This is a mental health/mental illness blog dealing with daily life with words that are real and raw, video, pics, and music chosen by one fucked-up kitty. I am diagnosed Bipolar, with (crippling) Anxiety Disorder, and seriously horrific PTSD.
Sometimes it's a real treat of Freedom of Speech and Crazy to let it out, and scream something out in public when you just lose it, and let the stress out of your sails in one quick go, unlike the "unlucky" majority. Nope. Can't say everything is bad 100% of the time. Now take your meds and get ready...

This blog is permanently under construction/destruction.

Friday, February 28, 2014


My heart's just broken and may end up crippled forever. Or was it always crippled? It's been crippled since the early 70's. A big piece seems to be missing. Was it cut out? Did it burn out? It's definitely busted. No tears. No unkind words toward me or deeds. Could there be a void?

Oh how I wish I had a fucking drink or seven.

gun wears his alcoholism well
finger in bottle and swingin' it still
from Bed to Sink and back again
clock is crawlin' round the same
he's bustin' clock (he hates its face)
just sittin' and talkin' to Heart and ticks
talkin' back to Clock in slow and studied kicks
the fears of Gun are the fears of everyone.
fingers down the throat of love
fingers down the throat of love
fingers down the throat of love
love! love!
Gun does the waltz around the room
collecting Table and Chairs and Sofa and so on and so on
Gun wears his best blue suit, now let's take to the sky
'we'll go dancin' and eatin' it up
get a bottle and push it on down'
and let's just beat it up
transistor radio plays an overwhelmingly sad and lonely song
saying 'where she gone? where she gone?'
the fears of Gun are the fears of everyone.
fingers down the throat of love
fingers down the throat of love
fingers down the throat of love
love! love!

Thursday, February 27, 2014

The Sounds Of Silence

Silence. Sometimes nothing speaks louder than silence.

My spouse spent most of his day in/on the bed with his computer in the bedroom after having his coffee this morning. He didn't get up until after 8am. That is the latest he has slept in that I can remember. When he took his morning coffee, once again, the unsigned tax forms sat in a neat pile on the coffee table. I asked him twice if there was something wrong, and he assured me there wasn't.

He came out of the bedroom around 4.30pm to scavenge around in the kitchen. He ate a bowl of cereal while waiting for his microwaved potato to cook. I offered him some of the fruit I was eating, but he declined. Instead, he grabbed the remote, and switched the tv over to the usual cartoons: American Dad, Family Guy, and The Simpsons. He tossed the remote on top of the unsigned tax forms when he was done with it. 

It's all too often the same. Cartoons and a laptop. Barely a word, if any, to me. Silence.

Is he playing the passive-aggressive game again? Is there something he wants to say about the taxes, but is too chickenshit or something to directly confront me? I'm all about direct confrontation. Get shit out of the way and try and move on. He likes to hold grudges for days, punish with silence and hiding out in the bedroom for days, or going out for a few drinks with someone else.

There are 3 working pens on the table, and the only person that's been using them has been me, for paying bills and rent. I'm beginning to think that he's going to "accidentally" spill tea on the forms. He cannot bring himself to confront me with whatever revelation he's had or what issue he has now about the tax forms. I knew his attitude would change once the buzz wore off, once he'd had a lot of time to himself to think, once he'd had a lot of sleep and naps.

But he remains silent. I think Frankie the cat spoke more to me today than he did.

Silence can wound. Silence can kill.

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

In Dreams

                                                               I used to wear blue velvet...

Wow. Get some beer, some time away from me, a chat with someone else, and you've got a changed man.

My spouse came back from his lunch date a little buzzed, but seemed happy to see me. He also apologized for treating me so mean the past couple of days, and that money is just money. And that there will never be another me. He said he didn't care about all that tax crap. He hugged me for a long time. It all made me cry and apologize again for fucking up. We exchanged the "I love you"s, of course. We stood there in the kitchen, locked together for a long time. Later on he went and had a nap.

I went back to my computer and tea.

Now in the sober light of day, I find it hard to trust what he said, of course.

1. I have MH issues
2. He hasn't always been truthful for too long (he's been flakey)
3. He had been drinking a bit
4. He has diagnosed and (IMO) undiagnosed MH issues: Depression is his diagnosis at present

So I'm left with the prepared tax forms just sitting on the coffee table in plain sight. They just need his signature. My signature is on the form. I already have a stamped and addressed envelope ready for it. Now how do I get him to actually sign the forms? I need to make copies or scan the crap at least. That would bring attention to the forms. I'm worried as to whether that would be a bad or "good" move.

