IN!

Andy laughed and threw his hands up in a “why me?” gesture. “FINE! I can’t believe you did that!” The awkward teller looked at us, thoroughly confused.

“So…should I keep ringing, or… um…are we still concerned about the cranberries?”

“Nah, you’re good man,” said Andy. “She won.” The confused teller finished ringing up our groceries.


A few days later, I bought the bag of cranberries and left it in the front seat of Andy’s car with a little heart taped to it. I bet they tasted pretty good, but there’s no way they tasted as good as my victory.

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