Idea stolen from another blog, as a consequence of my being brain dead today:
Lists of Five
Five Places I have Lived
Detroit, MI
Portland, OR
New York, New York
Santa Barbara, CA
Boulder, CO
Five Jobs I have Held
Dishwasher, Seva Restaurant, Ann Arbor, MI
Clerk-Typist, Weiser's Books, NY, NY
Dancewear Specialist, Jr. Sr. Footwear, Santa Barbara, CA
Hotel Reservations Clerk, Boulder Chautauqua, Boulder, CO
Operations Manager, KVNF Public Radio, Paonia, CO
Five Ambitions
Learn to play the Irish Flute really well
Get my Singing Voice back.
Quit Smoking
Clean my house from top to bottom
Having the motivation to accomplish all this.
Five Places I want to Visit
Ireland
Wales
Greece
Brittany
Turkey
Five Books I have Enjoyed
Twilight by Stephanie Meyer
Kushiel's Dart by Jacqueline Carey
The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling
The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkein
And now I am too brain dead to continue with this, so I'm going to stop here.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Tired
So, this morning demon Onyx thought it would be a great idea to climb into bed with me and show his devotion by shoving both his front paws into my mouth. This might not have been so bad if it weren't for the fact that the very tips of his claws stick out just a tiny bit and when they catch on fragile things, say the inside skin of my lip, it hurts a great deal. And when it became a battle to keep his paws with their sharp little protuberances out of my mouth, I finally gave it up and decided to get up. This at about seven a.m., which is about two hours earlier than I get up on most days. I did get eight hours sleep; I went to bed at eleven, after all. So why does it feel like not enough?
Demon Elvira is crashing about in the kitchen cupboards and I can't be arsed to go see what she's up to.
Okay, I went and checked it out. It wasn't demon Elvira; it was demon Obsidian and it's a good thing I went and looked to see what he was doing because he was in the under-the-sink cupboard with all the cleaning supplies. (Does everyone keep the cleaning supplies under the sink? I wonder.) Which is stuff he really shouldn't be getting into. I think sometimes we need to get child-proof locks to put on our cupboard doors to keep the cats out.
Went out for Chinese food yesterday because I was so stressed after the trip down to Montrose to pick up my meds. I ate a lot, which showed on the scale this morning. I have gained seven pounds in the last month, ugh. All my clothes still fit the same, though. What's that about? I have no idea. Maybe it's just water gain or something. But I have the feeling it's because I don't get enough (read that "don't get any") exercise at all. I wish there were a place within walking distance where I could go swimming. I think I might like that.
Managed to do the grocery shopping last night without totally freaking out although the store was a madhouse. We bought a turkey, although I hadn't really intended to do one this year. it's a good food investment though. We always cut off the breasts and freeze them for later so we don;t get too tired of eating it. We'll probably cook it tomorrow, as I go back to my radio show on Thursday and won't want to cope with cooking a big meal beforehand.
Caved in and bought a copy of Twilight at the grocery store. I am happy because I have found that I am actually able to read it. In fact, it's the first book in a long time that I've found myself looking forward to getting back to. I find that a little sad, as it's total brain candy. But I also am just glad to be able to read again, so I don't really care what I'm reading.
Another happy thing: an old friend bought a copy of my book. She messaged me today and said she read it all in one gulp and really liked it. I was scared she wouldn't. And her opinion matters a lot to me because she's so witty and talented herself. She actually called my writing "musical." Ain't that something?
We watched Cats last night and I have to say I was seriously underwhelmed. The music was repetetive, as was the choreography. There were some good moments, and I have to admit that the last reprise of "Memories" was a real tear-jerker. But on the whole I thought it was a show that underutilised some very good singers and dancers. And having been familiar with Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats since childhood, well, I really didn't get much out of it.
And those are my random thoughts for the day. Enough said.
Demon Elvira is crashing about in the kitchen cupboards and I can't be arsed to go see what she's up to.
Okay, I went and checked it out. It wasn't demon Elvira; it was demon Obsidian and it's a good thing I went and looked to see what he was doing because he was in the under-the-sink cupboard with all the cleaning supplies. (Does everyone keep the cleaning supplies under the sink? I wonder.) Which is stuff he really shouldn't be getting into. I think sometimes we need to get child-proof locks to put on our cupboard doors to keep the cats out.
Went out for Chinese food yesterday because I was so stressed after the trip down to Montrose to pick up my meds. I ate a lot, which showed on the scale this morning. I have gained seven pounds in the last month, ugh. All my clothes still fit the same, though. What's that about? I have no idea. Maybe it's just water gain or something. But I have the feeling it's because I don't get enough (read that "don't get any") exercise at all. I wish there were a place within walking distance where I could go swimming. I think I might like that.
Managed to do the grocery shopping last night without totally freaking out although the store was a madhouse. We bought a turkey, although I hadn't really intended to do one this year. it's a good food investment though. We always cut off the breasts and freeze them for later so we don;t get too tired of eating it. We'll probably cook it tomorrow, as I go back to my radio show on Thursday and won't want to cope with cooking a big meal beforehand.
Caved in and bought a copy of Twilight at the grocery store. I am happy because I have found that I am actually able to read it. In fact, it's the first book in a long time that I've found myself looking forward to getting back to. I find that a little sad, as it's total brain candy. But I also am just glad to be able to read again, so I don't really care what I'm reading.
Another happy thing: an old friend bought a copy of my book. She messaged me today and said she read it all in one gulp and really liked it. I was scared she wouldn't. And her opinion matters a lot to me because she's so witty and talented herself. She actually called my writing "musical." Ain't that something?
We watched Cats last night and I have to say I was seriously underwhelmed. The music was repetetive, as was the choreography. There were some good moments, and I have to admit that the last reprise of "Memories" was a real tear-jerker. But on the whole I thought it was a show that underutilised some very good singers and dancers. And having been familiar with Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats since childhood, well, I really didn't get much out of it.
And those are my random thoughts for the day. Enough said.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Random Monday Mutterings
Really there's no reason that Mondays should be any different from any other day for me, and yet they are. Despite my not being able to hold down a job, Monday somehow remains the beginning of the week. Maybe because it's the start of M.'s week, or maybe because the feeling is just left over from the days when I was in school. Anyway, here it is Monday again.
Later today I have to go with M. to Montrose to pick up medications from my pdoc's office. I'm not really looking forward to the trip, but it will at least get me out of the house. I am wondering if I should make an effort to wash my hair before the trip, or if putting on clothes will be enough.
The sun is shining in my eyes from the south window right behind my desk, making this hard to see and write.
My stomach hurts some.
I continue to get Facebook friend requests from all over the world. I have recently had a slew of them from Malaysia and Canada. Interesting. My Elven Blood party has grown exponentially. One of my new friends turned me on to another RPG called Knighthood, and another turned me onto one called Pirates. Ahoy, mateys! I'm hooked on these RPGs now and can't stop playing. I suppose that wile there are better thigns I could be doing there are certainly worse ones.
I wonder why my spellcheck picks up some words that are perfectly right and doesn't pick on others that are obviously wrong?
I still have the music from Jesus Christ Superstar going through my head.
The sky is very blue today. That usually means it will be cold outside.
To quote an old friend: "I think now I'll turn into a pumpkin and float up into the sky..."
Later today I have to go with M. to Montrose to pick up medications from my pdoc's office. I'm not really looking forward to the trip, but it will at least get me out of the house. I am wondering if I should make an effort to wash my hair before the trip, or if putting on clothes will be enough.
The sun is shining in my eyes from the south window right behind my desk, making this hard to see and write.
My stomach hurts some.
I continue to get Facebook friend requests from all over the world. I have recently had a slew of them from Malaysia and Canada. Interesting. My Elven Blood party has grown exponentially. One of my new friends turned me on to another RPG called Knighthood, and another turned me onto one called Pirates. Ahoy, mateys! I'm hooked on these RPGs now and can't stop playing. I suppose that wile there are better thigns I could be doing there are certainly worse ones.
I wonder why my spellcheck picks up some words that are perfectly right and doesn't pick on others that are obviously wrong?
I still have the music from Jesus Christ Superstar going through my head.
The sky is very blue today. That usually means it will be cold outside.
To quote an old friend: "I think now I'll turn into a pumpkin and float up into the sky..."