I just want to get the shit out of here and not think about it anymore! I don't know if I can deal with it tonight, but the sooner, the better, as he seems to be in a better mood in the daylight, and he just got back from the unemployment office. Not a good time. He's already changed into his PJs and it's not even 3pm.

Oh, looks like he's going for another nap. Oh. Oh well.

Let's get some shit straight here. I wake up a bunch of times during the night, sometimes sweating, sometimes freezing from sweating, but mostly for no reason, then I get up at the time I set my alarm for which is 6am now. My spouse gets up maybe an hour after that, lately a little bit longer. He takes forever to "wake up" after he's up. He says an hour. Me, I'm wide awake each time I wake. Anyway, he takes naps. Sometimes two during the day. One after the coffee is finished, and then another in the late afternoon. It kind of disgusts me, but that's because I wasn't raised to do that, and it stuck.

Back again...

The spouse is up. Fuck. He's up again and just set down a glass of water next to the forms that are waiting for his signature, with a pen just above them on the coffee table... Clearly, he's ignoring them. Now he's off washing dishes in a very noisy way, suggesting that he's irritated by "having to do it". I said I would do it, I just didn't give an exact time of day/eve. I didn't want to put pressure on myself. Riding the bus alone to the shrink's and surviving an hour of that was stressful and emotionally exhausting enough today. Give me a fuckin' break.

Yeah, I mentioned to the shrink that he likes to play passive-aggressive games if he feels like he's not in control of the world, and he probably doesn't since he's not working right now. I don't like to participate. He's pretty much just stuck here with me, and doesn't seem to want to do anything. Not even going for a walk. That fucking sucks.

I'll have to try try try to venture out alone tomorrow, if it's now raining too badly. I'm going to have to get up earlier as the sun is coming out earlier and ruining my moonlit mornings. I'll try for 5am tomorrow, and spend a little time alone away from home. Either in the coffee shop or outside, smoking. Yeah, early to bed and early to rise and get the fuck out of here and get coffee and a cigarette. I can't possibly go out in the morning light.

I was fucking livid when I got home from my shrink appointment today and found all the blinds pulled open. He knows I hate outdoor light coming indoors. I still had my sunglasses left on, so I kept them on for quite a while, until I sensed that the spouse wouldn't have a cow if I shut half of them, and he was out of the room.

5-8pm nothing but tired cartoons here.

I'm tired and writing on "Notepad" while "The Devil's Waltz" plays online in the background. A re-run, I know. I need to be carried away from the reality of this place and this tired situation.

I just want to go to sleep, a heavy sleep, with heavy, vivid dreams that take me far away from here to another time and place. I travel alone in my dreams. Rarely do I ever have known persons in my dreams. I do have known places. Not real places, but real dream places that I've been back to several times. I never dream about my spouse. In my dreams, I am able to drive, but not in real life. PTSD. Motorcycles too, which I enjoy riding on (passenger only) in real life. I miss that. I miss having more of a life.

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

I Just Want To Thank You!

                                                              Bleeding Heart Flowers!

Shout out and big thank yous to: Debbie Kirk, Nelly N., Abigail Green, The Girl, Sally K Witt and Heather Thompson for following Frankie's freaked out faux-pas festival, or dropping by and commenting!

Peace, love, hope, and BP,
F L Jones

Monday, February 24, 2014

Unhealthy Place

I hate all you little shits that put out "I'm sick" vids and ruined any chance of Iggy's original on youshittube.
I fuckin hate you shitass brats.

Healthy Place:

"With the new day comes new strength and new thoughts." ~ Eleanor Roosevelt

Supposedly, Eleanor Rigby Roosevelt baby...

I got up with my alarm at 6am this morning, back on my set schedule, my thang that I keep up with each week. Most of the time I wake up earlier, but this time not, which is odd. I did, however, wake up many times during the night, as usual. I got up, switched to auto-pilot and made coffee for two. I wasn't thinking about how I felt about my spouse or how he felt about me, nor did I start to worry yet about how he was going to feel about me today.

I pulled my big girl pants on and I decided that whole stay-in-bed-depressed thing wasn't for me. I didn't cry. There wasn't much tv available on my phone or kindle. I couldn't concentrate enough to read. I couldn't sleep enough of the day/night away, and it made me sore all over, and feel guilty for laying around doing nothing. That last bit was an abusive guilt trip present from my father. Thanks, asshole.

We are almost talking to each other, the spouse and myself. He is going out for lunch with an ex-work mate. He has never gone to lunch with me that I can remember. He must have, but it was a very rare occasion. Long time ago, maybe when we lived in a studio. My memory has been destroyed by mental illness, or the drugs, or both. PTSD sure wiped out a lot of shit, but not some of the worst, but that's another horror story I won't get into here and now. So I'm waiting for my spouse to talk to me again and mention the taxes. Doing them over, separate, whatever, I just feel horrible about it all, and scared that I'll be slapped with a bill for back taxes that I can't pay. Well, if they can't squeeze blood from this stone, and since this is a community property state, they'll have to squeeze the blood from the other stone, no? I don't know.

I really hate taxes and their vague instructions, my fucked up cognitive issues, the fact that the spouse won't attempt to do them (I don't blame him), and hate hate hate fed forms. I probably said that before. They scare the fuck out of me for no good reason. Well, with the IRS there is a good reason. Last year they called and said we fucked up, and then they said they lost all of our stuff, then we turned what few bits and pieces we had back in. Then they told us all was ok, and that they needed nothing. WHAT THE FUCK?! So I'm terrified this time, especially if we end up doing it separately. I'll be fucked in the worst way.

I'm too fucked up to attempt my "quests" today on SuperBetter, and that makes me feel shitty. Too anxious and achey to exercise, plus fucking Dallas is on instead of my beloved Supernatural. I hope TNT isn't making a habit of it. At least I got over my headache from the moment I got up. I feel guilty and lazy, of course. I don't want to be totally unproductive today, and just graze in the kitchen. My willful side says JUST ATTEMPT TO DO THE TAXES! Separately. But I know better. That would cause an unbearable amount of stress. Even thinking about it is a no no. Bitch, don't go there. No treadmill today. No load of laundry today... How am I going to force myself to take a shower today without doing the treadmill?

I vow to pay more attention to when I am actually hungry before I eat or drink anything. Even water. I've been given topomax to kill the sugar cravings from seroquel, even though I've only put on a little weight, compared to all the horror stories I've read/heard. I feel bad for them and me. It doesn't make sense. Well, it doesn't matter if I get back to a size 0, I'll still find something disgusting about my body to hate and hide. I'm an idiot. I'm too old to be a size 0. Get it in your head, head. As if I bother to diet. Whatever that means these days anyway.

My spouse laid a peck good-bye on me on his way out. I'm surprised. I guess that's his way of saying "I'm not hating you right now and I realize you felt like shit yesterday. I didn't know what to do or didn't want to bother you since you were in the bedroom in bed all day/night, and didn't come out, even for the zombies (The Walking Dead) and tea".

Ok, so now I don't even know how to begin to try to talk to him again, especially about the taxes. My daughter needs income info from us, so there's pressure on to get this shit done. Pressure is NOT a good thing for me. Stress is NOT a good thing. Math and forms are not good things for me either. I don't want to end up having a fucking breakdown doing the taxes, but I want my daughter (my love of loves of LOVE) to have her info asap. I don't want this to end up putting me back in the hospital, either, but shit, man, it's so fucking awful!

Fucking IRS. FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU and the horse you rode in on.

Time for more meds that are well needed. The shit goes on...

Saturday, February 22, 2014

From The Throne of Agony

Scraping Foetus Off The Wheel - The Throne of Agony (with lyrics)

I fucked up our taxes last year. I have cognitive issues. I hate doing taxes, and filling in federal forms just freaks my shit out. The cognitive issues - this I learned from reading medical statements on different occasions that my main shrink wrote, and just calling it as I see it.. I probably fucked up before last year too. And once again, I have fucked up this year and find that we're responsible for more taxes this year or the return will be a pittance. My spouse is just fucking beyond angry with me. He said, "Well, I guess we weren't meant to have nice things." He just wants money, and he's happy to sit on his ass and collect unemployment as well.