Saturday, November 22, 2008
A Nothing Much Day
Today I have spent most of the day sitting at my computer and doing various things while smoking to excess. Well, I did manage the personal hygiene thing, including the girly parts like shaving my legs (which I'm sure you all wanted to know). But mostly I've been going back and forth between playing games on my PC and on-line a visiting various forums I'm part of.
I've made quite a few new friends on Facebook, mostly through a game called Elven Blood, to which I've become addicted. It's interesting because a lot of them don't exactly share my political or religious beliefs. But as long as we stick on the subject of the game, I figure we'll be okay.
I've sat here so long my back really hurts but I have nothing else to do and nowhere else to go, so here I continue to sit.
Kind of a Nothing Day.
Now it's back to Facebook to see if I have enough life and stamina to complete the next quest...
I've made quite a few new friends on Facebook, mostly through a game called Elven Blood, to which I've become addicted. It's interesting because a lot of them don't exactly share my political or religious beliefs. But as long as we stick on the subject of the game, I figure we'll be okay.
I've sat here so long my back really hurts but I have nothing else to do and nowhere else to go, so here I continue to sit.
Kind of a Nothing Day.
Now it's back to Facebook to see if I have enough life and stamina to complete the next quest...
Friday, November 21, 2008
Friday
Friday is like my Saturday. This is mostly because I generally have my one real working night on Thursday, when I do my radio show. But it carries over even now, when I am on sabbatical. So I feel I have a good excuse to goof off and hang around in my jammies even though there are numerous things that need doing around the house, like cleaning the bathroom (ugh!) and mopping the kitchen and sweeping and dusting and all the chores that I don't get around to because I generally do not have enough spoons in my cache to do them (for spoons reference see http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/navigation/BYDLS-TheSpoonTheory.pdf).
Last night we watched Jesus Christ, Superstar. I had never seen the movie, though it seems I have always been familiar with the soundtrack; I remember my brother setting up the family's brand new stereo to record it back in 1973, and I've loved the music ever since. I liked the way the movie was played, but I don't think the vocals really measured up to that original cast recording. Judas definitely carried the show. The guy who was cast as Jesus was, I think, cast more for his looks than for his voice, although he did manage to come through pretty well on the big "Gethsemane" number. I still don't think he did it as well as Ian Gillan did in the original. I liked the Simon Zealots number quite a lot, though I couldn't help thinking things like, "Oh my gods, those dancers must have been half dead at the end of that day!" and ""Ah-ha! That's where my jazz teacher got that move." Still and all, a well put-together production.
Whenever I hear the music from JC Superstar I remember walking from upper East 81st street to the East Village in the pouring rain with then-BF, singing the soundtrack all the way. It earned us both smiles and odd looks from the passers by. One of the happier memories of our relationship.
I found ex-BF on Facebook recently and he friended me, but I haven't tried to contact him, although his e-mail address is there for all to see, and I'd like to know how his family is doing. I know his father passed away some years ago and I'd like to offer my condolences. I'd also like to ask about his mother and step-father and even his tortoise, Yertle. But I just don't feel comfortable doing it. I don't want to seem like the weird psycho ex-girlfriend. He's happily married now and has a family and I wish him well, and that's all I really could say. So I'll leave it at that.
Um, yeah. Well, that's all I have to say in this blog too. Now it's back to hunting mice and trying to defeat the Pirate King...
Last night we watched Jesus Christ, Superstar. I had never seen the movie, though it seems I have always been familiar with the soundtrack; I remember my brother setting up the family's brand new stereo to record it back in 1973, and I've loved the music ever since. I liked the way the movie was played, but I don't think the vocals really measured up to that original cast recording. Judas definitely carried the show. The guy who was cast as Jesus was, I think, cast more for his looks than for his voice, although he did manage to come through pretty well on the big "Gethsemane" number. I still don't think he did it as well as Ian Gillan did in the original. I liked the Simon Zealots number quite a lot, though I couldn't help thinking things like, "Oh my gods, those dancers must have been half dead at the end of that day!" and ""Ah-ha! That's where my jazz teacher got that move." Still and all, a well put-together production.
Whenever I hear the music from JC Superstar I remember walking from upper East 81st street to the East Village in the pouring rain with then-BF, singing the soundtrack all the way. It earned us both smiles and odd looks from the passers by. One of the happier memories of our relationship.
I found ex-BF on Facebook recently and he friended me, but I haven't tried to contact him, although his e-mail address is there for all to see, and I'd like to know how his family is doing. I know his father passed away some years ago and I'd like to offer my condolences. I'd also like to ask about his mother and step-father and even his tortoise, Yertle. But I just don't feel comfortable doing it. I don't want to seem like the weird psycho ex-girlfriend. He's happily married now and has a family and I wish him well, and that's all I really could say. So I'll leave it at that.
Um, yeah. Well, that's all I have to say in this blog too. Now it's back to hunting mice and trying to defeat the Pirate King...
Thursday, November 20, 2008
The guys with the big truck...
...that sucks the leaves that everyone in town has raked into the gutters out of the gutters are out today and all the cats are going wild from the noise. They run all over the house trying to escape and hide under the furniture until the truck has passed. Especially Obsidian, which is odd because he's the alpha male and generally takes a threatening posture towards the other cats (Except Luna, who is the alpha female). But really he's a big love bug who doesn't like strangers or strange happenings in general. So everything from loud sounds to the meter readers sets him off in this way.
Now the truck is gone and things are back to normal. Luna and the boys have gone onto the back porch to take the air. Elvira is asleep in the condo and Dacs is on top of her linen closet, thankfully not screaming for once.
My back hurts from spending too much time at my computer lately. I took some Tylenol and feel it sitting like a lump in my stomach with all my other semi-digested meds from this morning. I hope it starts to work soon because I'm in some real pain. Not just imagined pain. I often have a hard time knowing the difference between the two, but this time I don't.
The batteries in my cordless mouse have reached critical stage again. I am thankful I invested in rechargeable batteries and a battery charger, because this happens at least once a week. My computer tech says it's because I move my mouse around a lot, but really I don't think that's it. I don't think I move my mouse more than the average person. I know that M. has changed his mouse batteries about once in the two years since he's had the cordless and he moves his mouse a lot more than I do, when we're playing games and stuff. I think I just got a cheap mouse. Well, it came for free with the keyboard, so maybe I shouldn't complain.
I don't know right now whether it's fall or winter. According to the Celtic calendar, winter starts on Samhain (Hallowe'en) and lasts until Imbolc (Groundhog Day). But aside form being grey outside it's not very wintery. It's beginning to get cold at night, though. We had some snow earlier in the month and I was depressed about that because I thought it was just going to keep going on and on until spring, but it's given us a reprieve.
Now the guys with the truck are back, going up the other side of the road. I went to the kitchen to put on the tea and both boys were clawing at the door to get in. Obi stands at the window, staring out in terror. I try to explain to him that the truck is not coming in the house. I don't know if he believes me, or even understands. He heads for the food dish. I think he takes comfort in food and that's one reason he has grown so large. Great, I have a cat with an Eating Disorder.
How to end this post? I don't really know. It seems odd to simply stop. But I think that's what I might have to do, as my back is hurting me so much now that I need to go lie down.
TTFN.
Now the truck is gone and things are back to normal. Luna and the boys have gone onto the back porch to take the air. Elvira is asleep in the condo and Dacs is on top of her linen closet, thankfully not screaming for once.
My back hurts from spending too much time at my computer lately. I took some Tylenol and feel it sitting like a lump in my stomach with all my other semi-digested meds from this morning. I hope it starts to work soon because I'm in some real pain. Not just imagined pain. I often have a hard time knowing the difference between the two, but this time I don't.
The batteries in my cordless mouse have reached critical stage again. I am thankful I invested in rechargeable batteries and a battery charger, because this happens at least once a week. My computer tech says it's because I move my mouse around a lot, but really I don't think that's it. I don't think I move my mouse more than the average person. I know that M. has changed his mouse batteries about once in the two years since he's had the cordless and he moves his mouse a lot more than I do, when we're playing games and stuff. I think I just got a cheap mouse. Well, it came for free with the keyboard, so maybe I shouldn't complain.