Nice things? Like what? A dozen fucking Fabergé eggs? What the fuck do people want? I don't need anything. What THINGS does he want that he can't already afford to buy himself already? It's not as if he really buys anything for the home. Much. Unless I put it on a stupidass "gift wish list" from amazon. Which has only happened twice. What's with the materialistic shit? Did that go out the window with not giving a shit whether I shaved my armpits or not? Throw some kind of old "punk" ideals and sense of freedom for all down the shitter? He was not like he is now 20 years ago. I am still the non-materialistic person, and don't give a shit whether anyone shaves their pits or not. What happened?

He's gone now. He got dressed after camping out in the bedroom for a few hours after the bad news about the taxes. He did some texting and got somebody to go and drink with him in some nearby neighborhood that he DROVE to. At least he learned his lesson last time and got a taxi, after throwing up in public, splashing himself and a workmate at the xmas party. Wonder what would have happened if I was there in the first place.

Anyway, no kiss good-bye, just a limp, unenthused "see ya latah", then he walks out, and locks the door. At least he locked the damn door.

I wanted to cry earlier. My eyes welled up with tears, but I'll be damned, hormonal attack and all, I'm not fucking crying over this or fucking taxes, or fucking money. I snapped out of it right quickly. I just refuse to let myself cry, because it makes me feel and look worse, has no effect on the situation, wastes energy and toilet paper, and the stiff-upper-lip spouse just ignores it. So it would be boo hoo for what? Nothing and nobody. It would make me feel worse and want to shoot myself in the head.

Maybe he'll find himself a wife with a job and no mental illness while he's out, and also younger, too. Then they can move to the suburbs like he wants. Yeah, he'd be better off without me. I'm just not into being the cook and Mexican cleaning lady that puts out. Sensing some anger here? Yeah, there's some anger, some that's probably justified on his part as far as getting a bigger return goes, I'll give him that. But what are you going to do about it? Go have a drinki. Smoke some pot. He won't. Chill the fuck out and quit creeping around like you're going to knife me in the back.

I. FUCKED. UP. I. ADMIT. IT. OK?! What do you expect to happen now? Why the FUCK don't you TALK about it?!

Maybe I should be the one to do the smoking, then it's bedtime for me. All pain is gone, I feel a little dumb and happy, not in control of my body so much, pains disappear, then I just want to sleep, like on a mountain of sweet Charmin ass wipe. Out of the way you stupid bears! Go back to the woods! .

I signed the tax form mess, but I have a feeling it isn't going to get signed by the spouse. My daughter will need some of that info for her financial aid application. I got some. I hope it's enough. Fuck. I just want to help HER. My darling who deserves no part of this shit somehow gets caught up in it. Maybe if he stepped up to the plate in the first place and showed her he gave a damn, but he did not. I wish she and I talked more about this. Hard subject to bring up and discuss. Makes me feel horrific guilt and that I failed her again.

Oh no.. He's back. No words for me. I don't care. I just want to take a huge dose of seroquel and clonazepam, and out sleep him tomorrow. I wish I could, but he's able to actually sleep around here. He gets up and makes all kinds of noise, No consideration of the fact that I'm still trying to sleep. Hell, he doesn't even shut the bedroom door.

What the hell am I doing. I'm starting to feel depressed when I'd rather turn that into anger... or something. Maybe just sleep. Extra seroquel available? I hope. At least it'll knock me right out. Ok. I'm not depressed. I'm just feeling a sense of impending doom. The gloom is here, just waiting for the doom to arrive. I guess we shall see tomorrow.

It's certain that I'll be going to bed alone tonight. That's part of his passive-agressive "punishment" game. I have no intention of playing that - tonight or tomorrow. I'll be the one to hide out in the bedroom all day tomorrow. I don't care. I just don't want to have anything to do with taxes or money. Fuck it all. The damage is done. No point in his kind of treatment, it's just immature.

What the fuck am I doing? Where are my meds when I need them? Where's my video or pic?

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Ruby Woo and Moxie

 Einstürzende Neubauten: Sand    Live 1985

*Um, not exactly once (this is here at the top for a good reason known to me)...

I woke up and was completely clueless for once*. And that was after the coffee. At least I wasn't feeling anxious at all. Yet.

I have the usual appointment with the shrink today. I was going to try to make it by bus all alone. My spouse is home, still laid off from work. He asked me where I was going today, and I told him, the usual weekly shrink appointment. I was irritated, of course, because he already knows this. Why is he pretending not to know? Was he waiting for me to beg for a ride? It seemed like he was hiding in the bedroom. Maybe trying to avoid me? I got pissed.