I don't know right now whether it's fall or winter. According to the Celtic calendar, winter starts on Samhain (Hallowe'en) and lasts until Imbolc (Groundhog Day). But aside form being grey outside it's not very wintery. It's beginning to get cold at night, though. We had some snow earlier in the month and I was depressed about that because I thought it was just going to keep going on and on until spring, but it's given us a reprieve.
Now the guys with the truck are back, going up the other side of the road. I went to the kitchen to put on the tea and both boys were clawing at the door to get in. Obi stands at the window, staring out in terror. I try to explain to him that the truck is not coming in the house. I don't know if he believes me, or even understands. He heads for the food dish. I think he takes comfort in food and that's one reason he has grown so large. Great, I have a cat with an Eating Disorder.
How to end this post? I don't really know. It seems odd to simply stop. But I think that's what I might have to do, as my back is hurting me so much now that I need to go lie down.
TTFN.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
A Little Better Today
I at least managed to get up and wash my face brush my teeth and get dressed. That's a good day.
Still have this worry about hospitalization hanging over my head. I see my psychiatrist in two weeks and I'm the one who's going to have to tell him that my therapist keeps mentioning it. Really, it irritates me that the two of them don't talk and I'm always stuck in the middle, like some game of telephone. Something is sure to get garbled along the line.
I'm waiting for M. to get home. We were supposed to make lasagna together and I just don't feel up to it. We have no other options for food here though. And we can't go out due to lack of funds.
I really want fried chicken.
A friend of mine on Facebook posted a great link to an essay on the "spoon theory" at "You Don't Look Sick." I think I'll post it here: http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/navigation/BYDLS-TheSpoonTheory.pdf It does a great job explaining what it's like to have an "invisible" disability, like Fibromyalgia or Lupus or a Mental Illness. So read it.
That's all I have to say.
Still have this worry about hospitalization hanging over my head. I see my psychiatrist in two weeks and I'm the one who's going to have to tell him that my therapist keeps mentioning it. Really, it irritates me that the two of them don't talk and I'm always stuck in the middle, like some game of telephone. Something is sure to get garbled along the line.
I'm waiting for M. to get home. We were supposed to make lasagna together and I just don't feel up to it. We have no other options for food here though. And we can't go out due to lack of funds.
I really want fried chicken.
A friend of mine on Facebook posted a great link to an essay on the "spoon theory" at "You Don't Look Sick." I think I'll post it here: http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/navigation/BYDLS-TheSpoonTheory.pdf It does a great job explaining what it's like to have an "invisible" disability, like Fibromyalgia or Lupus or a Mental Illness. So read it.
That's all I have to say.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
I am writing this...
...more because I feel I should than because I have anything to say. I feel bad for not writing a blog yesterday. I didn't have anything to say then, either.
I have been tired all day. I got up, drank my coffee and cruised the net and went back to bed. It was one of those strange times when you don't think you're actually asleep--when you're sure you're just lying there aware of everything that's going on--but when you finally open your eyes, hours have passed. Anyway, I lay down at eleven and when I opened my eyes it was just after two. I guess I must have slept.
More coffee and back to the computer, and an hour later I felt just as tired as if I had not had a nap at all. I wonder if I'm sick. I remember feeling this way when I had mono. They say you can't get mono more than once but I've had it twice and I suppose I could have it again. I don't feel sick otherwise, just bone tired.
I suppose it could be the stress. Our financial situation is dire; I had to choose between paying the mortgage and paying our utilities. I chose the mortgage. So at least we'll have a roof over our heads even if we have no light or heat or running water...
I am also at a very low level of functioning, per my therapist. Each day is a harder struggle. I only get dressed half the time, and then only when I have to. My therapist is talking hospitalization. My psychiatrist isn't talking. I don't know what I think. I don't want to be hospitalized again--those times when I was a teenager are plenty for me. But if it could teach me a new way to be...to live my life. To get dressed despite the fact that all my friends are on the internet and I don't have any will to go out of the house. To exercise again. To dance in the aisles of the supermarket the way I used to before I became so depressed. It might be worth it. It might be worth it to go to group activities with other people like me and hear their stories. It might be worth it just to get me out of the house and break my stagnant routine. I don't know. I guess the question is kind of irrelevant anyway because of our bad financial situation. Even if I could get a bed in an inpatient program or get a place in an outpatient one, provided I could even find one of those in our small, rural community, we couldn't pay for it.
I can't even remember if I wrote all this in another blog or not.
Anyway, that's where I am. Here's a blog for today. That's all I set out to do and I did it.
Now if I could only get dressed and brush my teeth...
I have been tired all day. I got up, drank my coffee and cruised the net and went back to bed. It was one of those strange times when you don't think you're actually asleep--when you're sure you're just lying there aware of everything that's going on--but when you finally open your eyes, hours have passed. Anyway, I lay down at eleven and when I opened my eyes it was just after two. I guess I must have slept.
More coffee and back to the computer, and an hour later I felt just as tired as if I had not had a nap at all. I wonder if I'm sick. I remember feeling this way when I had mono. They say you can't get mono more than once but I've had it twice and I suppose I could have it again. I don't feel sick otherwise, just bone tired.
I suppose it could be the stress. Our financial situation is dire; I had to choose between paying the mortgage and paying our utilities. I chose the mortgage. So at least we'll have a roof over our heads even if we have no light or heat or running water...
I am also at a very low level of functioning, per my therapist. Each day is a harder struggle. I only get dressed half the time, and then only when I have to. My therapist is talking hospitalization. My psychiatrist isn't talking. I don't know what I think. I don't want to be hospitalized again--those times when I was a teenager are plenty for me. But if it could teach me a new way to be...to live my life. To get dressed despite the fact that all my friends are on the internet and I don't have any will to go out of the house. To exercise again. To dance in the aisles of the supermarket the way I used to before I became so depressed. It might be worth it. It might be worth it to go to group activities with other people like me and hear their stories. It might be worth it just to get me out of the house and break my stagnant routine. I don't know. I guess the question is kind of irrelevant anyway because of our bad financial situation. Even if I could get a bed in an inpatient program or get a place in an outpatient one, provided I could even find one of those in our small, rural community, we couldn't pay for it.
I can't even remember if I wrote all this in another blog or not.
Anyway, that's where I am. Here's a blog for today. That's all I set out to do and I did it.
Now if I could only get dressed and brush my teeth...
Sunday, November 16, 2008
I Was Going to Fold Laundry...
...but then this giant cat came and sat in my lap. And so I'm stuck at my computer. Nothing is really going on at any of my usual haunts so I thought I'd write a blog. The problem being, that I don;t really have anything to say, which is why I didn't write one earlier.
Things that have been on my mind:
Is this med increase working for me? The last time I saw my Psychiatrist he increased one of my antidepressants from 25mg a day to 30mg a day (the maximum dose). It's been about two weeks now and I think I'm seeing some improvement in my mood. Not a lot, but some. The positive: I am interacting with people and look forward to getting out of bed every day. The negative: The people I am interacting with are all on the 'net, not in my everyday life. Virtual people, virtual life. It's not like I can actually go out and get a cup of coffee with any of them, as the closest lives in Denver (and I haven't heard from her in about a month, maybe more). So while this interaction is making me look forward to getting out of bed int he mornings, I wonder if it's really what my pdoc had in mind. Sometimes I wonder if it's what I had in mind. I'd like to have a real life, not just a virtual one. I'd like there to be non-computer things that I enjoy doing. but out of the security of my office, everything still causes me extreme anxiety. I have to get M. to help me cook. I can't leave the house without him, even. In fact, the other day was so bad that I couldn't leave the house even to go grocery shopping, which I usually manage every week. I had to send M. out for the week's supplies, which I felt really bad about. So no, I don't think this med change is really working. Not the way I had hoped it would.
I wonder what would bring my life back? I wonder when I will be able to read a book again, much less play my flute or dance or do any of the things I could do before I was on so much medication. The days when I thought I was a "normal" person and the times that I now know were periods of hypomania--those times of intense action and creativity that fell between my increasingly terrible and frequent times of depression--were just the way a "normal" person felt. I know now why a classic...symptom? Reaction? anyway, why Bipolar people so often go off their meds. The mood stabilizers work, of yes they do. But are they worth this flatness? This incapacity to function in even the most basic ways?
Well, when I was extremely depressed there at the end (before my diagnosis) I wasn't functional either. So it's not much of a change. Except, at least I could read. I miss that quite a lot. Now I can't even concentrate on a graphic novel.
And that's why so many of these blogs do not so much finish as end, like a dangling phrase. I lose my concentration. I forget what I was going to say. I am forgetting now. And the cat has left so I have no excuse not to go fold the laundry anymore, except that I really don't feel much like doing it.
But I don't feel like doing much of anything in my life.
I wonder if I ever will again.
Things that have been on my mind:
Is this med increase working for me? The last time I saw my Psychiatrist he increased one of my antidepressants from 25mg a day to 30mg a day (the maximum dose). It's been about two weeks now and I think I'm seeing some improvement in my mood. Not a lot, but some. The positive: I am interacting with people and look forward to getting out of bed every day. The negative: The people I am interacting with are all on the 'net, not in my everyday life. Virtual people, virtual life. It's not like I can actually go out and get a cup of coffee with any of them, as the closest lives in Denver (and I haven't heard from her in about a month, maybe more). So while this interaction is making me look forward to getting out of bed int he mornings, I wonder if it's really what my pdoc had in mind. Sometimes I wonder if it's what I had in mind. I'd like to have a real life, not just a virtual one. I'd like there to be non-computer things that I enjoy doing. but out of the security of my office, everything still causes me extreme anxiety. I have to get M. to help me cook. I can't leave the house without him, even. In fact, the other day was so bad that I couldn't leave the house even to go grocery shopping, which I usually manage every week. I had to send M. out for the week's supplies, which I felt really bad about. So no, I don't think this med change is really working. Not the way I had hoped it would.
I wonder what would bring my life back? I wonder when I will be able to read a book again, much less play my flute or dance or do any of the things I could do before I was on so much medication. The days when I thought I was a "normal" person and the times that I now know were periods of hypomania--those times of intense action and creativity that fell between my increasingly terrible and frequent times of depression--were just the way a "normal" person felt. I know now why a classic...symptom? Reaction? anyway, why Bipolar people so often go off their meds. The mood stabilizers work, of yes they do. But are they worth this flatness? This incapacity to function in even the most basic ways?
Well, when I was extremely depressed there at the end (before my diagnosis) I wasn't functional either. So it's not much of a change. Except, at least I could read. I miss that quite a lot. Now I can't even concentrate on a graphic novel.
And that's why so many of these blogs do not so much finish as end, like a dangling phrase. I lose my concentration. I forget what I was going to say. I am forgetting now. And the cat has left so I have no excuse not to go fold the laundry anymore, except that I really don't feel much like doing it.
But I don't feel like doing much of anything in my life.
I wonder if I ever will again.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Today
I'm actually doing all right today, all things considering.
Last night I was terrified. You see, today is the day M. had to go to the city to take the Praxis test, which is kind of like a big honking SAT for people wanting to go into education. And I knew I wouldn't be able to reach him if something happened.
So what if something really did happen? What if I had a heart attack or an embolism or something? (Having an embolism is my big fear these days, especially since I've been spending so much time sitting at my computer.) What if I had a plain old anxiety attack and had no way to reach him to talk me through it? He assured me I could call his parents, but I never feel comfortable with that. I know they love me and all, but discussing my problems is never easy, even with people I'm very close to (strange, as I have no problem at all writing about them here!)
Well, I'm pleased to say this day has gone fairly well. If, of course, you leave out the fact that the cats woke me up at six a.m. and I couldn't get back to sleep. They had decided to spazz out on the bed and dig under the blankets around my legs and stuff like that. No amount of shooing them away or even squirting them with the water bottle could get them to stop. So Ifinally just got up.
But other than being tired, I feel pretty good.
That, I suppose, is to be expected. Yesterday I had one of those days when I was so out of it I couldn't even get dressed. Often after a day like that I find I am able to motivate myself better. I even had a shower. And I am, suprisingly, not freaking out about anything. I'm glad about that.
Tonight we're sending out for pizza. I'm looking forward to that. Maybe the looking forward to something is all I need to make me feel better. I'm glad there's something in my life to look forward to, though I feel bad sometimes that the the only thing I seem to look forward to is special food. Oh well.
Now I'm hungry and though it's quite early I think I'll have lunch.
Boring blog, I know. But I'm glad to be having a calm, uneventful day for once.
Last night I was terrified. You see, today is the day M. had to go to the city to take the Praxis test, which is kind of like a big honking SAT for people wanting to go into education. And I knew I wouldn't be able to reach him if something happened.
So what if something really did happen? What if I had a heart attack or an embolism or something? (Having an embolism is my big fear these days, especially since I've been spending so much time sitting at my computer.) What if I had a plain old anxiety attack and had no way to reach him to talk me through it? He assured me I could call his parents, but I never feel comfortable with that. I know they love me and all, but discussing my problems is never easy, even with people I'm very close to (strange, as I have no problem at all writing about them here!)
Well, I'm pleased to say this day has gone fairly well. If, of course, you leave out the fact that the cats woke me up at six a.m. and I couldn't get back to sleep. They had decided to spazz out on the bed and dig under the blankets around my legs and stuff like that. No amount of shooing them away or even squirting them with the water bottle could get them to stop. So Ifinally just got up.
But other than being tired, I feel pretty good.
That, I suppose, is to be expected. Yesterday I had one of those days when I was so out of it I couldn't even get dressed. Often after a day like that I find I am able to motivate myself better. I even had a shower. And I am, suprisingly, not freaking out about anything. I'm glad about that.
Tonight we're sending out for pizza. I'm looking forward to that. Maybe the looking forward to something is all I need to make me feel better. I'm glad there's something in my life to look forward to, though I feel bad sometimes that the the only thing I seem to look forward to is special food. Oh well.
Now I'm hungry and though it's quite early I think I'll have lunch.
Boring blog, I know. But I'm glad to be having a calm, uneventful day for once.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Frozen
It happens every morning about this time: the anxiety. The shaking, the sweating palms, the nausea. Feeling as if I'm about to die. Sometimes it's so bad I have to call someone, usually M., to talk me through it.
Deer in the headlights. Waiting for the crash.
I don't know what causes it or why I get it this time of morning, always. I have some ideas. The thought of getting dressed and facing the world overwhelms me. The thought of one more day I have to get through.
Maybe it would be better if I could do something about it: scream, cry, I don't know. But I can't. I am frozen in this place.
It's not that I don't feel the urge to scream or cry. I often do. But something--my meds maybe, no: almost certainly--keep me from being able to. Not even when I try to make myself. All I can feel these days is the anxiety interspersed with boredom. My own pain is uninteresting to me.
I remember the days when I used to cry at the drop of a hat. Not only when I was depressed, though there was plenty of that. But at anything: at sappy movies, at sad songs. Now movies are only something to keep my attention occupied for a little while and music is a background to some of my activities, not something I feel and connect with.
I never thought I would long for the crying days. The times when I felt so bad I would scratch my arms until they bled because it was less painful than what I was going through inside and cry until my eyes had the scratchy feel of sandpaper. "Getting hysterical" is what I called it, though I think that was probably an understatement. But to a person to whom some kind of self-expression, even the expression of pain or self-hatred, has always been valuable, not being to express what I am feeling is the worst kind of hell.
Even in earlier parts of this blog, I see I could still cry.
Events make it through to me. When we lost Gwion Bach, I cried. But since then, nothing. No tears. No rage. No joy or laughter. I am stuck in this grey place, where the skies are broken only by the lightning of my intense anxiety.
Maybe I should be thankful I can feel that. Because otherwise I am just frozen.
And I don't know how to thaw out, or if I ever will.
Deer in the headlights. Waiting for the crash.
I don't know what causes it or why I get it this time of morning, always. I have some ideas. The thought of getting dressed and facing the world overwhelms me. The thought of one more day I have to get through.
Maybe it would be better if I could do something about it: scream, cry, I don't know. But I can't. I am frozen in this place.
It's not that I don't feel the urge to scream or cry. I often do. But something--my meds maybe, no: almost certainly--keep me from being able to. Not even when I try to make myself. All I can feel these days is the anxiety interspersed with boredom. My own pain is uninteresting to me.
I remember the days when I used to cry at the drop of a hat. Not only when I was depressed, though there was plenty of that. But at anything: at sappy movies, at sad songs. Now movies are only something to keep my attention occupied for a little while and music is a background to some of my activities, not something I feel and connect with.