I slapped on my warpaint, including my Ruby Woo MAC lipstick, which I love, missed, and haven't worn in ages, since I rarely leave the house. My husband doesn't like it so much anymore, because I think he think it brings on more attention? Fuck 'em. My lips are the only part of my body that I can live with without wanting to change. I know, it sounds weird.

So why is it harder to go to the Dr today? Why am I feeling more anxious lately?

My spouse is outside at the moment now, having a cigarette..

A few smacks on the sides of my face! Fucking snap out of it! Don't be a miserable shivering little fucking chihuahua, FFS! You've done this before! Breathe! You'll have sunglasses and an iPod! Get the fuck over it. Once the sting was gone, the anxiety was back. This is not working.

I had a good idea which should have been suggested (in my opinion) by my spouse ages ago! Or I shouldn't have been such a fucking dimwit and thought of this before.I asked him to walk me to the bus stop. He reluctantly agreed. He walked fast, and I held his hand down the street to my stop. We said our goodbyes, and he asked me if I needed a ride back. What the hell? He acts like I'm putting him out like fuck for asking him to walk me, but he doesn't mind jumping in his car? Yeah, he hates walking. I miss walking. I used to like it, to go exploring downtown, and the older parts of town by bus and walking.

I'm back. I made the bus back home on time. I was kind of glad there was another person there at the bus stop. I don't know why. Maybe so I wouldn't be thinking so much about me and my tiny, pathetic world, and trying to imagine what the other guy was doing standing at that bus stop in the middle of the day.

So I made it to the shrink's and back. I still felt shaky on the bus. I sat in the very front where the disabled and elderly sit. I'm disabled and have the discounted bus pass to prove it, so I sit there. It's a demeaning experience waiting in line, having your pic taken, filling out forms, only to get your disabled buss pass. Then you get to feel like you're officially a second-class citizen. It's a demeaning annual ritual. Anyway, I can't see very well, and need to be able to try to check the street signs as the bus goes along, so I don't miss my stop. Sometimes I ask the driver to stop at my stop, but it's embarrassing.

I had my tea, and the conversation was all over the place with the shrink. I was just too much of a mess to have a plan, and I guess he was just too lazy, or too lax to have had some sort of plan. I don''t know what the fuck I'm doing there lately. All that happened is he said some shit about driving - using it to liken it to something else, which was a trigger for me, I was still raw and feeling weak from the anxiety I'd been going through. At least he asked about what we should be doing, and plan on talking about that next week..Fuck it. Whatever. There's next week, and hope that my spouse will be out of here and working.I don't know. Maybe I'll just have to tough it out alone then.

My spouse being around 24/7 is probably the reason for the added anxiety I've been experiencing. I can think of nothing else. Mycat's fine, she's been to the vet recently and got a shot, is in good health. Acts crazy, sweet, sleeps a lot. I'm... well, y'know. Nuts. I think I should be getting out more by moonlight, but cutting down on the caffeine, and drinking more water when I get back home.

Dehydration made me think of this: I remember having an insane psychotic attack one early morning on a trip to a little snowy (very snowy) nearby vacation town. I had been drinking like crazy the night before, then drank tons of coffee the next morning, and had no water. I must have been soooo dehydrated I just lost it. I got to the point where I went outside alone in the snow with my ipod, trying to bury myself and shit. I was found eventually, then I had auditory hallucinations, and a weird sort of blindness. It was kinda scary, and dare I say kinda cool.. I said NO DRs and refused to go to a hospital. It ended about 6 hours later in the comfort of a dark hotel room.

That same person who took care of me then came to the psych ward I was on years later and told me he wanted me to moved out. Yes, while I was still at the hospital without a discharge date. I hope his house value shrinks to nothing, and burns down. I hope I destroyed all the rose bushes and a tree in the front yard. I hope he gets laid off, fucked over, dies of a heart attack, gets deported, killed while drinking and driving, struck down by lightning, shot and killed in a drive by, falls into a sinkhole, gets beaten to death and robbed, flies off a cliff, gets buried under an avalanche, dies fat, alone, wrinkly, and miserable. This is what I call therapy. I wish I wish I wish. I should have picked up some voodoo skills while I was in New Orleans.

I've got a big challenge I want to WIN. I want to go out tomorrow AM in the moonlight and start my day right. I have to deal with a crazed cat, myself, my spouse, the store, and drugstore tomorrow, so I want a good start!

Monday, February 17, 2014

Beating Anxiety, Losing at Life

Fuck, I knew this was going to be a weird/bad day. First, I had a dream that a "gang" of 4 other black cats and 1 ruffled young crow were trying to stare down Frankie (my black cat seen in my pic, not vid) and scare her away. She stood by my side, and met their stares, then they slowly turned around and walked away.

I noticed I was standing on the curb of a corner on the street, and a flood had started. By the time I noticed the water had reached my ankles, covering my dirty white tennies, Frankie was in her own little row boat, rowing away, disappearing from the scene. I tried to call her back, but she was gone. Then I woke up. That's when I went into the bathroom and got the Don't Fear The Reaper treatment from the radio. It was almost 4.30am.

I had only 2 cups of coffee while watching The Walking Dead, and messing around on the computer. Then I switched to green/jasmine. TWD was over, I was still on the computer, and jumping around from screen to screen, trying to hide my google stuff from my spouse, 

I started to get cold. Then I noticed I was freezing and sweating at the same time. Great. Next came the shaking and realization that fucking anxiety or an attack was coming on. FUCK! So fucking early?! I had already taken meds, too, but then I looked on the table and noticed I forgot my nighttime meds... 600mg of seroquel and 1mg of clonazepam.

Fuck. If I take it, it's goodbye for the rest of the day, or dizzy weirded out woman. Unpredictable. Hmm...Maybe 200mg? Let's see if that does the trick.

I don't wan't the start of my damn week ruined because of my meds (probably) fuck-up! I have a schedule! I have some exercising to do! I don't want to be a lazy lump on a log and sleep the day away. I can't. I had that beaten into me, and it stuck. I would feel so guilty if I fell asleep or took a nap. Stupid, I know.

Hmm.. I'm not shaking so much. My insides still feel like they are, and my hands feel weird, like I can't completely control them, as if they have something else they want to do or write?

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Continue...

I can force myself to relax my shoulders now, if I keep thinking about them, but it's getting hard, because I have to think of too many body parts and functions/control at once. Can't do it.

Breathing for a while...

Damn phone rings. I answer. Silence. Had enough silence and now irritated, "What the fuck do you want?" More silence then ""Blah blah blah" crash!

Down goes the phone. I hate a second of my time on the home phone wasted. Mean, aren't I? Some of it's part of me fighting the anxiety, the other part is just generally ugly hateful bitchiness toward telemarketers. Telemarketers = people that make me get off of the couch, move my computer, and have to deal with another person.

Ok...Try not to read too many sad things that some people have experienced and written about. It breaks my heart...

Reading email not good for anxiety..

Drinking water, the seroquel, and breathing is helping.

This is helping.

Or helped.

I watched HBO's GIRLS, then some other crap, and curled up on the couch with water and wheat chex. I didn't feel sleepy at all, and at some point, the anxiety decided to finally take a hike. Hopefully, it went and attacked someone truly evil, and took them down.

Saturday, February 15, 2014

The Awkward Dimension

Fuck sunlight.

Once again, I was up at 5am before my alarm went off, so I slithered out of bed, and dressed myself in the ol' workout outfit. It was as if the moon was calling to me again. I was unmedicated as of yet, apart from the previous night's whopping leftover dose of seroquel.

Today I tried the same escape plan as yesterday, only when I got to the starbucks at 5.30, it was closed. I was too early! So I went back home, messed around quietly for a while, then went back out, where I managed to get a picture of the fuzzy moon. I had a sudden realization while slowly walking home that I felt good outside in the dark, empty streets. I can't say I feel good any place else. Not even bed. I actually looked forward to having to come home, and do the trip all over again, knowing it would be by moonlight again. It was worth the overpriced baked goodies just to be outside in the dark again, free, alone, and listening to music.

While I was thinking of turning away from home and walking off into the dark, I started to think am I just  supposed to be nocturnal? Would that be a quick fix - to get on a nocturnal schedule? Years ago, when my
mania was at its greatest and best, I was not really sleeping at all, but definitely wide awake during the night, and loving looking out the window at the night sky. I know it's not supposed to be "normal" to be nocturnal, but what the fuck? What about "normal" people that work graveyard shifts and live in the dark? Is that not living a sort of nocturnal life? Is that so bad? Could it be a cure? Would it destroy what's left of my marriage? Since my spouse has been laid off, I've been missing my alone time, especially my morning alone time, so I'm getting up earlier and earlier and going to bed earlier and earlier.