I never thought I would long for the crying days. The times when I felt so bad I would scratch my arms until they bled because it was less painful than what I was going through inside and cry until my eyes had the scratchy feel of sandpaper. "Getting hysterical" is what I called it, though I think that was probably an understatement. But to a person to whom some kind of self-expression, even the expression of pain or self-hatred, has always been valuable, not being to express what I am feeling is the worst kind of hell.
Even in earlier parts of this blog, I see I could still cry.
Events make it through to me. When we lost Gwion Bach, I cried. But since then, nothing. No tears. No rage. No joy or laughter. I am stuck in this grey place, where the skies are broken only by the lightning of my intense anxiety.
Maybe I should be thankful I can feel that. Because otherwise I am just frozen.
And I don't know how to thaw out, or if I ever will.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Very Random Thoughts
Still can't access the e-mail from my website. Don't know what's up with that. I wonder if I can e-mail yahoo and ask them about it.
Umm...yeah. Trying to find the blog entry where I talked about June 2nd 1977 and I can't! A friend reminded me of it.
already getting Christmas stuff in my e-mail. "Buy this! Give these special gifts!" The way our financial situation is this year I think we'll be lucky if we can have our goose.
Halfway through my sabbatical from Whiskey in the Jar. I think I'll be ready to go back when it ends but I'm not sure.
I went back and read some more of my old blogs and realised I have been doing this a lot longer than I thought.
Finally wrote to my mother yesterday. It was hard to keep it upbeat. I mean, for a Bipolar person in the midst of depression, a cheery note isn't always possible. But I tried hard. I think I did okay.
I wonder if I want my lunch now?
Umm...yeah. Trying to find the blog entry where I talked about June 2nd 1977 and I can't! A friend reminded me of it.
already getting Christmas stuff in my e-mail. "Buy this! Give these special gifts!" The way our financial situation is this year I think we'll be lucky if we can have our goose.
Halfway through my sabbatical from Whiskey in the Jar. I think I'll be ready to go back when it ends but I'm not sure.
I went back and read some more of my old blogs and realised I have been doing this a lot longer than I thought.
Finally wrote to my mother yesterday. It was hard to keep it upbeat. I mean, for a Bipolar person in the midst of depression, a cheery note isn't always possible. But I tried hard. I think I did okay.
I wonder if I want my lunch now?
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Interwebz Junkie
It was working fine this morning. My internet. I got to sign in as I usually do, check my e-mail and the forums I follow, and Facebook, of course. I made it just a quick check as I wanted to do some other things today.
Then I had my breakfast and my usual morning anxiety attack started. So I thought, "I'll just sign in for a little while until I calm down."
The first sign that something was dreadfully wrong was that I noticed my cell phone had no signal. I queried M.; his didn't either. At that point, we both tried to sign on the 'net again. And it was completely down. error messages on every page. No forums, no e-mail, no Facebook--nothing.
My palms began to sweat. My breathing got heavier and heavier. I felt distinctly in pain, all over my body. All the symptoms of withdrawal from some terribly addictive drug: I had them. "Fine," I thought, "we have to go to the grocery store anyway. I'll get dressed."
Somehow I managed it despite the rising tide of fear that I was cut completely off from the world. That's when the knife cut deeper. We're on food stamps and these days your food stamp balance is carried on a little plastic card much like a credit card. Just to make sure--not that we thought the problem would reach so far, but just to be sure--we called the store, which is ten miles down the road. Nope, they told us; their card readers weren't working. This problem was all over the valley, it seemed.
My sweating became heavier at this point. The whole valley cut off from the outside world, as in some post-apocalyptic nightmare?
I had never really considered how much I rely on my computer internet connection to get me through my day. Nor had I really thought much of what would happen if we no longer had 'net access--not just in my house, but all over the place. I finally understand the people who were so upset over the Y2K scare. It could happen. For a while, here, it did happen.
We learned later, when M. took our last $20 down to the store to buy potatoes for tonight's stew, that someone had busted a fiber-optic cable somewhere and that's why the phones and the internet were both involved. The initial estimate was two hours to fix it. It took something more like eight. But what if it had been an insoluble problem?
I suppose this is the main reason people go wireless. My in-laws had internet all day. I actually had thoughts of going over to their house and booting them off their system so I could get access. Which just shows what lengths a junkie will go to to get a fix.
So, I admit it: I am an internet junkie. Without my connection I am lost.
I suppose there are worse things I could be.
Then I had my breakfast and my usual morning anxiety attack started. So I thought, "I'll just sign in for a little while until I calm down."
The first sign that something was dreadfully wrong was that I noticed my cell phone had no signal. I queried M.; his didn't either. At that point, we both tried to sign on the 'net again. And it was completely down. error messages on every page. No forums, no e-mail, no Facebook--nothing.
My palms began to sweat. My breathing got heavier and heavier. I felt distinctly in pain, all over my body. All the symptoms of withdrawal from some terribly addictive drug: I had them. "Fine," I thought, "we have to go to the grocery store anyway. I'll get dressed."
Somehow I managed it despite the rising tide of fear that I was cut completely off from the world. That's when the knife cut deeper. We're on food stamps and these days your food stamp balance is carried on a little plastic card much like a credit card. Just to make sure--not that we thought the problem would reach so far, but just to be sure--we called the store, which is ten miles down the road. Nope, they told us; their card readers weren't working. This problem was all over the valley, it seemed.
My sweating became heavier at this point. The whole valley cut off from the outside world, as in some post-apocalyptic nightmare?
I had never really considered how much I rely on my computer internet connection to get me through my day. Nor had I really thought much of what would happen if we no longer had 'net access--not just in my house, but all over the place. I finally understand the people who were so upset over the Y2K scare. It could happen. For a while, here, it did happen.
We learned later, when M. took our last $20 down to the store to buy potatoes for tonight's stew, that someone had busted a fiber-optic cable somewhere and that's why the phones and the internet were both involved. The initial estimate was two hours to fix it. It took something more like eight. But what if it had been an insoluble problem?
I suppose this is the main reason people go wireless. My in-laws had internet all day. I actually had thoughts of going over to their house and booting them off their system so I could get access. Which just shows what lengths a junkie will go to to get a fix.
So, I admit it: I am an internet junkie. Without my connection I am lost.
I suppose there are worse things I could be.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
And I Thought My Space Was Addictive...
I have recently discovered Facebook.
That says it all, really.
It happened like this: Around this time of year, I always get really nostalgic because a lot of the old friends I've lost track of for so many years have birthdays around this time. So I naturally start to look them up on the internet. Well, after many years of searching, I finally located one--not on Facebook, but on another site. I asked how he was doing and he said, "Look me up on Facebook."
So I had to go get an account.
On Facebook I have located old friends and had old friends locate me. I have linked up with friends from other websites and forums and found support groups and causes. I have started a farm. I have sent hatching eggs and saved the rainforest. I have a number of pets. I have played games and won many wars (and lost a few, but that's how it goes, I guess.)
Where is this leading? You guessed it--I am currently spending hours and hours out of my day on Facebook attending to all the things I need to attend to. Kidnapping people. Hitting them with pillows. Training my virtual puppy. You know, important stuff like that.
There is an upside and a downside to all this. The upside: well, locating those old friends, of course. And since discovering Facebook I have been less depressed. It's something I like to do, which had been missing from my life. in fact, I think it has sent me into a mild hypomania, which is not at all a bad state to be in for one who has been as low as I have been in the past months.
The downside: You can see it, can't you? Spending all my time on the computer on a virtual friendship site is not helping me get out of the house. Or attend to the other things that need attending to in my life. The daily things, like, oh, getting dressed, for example. Today, it was noon before I could tear myself away long enough to get breakfast and my meds down my throat. Even now I am worried that I am missing something.
Fortunately this is not really interfering with the main relationship in my life, because M. is just as obsessed with Facebook as I am. We spend a lot of time on our respective computers, kidnapping each other and giving each other virtual kisses. This is good, right? Maybe. It's a shared interest, anyway. It's something I can answer when M. asks me "is there anything you feel like doing." Too much in the last months the answer to that question has been, "No, nothing."
I shudder to think what my psychiatrist would say about all this.
My therapist, on the other hand, thinks it's a good thing for me to be connecting with people, even in a virtual way. She's especially pleased about my finding old friends who have validated the reality of my past experiences.
Well, I'm off now. No, really: I'm going to do laundry. Honestly.
But I may just check in to Facebook first.
For a little while...
That says it all, really.
It happened like this: Around this time of year, I always get really nostalgic because a lot of the old friends I've lost track of for so many years have birthdays around this time. So I naturally start to look them up on the internet. Well, after many years of searching, I finally located one--not on Facebook, but on another site. I asked how he was doing and he said, "Look me up on Facebook."
So I had to go get an account.
On Facebook I have located old friends and had old friends locate me. I have linked up with friends from other websites and forums and found support groups and causes. I have started a farm. I have sent hatching eggs and saved the rainforest. I have a number of pets. I have played games and won many wars (and lost a few, but that's how it goes, I guess.)
Where is this leading? You guessed it--I am currently spending hours and hours out of my day on Facebook attending to all the things I need to attend to. Kidnapping people. Hitting them with pillows. Training my virtual puppy. You know, important stuff like that.
There is an upside and a downside to all this. The upside: well, locating those old friends, of course. And since discovering Facebook I have been less depressed. It's something I like to do, which had been missing from my life. in fact, I think it has sent me into a mild hypomania, which is not at all a bad state to be in for one who has been as low as I have been in the past months.
The downside: You can see it, can't you? Spending all my time on the computer on a virtual friendship site is not helping me get out of the house. Or attend to the other things that need attending to in my life. The daily things, like, oh, getting dressed, for example. Today, it was noon before I could tear myself away long enough to get breakfast and my meds down my throat. Even now I am worried that I am missing something.
Fortunately this is not really interfering with the main relationship in my life, because M. is just as obsessed with Facebook as I am. We spend a lot of time on our respective computers, kidnapping each other and giving each other virtual kisses. This is good, right? Maybe. It's a shared interest, anyway. It's something I can answer when M. asks me "is there anything you feel like doing." Too much in the last months the answer to that question has been, "No, nothing."
I shudder to think what my psychiatrist would say about all this.
My therapist, on the other hand, thinks it's a good thing for me to be connecting with people, even in a virtual way. She's especially pleased about my finding old friends who have validated the reality of my past experiences.
Well, I'm off now. No, really: I'm going to do laundry. Honestly.
But I may just check in to Facebook first.
For a little while...
Monday, November 10, 2008
Close Encounter
So, M. and I stopped at the local coffee shop for a latte before my therapy appointment. While we were standing at the counter, there came from behind us the sound of the door opening and closing. Naturally, we both turned to look at the new arrival. And who should it be but the Toxic One?
We both turned back around and put our backs to her without further eye contact or comment. M. moved to the "pick up" counter while I went further into the shop. Then I knew I couldn't stay there any more with her there. So I told M. that I was going across the street (to my therapist's office) and asked him please to bring my coffee to me there, which he said he would do.
I had not been in that close proximity to the T.O. in six years. That's how long it's been since the badness between us went down, but I still feel embittered by it. I took one look at her and just thought, "That's an ugly person." I feel it right down to my toes, like I've been bathed in slick black crude oil or some other nasty goo.
I think I need to be smudged.
I discussed this experience with my therapist, of course. She said I should be proud of myself for allowing myself to have my true feelings about the situation and setting good boundaries: i.e., extricating myself. And maybe she's right about that. Okay, yeah; she's right about that. I've wasted too much time and energy making excuses and feeling bad and taking the blame for what happened between us on myself.
But is it really okay to judge? I don't believe it is. I have spent a lot of time and energy learning compassion too, and forgiveness. So why can't I forgive this person and move on? I thought until today that I had: that I had forgiven her but just didn't want her in my life anymore. Now I don't think that's true. I don't know if I can ever forgive her for what she put me through in the three years we were really close, in the ill-fated band.
I do know she was my friend, it seemed, and now she's not. And that's a grief to me. After the hostility and the lies and the failure to communicate, why is that? Why can't I just let it go?
I have a headache now and feel sick at my stomach. I have no answers, only more and more questions. The vision of her standing there in the shop doors is frozen in my brain and I think that brief second in time is also something I will never be able to put away. The moment I said, "This is an ugly person."
This was the real end.
We both turned back around and put our backs to her without further eye contact or comment. M. moved to the "pick up" counter while I went further into the shop. Then I knew I couldn't stay there any more with her there. So I told M. that I was going across the street (to my therapist's office) and asked him please to bring my coffee to me there, which he said he would do.
I had not been in that close proximity to the T.O. in six years. That's how long it's been since the badness between us went down, but I still feel embittered by it. I took one look at her and just thought, "That's an ugly person." I feel it right down to my toes, like I've been bathed in slick black crude oil or some other nasty goo.
I think I need to be smudged.
I discussed this experience with my therapist, of course. She said I should be proud of myself for allowing myself to have my true feelings about the situation and setting good boundaries: i.e., extricating myself. And maybe she's right about that. Okay, yeah; she's right about that. I've wasted too much time and energy making excuses and feeling bad and taking the blame for what happened between us on myself.
But is it really okay to judge? I don't believe it is. I have spent a lot of time and energy learning compassion too, and forgiveness. So why can't I forgive this person and move on? I thought until today that I had: that I had forgiven her but just didn't want her in my life anymore. Now I don't think that's true. I don't know if I can ever forgive her for what she put me through in the three years we were really close, in the ill-fated band.
I do know she was my friend, it seemed, and now she's not. And that's a grief to me. After the hostility and the lies and the failure to communicate, why is that? Why can't I just let it go?
I have a headache now and feel sick at my stomach. I have no answers, only more and more questions. The vision of her standing there in the shop doors is frozen in my brain and I think that brief second in time is also something I will never be able to put away. The moment I said, "This is an ugly person."
This was the real end.
A few random thoughts...
I'm having a really bad anxiety attack today.
yesterday was nice, though. I had duck for dinner.
Happy Birthday, Mr. Gaiman.
I'm frustrated because there's a glitch in my website e-mail and I can't access the mailbox.
Got turned on to this highly addictive game, Kidnap, on Facebook. Now I can't stop signing in there every five minutes to see how I'm doing.
Have my therapist later.
There were more thoughts in there somewhere, but I seem to have lost them.
yesterday was nice, though. I had duck for dinner.
Happy Birthday, Mr. Gaiman.
I'm frustrated because there's a glitch in my website e-mail and I can't access the mailbox.
Got turned on to this highly addictive game, Kidnap, on Facebook. Now I can't stop signing in there every five minutes to see how I'm doing.
Have my therapist later.
There were more thoughts in there somewhere, but I seem to have lost them.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Happy Birthday to Me!
It's my birthday today and so far I feel pretty good about it. M. served me doughnuts ad coffee and milk in bed on a special little tray that he had built himself especially for the purpose. Later, we're going out to dinner with the in-laws. I may get dressed up for this or I may not--the style in Western Colorado is pretty casual, even when you're going someplace fancy, which we're not.
I'm 46 today, which I suppose should kind of freak me out, putting me closer to 50 than 40. But I find that every passing year I feel younger. Just this morning a Facebook friend who knew me in High School commented that I don't look any different than I did in 1980. Well, I do; for one thing, I weigh about 70 lbs more than I did the last time she laid eyes on me, back in those days of severe Anorexia Nervosa. And my hair is greying, and I haven't dyed it in a year, which I long to do (but don't on the advice of my disability lawyer). But I have good skin and no wrinkles, and come from a line of long-lived people. Besides, I have great taste in clothes. I should do all right for some time yet. As far as looks, that is.
As far as health, I don't know. I still smoke despite numerous attempts to quit. And I don't get any exercise at all these days due to my anxiety and depression. So my overall health can't be too good. I worry about it anyhow. Still, I eat healthy and drink a lot of water (which probably contributes to the good skin). I don't drink alcohol and that's probably a plus. And my dad, who got even less activity than I and was never treated for his ongoing depression still made it past eighty-four. So I probably have a good few years yet.
So, Happy Birthday To Me and Many Happy Returns off the Day.
That's All.
I'm 46 today, which I suppose should kind of freak me out, putting me closer to 50 than 40. But I find that every passing year I feel younger. Just this morning a Facebook friend who knew me in High School commented that I don't look any different than I did in 1980. Well, I do; for one thing, I weigh about 70 lbs more than I did the last time she laid eyes on me, back in those days of severe Anorexia Nervosa. And my hair is greying, and I haven't dyed it in a year, which I long to do (but don't on the advice of my disability lawyer). But I have good skin and no wrinkles, and come from a line of long-lived people. Besides, I have great taste in clothes. I should do all right for some time yet. As far as looks, that is.
As far as health, I don't know. I still smoke despite numerous attempts to quit. And I don't get any exercise at all these days due to my anxiety and depression. So my overall health can't be too good. I worry about it anyhow. Still, I eat healthy and drink a lot of water (which probably contributes to the good skin). I don't drink alcohol and that's probably a plus. And my dad, who got even less activity than I and was never treated for his ongoing depression still made it past eighty-four. So I probably have a good few years yet.
So, Happy Birthday To Me and Many Happy Returns off the Day.
That's All.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Pussy-whipped
We're all pussy-whipped here. That is, whipped by our cats--and one cat in particular.
I found Dacs twelve years ago last September on the first really cold morning of fall. I was walking downtown to work and as I passed by the local bar (the building that later, somewhat ironically, would become the radio station) I noticed a box sitting on one of the benches outside it. I didn't think anything of it but just kept walking.
Then the screaming started. From inside that box came the most horrible cat noise I have ever heard. So I had to look, of course. And what I found, huddled inside a scrap of pink towel, was the tiniest kitten I had ever seen. It was filthy and sick, with both eyes swollen almost shut from chlamydia, but it could make the loudest noise. Well, what could I do but pick it up and tuck it inside my shirt and carry it along to work with me?
Fortunately I had an understanding employer, because I spent the whole morning trying to figure out something to do with this poor abandoned kitten. I called animal control and was bluntly informed that they would just put the poor thing to sleep automatically. Finally I called my husband and we took it to the vet. The vet didn't expect the kitten to make it, she told us later, but she gave us some medication and told us how to care for it.
That's how Dacs came to us. We thought at first she was a male--even the vet thought so--but after a year when nothing seemed forthcoming (if you know what I mean) we found out otherwise. Fortunately we had kept her in for the previous year so we didn't have an unexpected pregnancy to deal with. Anyway, she's been our princess and Queen of the household ever since.
That is, until THEY came. The demons.
I think it started out with their wanting to play with her. She was having none of it, but threw a hissy fit every time one got close to her. Then, as the demons got older, the initial urge to play turned into a full-scale war for dominance. It didn't start out so badly, but after Gwion Bach passed away last summer it got worse and worse, until now every time Dacs tried to have a little peace and attention there's a demon--usually Obsidian and/or Onyx--there menacing her. It's really traumatized poor Dacs. Now she spends most of her time on top of the linen closet where no one can get at her. When she wants down, she screams until M. or I comes to lift her down to her food dish, which is now kept on the kitchen ledge so it's safer for her. When she wants to go to the litter box or back onto the linen closet, she screams more.
I am torn. I feel really bad for Dacs, but I can't help but remember how, as a kitten, she used to beat up Tamlane (R.I.P.), who was twice her size. And I wonder why she doesn't fight back. And I wonder if I am slowly going mad from all the cat fights in my house.
Still, M. and I find ourselves pussy-whipped. She's our princess and we can't help but come when she calls, even if it means standing there without any idea of what she really wants. We wants her to know she's safe and we still love her, but does this really help? It doesn't seem to. We can't be there 24 hours a day to protect her. I wonder if this is how parents of human children feel when their kids get bullied at school--so helpless. So unable to come up with any answers.
And now the cats are demanding my attention so I have to go...
I found Dacs twelve years ago last September on the first really cold morning of fall. I was walking downtown to work and as I passed by the local bar (the building that later, somewhat ironically, would become the radio station) I noticed a box sitting on one of the benches outside it. I didn't think anything of it but just kept walking.
Then the screaming started. From inside that box came the most horrible cat noise I have ever heard. So I had to look, of course. And what I found, huddled inside a scrap of pink towel, was the tiniest kitten I had ever seen. It was filthy and sick, with both eyes swollen almost shut from chlamydia, but it could make the loudest noise. Well, what could I do but pick it up and tuck it inside my shirt and carry it along to work with me?
Fortunately I had an understanding employer, because I spent the whole morning trying to figure out something to do with this poor abandoned kitten. I called animal control and was bluntly informed that they would just put the poor thing to sleep automatically. Finally I called my husband and we took it to the vet. The vet didn't expect the kitten to make it, she told us later, but she gave us some medication and told us how to care for it.
That's how Dacs came to us. We thought at first she was a male--even the vet thought so--but after a year when nothing seemed forthcoming (if you know what I mean) we found out otherwise. Fortunately we had kept her in for the previous year so we didn't have an unexpected pregnancy to deal with. Anyway, she's been our princess and Queen of the household ever since.
That is, until THEY came. The demons.
I think it started out with their wanting to play with her. She was having none of it, but threw a hissy fit every time one got close to her. Then, as the demons got older, the initial urge to play turned into a full-scale war for dominance. It didn't start out so badly, but after Gwion Bach passed away last summer it got worse and worse, until now every time Dacs tried to have a little peace and attention there's a demon--usually Obsidian and/or Onyx--there menacing her. It's really traumatized poor Dacs. Now she spends most of her time on top of the linen closet where no one can get at her. When she wants down, she screams until M. or I comes to lift her down to her food dish, which is now kept on the kitchen ledge so it's safer for her. When she wants to go to the litter box or back onto the linen closet, she screams more.
I am torn. I feel really bad for Dacs, but I can't help but remember how, as a kitten, she used to beat up Tamlane (R.I.P.), who was twice her size. And I wonder why she doesn't fight back. And I wonder if I am slowly going mad from all the cat fights in my house.
Still, M. and I find ourselves pussy-whipped. She's our princess and we can't help but come when she calls, even if it means standing there without any idea of what she really wants. We wants her to know she's safe and we still love her, but does this really help? It doesn't seem to. We can't be there 24 hours a day to protect her. I wonder if this is how parents of human children feel when their kids get bullied at school--so helpless. So unable to come up with any answers.
And now the cats are demanding my attention so I have to go...
Friday, November 7, 2008
How my morning goes...
Today I woke up way too early. Usually I get out of bed between nine and ten, but today it was at ten of eight. Ugh.
Anyway, I think that is contributing to the fact that I am having a way worse anxiety attack than usual. You'd think I'd be used to them by now, having them every day as I do. But it's a thing a person never gets used to. No matter how many times it hits, I always am sure this is the time I'm really dying, not just feeling like it.
So what do I experience when I have these attack? Well, you know what fear feels like. The racing heart, the sweating palms. The nausea and the shaking. Take all that together and multiply it by a hundred, maybe more and stick it all in a point the size of a pin. Then put those pins all over your body, especially concentrating on the chest area. That's what an anxiety attack feels like for me.
I promised myself I wasn't going to smoke today until after my therapy appointment, because I have been smoking way too much lately. But I don't know if I'm going to be able to hold myself to that because I feel so bad right now. I'm all alone in the house and I'm convinced that I'm dying. Yet, I'm also convinced that I'm only a hypochondriac: not worth any real time on the part of a professional. Probably if I really did have a heart attack I wouldn't call anyone because I'd be afraid of bothering them with my problems, which are obviously made up.
I am having a Tic-Tac now because I promised myself I wouldn't smoke.
To make matters worse, today I have a strange pain in my stomach. That's what really set it off this morning. Any weird pain, anything unusual in my routine brings on the anxiety. I think I've said that in previous blogs. Yes, I know I have. Here I go repeating myself.
It becomes a refrain in my head, like the sound the wheels of the train make as they pass over the tracks. "A-tick-a-tock! A-tick-a-tock!" I wish I could get that sound out of my head. I wish I could silence the obsessive thoughts that haunt me day and night. But I don't seem to be able to, not yet.
I will not have another cup of coffee. I think that would be a really bad idea.
Anyway, I think that is contributing to the fact that I am having a way worse anxiety attack than usual. You'd think I'd be used to them by now, having them every day as I do. But it's a thing a person never gets used to. No matter how many times it hits, I always am sure this is the time I'm really dying, not just feeling like it.
So what do I experience when I have these attack? Well, you know what fear feels like. The racing heart, the sweating palms. The nausea and the shaking. Take all that together and multiply it by a hundred, maybe more and stick it all in a point the size of a pin. Then put those pins all over your body, especially concentrating on the chest area. That's what an anxiety attack feels like for me.
I promised myself I wasn't going to smoke today until after my therapy appointment, because I have been smoking way too much lately. But I don't know if I'm going to be able to hold myself to that because I feel so bad right now. I'm all alone in the house and I'm convinced that I'm dying. Yet, I'm also convinced that I'm only a hypochondriac: not worth any real time on the part of a professional. Probably if I really did have a heart attack I wouldn't call anyone because I'd be afraid of bothering them with my problems, which are obviously made up.
I am having a Tic-Tac now because I promised myself I wouldn't smoke.
To make matters worse, today I have a strange pain in my stomach. That's what really set it off this morning. Any weird pain, anything unusual in my routine brings on the anxiety. I think I've said that in previous blogs. Yes, I know I have. Here I go repeating myself.
It becomes a refrain in my head, like the sound the wheels of the train make as they pass over the tracks. "A-tick-a-tock! A-tick-a-tock!" I wish I could get that sound out of my head. I wish I could silence the obsessive thoughts that haunt me day and night. But I don't seem to be able to, not yet.
I will not have another cup of coffee. I think that would be a really bad idea.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
I'm trying this again...
I'm going to try again to keep this blog regularly even if it's only a few lines a day. Something to keep me grounded.
The last few days I've been hypomanic, what with discovering Facebook and all. Today I feel myself sliding down that slippery slope into the place where I can't get dressed or go out or even move, much.
I saw my pdoc yesterday and he raised my antidepressants yet again so maybe that will help. Time will tell, I suppose. I didn't have much time to discuss things with him--it was only a 15-minute med check--but he seemed sympathetic to the place I'm in mentally and emotionally. How I know it's not healthy to just sit at home all day, but at the same time trying to force myself into activities that I find no joy in just makes me frustrated and angry so I end up feeling worse. It's a real catch-22. (I suppose I should read that book some day so I actually know what that phrase means.)
I wonder if this next part should have its own post, but I'm here now so I'm just going to go ahead with it.
Last night I was reading articles on fat acceptance on the web. And I ended up feeling pretty bad about myself. I believe that fat acceptance is an important cause. Prejudice against fat people is one of the still-acceptable prejudices in this country, maybe in the world. And that's just wrong. Wrong to judge anyone for their body size, especially when a lot of the devices for measuring it are so flawed (don't even get me started on the BMI!).
So why do I feel bad about myself? Because though I could accept others with no problem, I have never been able to accept myself as a fat person, which is why I have been following the Weight Watcher's program the past year and a half. And I've done pretty well on it. I've got a body I can accept, finally, after many years of struggle. (And I even fit into the "normal" range of that wretched BMI.)
I feel like a Judas to the cause, though. Like I can't support fat acceptance without accepting myself as a fat person. M. says I have done a lot of hard work and should be proud of what I have accomplished but I just can't feel it. All I feel is that I'm not a proper feminist.
and now my thoughts are becoming incoherent and confused jsut when I feel this post is starting to become interesting, so I have to stop. Maybe I'll be able to say more on this topic later. I hope so.
The last few days I've been hypomanic, what with discovering Facebook and all. Today I feel myself sliding down that slippery slope into the place where I can't get dressed or go out or even move, much.
I saw my pdoc yesterday and he raised my antidepressants yet again so maybe that will help. Time will tell, I suppose. I didn't have much time to discuss things with him--it was only a 15-minute med check--but he seemed sympathetic to the place I'm in mentally and emotionally. How I know it's not healthy to just sit at home all day, but at the same time trying to force myself into activities that I find no joy in just makes me frustrated and angry so I end up feeling worse. It's a real catch-22. (I suppose I should read that book some day so I actually know what that phrase means.)
I wonder if this next part should have its own post, but I'm here now so I'm just going to go ahead with it.
Last night I was reading articles on fat acceptance on the web. And I ended up feeling pretty bad about myself. I believe that fat acceptance is an important cause. Prejudice against fat people is one of the still-acceptable prejudices in this country, maybe in the world. And that's just wrong. Wrong to judge anyone for their body size, especially when a lot of the devices for measuring it are so flawed (don't even get me started on the BMI!).
So why do I feel bad about myself? Because though I could accept others with no problem, I have never been able to accept myself as a fat person, which is why I have been following the Weight Watcher's program the past year and a half. And I've done pretty well on it. I've got a body I can accept, finally, after many years of struggle. (And I even fit into the "normal" range of that wretched BMI.)
I feel like a Judas to the cause, though. Like I can't support fat acceptance without accepting myself as a fat person. M. says I have done a lot of hard work and should be proud of what I have accomplished but I just can't feel it. All I feel is that I'm not a proper feminist.
and now my thoughts are becoming incoherent and confused jsut when I feel this post is starting to become interesting, so I have to stop. Maybe I'll be able to say more on this topic later. I hope so.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Back Again At Last
I can't believe it's been so long since I've written in here. Since July. Well, not much has happened in my life to write about. No sudden turn-abouts in my mental and emotional health. I continue depressed and the onset of winter--we had snow this morning--is not helping. Sometimes I wonder if I should move to a state that didn't have winter, but I remember when I lived in California I hated it there so I know that's not the answer.
I have just spent the last hour or so reading all the blog posts I have ever written. I can't believe at one point I had so much to say. Now everything is flat. I feel no real anger or real pain, but no joy either. This stinks. I would rather have the mood swings and all that comes with them. I understand why so many others with Bipolar Disorder go off their medication. It almost comes with the territory.
But I won't do that. I'm too afraid of what might happen.
Fear rules a big part of my life. Fear of being judged from the outside. M. is constantly telling me that what I feel on the inside doesn't reflect on the outside, but I wonder. This bleakness must show somewhere, mustn't it? But then, I've always been good at covering it up. Even to go over to the in-laws, I put on my nice clothes and a smile that I don't feel. I can keep this up for hours.
Then I get very tired and have to go hide.
Lately, I have been hiding on Facebook. It's not all hiding, actually. I hooked up with a few old friends, which has been nice. I also hooked up with friends from other sites, which is also nice. But still I have that fear of being judged. What if what I say and do isn't acceptable? What if I'm unintentionally mean?
When I started this blog I didn't worry too much about things like that. My family wasn't in my life. My old friends weren't in my life. Now they are again to a degree and I wonder if I've spoken too boldly where I should have remained silent.
There's a sweatshirt I want that says, "Be careful or you might end up in my novel." Even though I'm not writing much at the moment, I like that. It reminds me that a writer's craft is taking things from real life, chopping them up, adding extra bits here and there and making stew.
Sometimes that though is enough to keep the fear at bay.
Sometimes it isn't.
That's all I can say right now. At least I wrote something. And for me that's an accomplishment these days.
I have just spent the last hour or so reading all the blog posts I have ever written. I can't believe at one point I had so much to say. Now everything is flat. I feel no real anger or real pain, but no joy either. This stinks. I would rather have the mood swings and all that comes with them. I understand why so many others with Bipolar Disorder go off their medication. It almost comes with the territory.
But I won't do that. I'm too afraid of what might happen.
Fear rules a big part of my life. Fear of being judged from the outside. M. is constantly telling me that what I feel on the inside doesn't reflect on the outside, but I wonder. This bleakness must show somewhere, mustn't it? But then, I've always been good at covering it up. Even to go over to the in-laws, I put on my nice clothes and a smile that I don't feel. I can keep this up for hours.
Then I get very tired and have to go hide.
Lately, I have been hiding on Facebook. It's not all hiding, actually. I hooked up with a few old friends, which has been nice. I also hooked up with friends from other sites, which is also nice. But still I have that fear of being judged. What if what I say and do isn't acceptable? What if I'm unintentionally mean?
When I started this blog I didn't worry too much about things like that. My family wasn't in my life. My old friends weren't in my life. Now they are again to a degree and I wonder if I've spoken too boldly where I should have remained silent.
There's a sweatshirt I want that says, "Be careful or you might end up in my novel." Even though I'm not writing much at the moment, I like that. It reminds me that a writer's craft is taking things from real life, chopping them up, adding extra bits here and there and making stew.
Sometimes that though is enough to keep the fear at bay.
Sometimes it isn't.
That's all I can say right now. At least I wrote something. And for me that's an accomplishment these days.
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