I'm living in the "Awkward Dimension"! I don't know how to live! I don't want to live as if I have an 8-5 job! I don't necessarily want to live by someone else's schedule. Is that a crime? Is that selfish or is that something that might give me a little more sane time in the dark?

I don't think that SAD lamp is for me, and since my spouse bought it, I think he's going to be pissed and disappointed that I can't use it. Truthfully, it begins to make me feel like my skin is going to burn off, I get irritated as hell, anxious, jumpy, heart palpitations... He is probably the one that can really use it. I can't stand outside light coming in the room. He demands it. He should be trying out the SAD lamp. Hopefully he won't get pissed when I suggest it. I know he likes a room lit up. Unlike me.

 "Valentine is done..."

I can't say I was really sad yesterday, even though I had no valentine, no flowers or chocolates, no words or physical expressions of love or affection. We didn't even leave the apartment, apart from my moonlight escape. I just felt empty, except for making sure my daughter knew that I loved her. I wanted to make sure that she knew I was thinking about her. I hoped to death that she was happy. We were in contact, so that was way cool.

I'm suddenly reminded of PiL: The Flowers of Romance


I know the last post I did for V-Day was a Debbie Downer of a song to some, maybe even most, but I feel it actually gives me strength in my aloneness (not loneliness), and it's just so lovely sounding, with velvety vocals. I love it. I imagine being tall, cloaked in a long, heavy royal blue velvet cloak, standing almost like a statue, safe, and separating myself from the pain, or chaos, or humans that surround me that I can never really relate to. On very rare occasion, my eyes might tear up, but I won't let them fall.

Here in the Awkward Dimension, the Yardbirds: Over Under Sideways Down.  Groovy, man. Groovy.

Now as I try to wait patiently for my big dose of seroquel, let nausea take me down for a couple of hours.
tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock tick tock etc... Go crazy.

Friday, February 14, 2014

For Those of Us That Are With Someone, But Feel So Alone

[REMASTERED] Walker Brothers

The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore

For us folks that are not alone, that are in a relationship, but feel so alone, like me.

She Goes By Moonlight

I was determined to get up and out at 5am to grab my free reward coffee this morning. I didn't need an alarm. I woke up so many damn times I can't even count. After throwing on a little workout outfit and my tennies, I slipped outside alone, by moonlight in a light drizzle of rain. There were 3 people sleeping on porches of buildings along the way. It was good to see that they were at least sheltered from the rain.

The moon was gorgeous, and it just covered with clouds before I could get a pic of it.

Starbucks was like a 5am sausage lonely hearts club party. Almost all of the patrons, who were all men, stared at me. They had the look of abandoned puppies in their eyes. I was the only female in the place. After I grabbed my stuff and left, I saw the moon again and realized that it was as if I was on auto-pilot most of the time, and how easy it had been for me to get outside alone - in the dark and drizzling rain.

I practically bounced along on the sidewalk all the way home to mindless, happy music. My anxiety level had been close to nil, and on no meds. Insane!

Just inside the doors, on top of the mailboxes, was a bunch of gorgeous rejected red roses, in perfect shape, pushed into the corner. 

A good start to what is usually a trying day. I wish the sun wouldn't come up.

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Anger and Truffles

Lyrics | Public Image Limited lyrics - Rise lyrics

Whiny woman in commercial, "Help! My car broke down and I need help!"


Crazy woman curled up on couch,"I broke down, and I can't even ask for help!"

Sigh. Breathe...breathe...breathe... let the anger overcome your anxiety. Point out the wrongdoings of another and make a plan to rip them a new asshole. Get their fucking name. Go after them by phone. Leave them a message. Follow up if you don't get a call back. Leave them a hand-written letter next time you go to the clinic they happen to work at.

One of the most unbearable fuck-ups that I cannot deal with without ripping a few new assholes is mistakes or problems with medications. I've even been banned from a pharmacy many years ago. This time, it's personal. I can't be making trips to and from the drugstore because my spouse resents (I suspect) driving me, and I HATE to ask. I will have to do it again very soon for another medication fuck up.

I swore while speaking with the dude working in the pharmacy when I called today about my limited re-fill of clonazepam that they fucked up. NO, MOTHERFUCKER, you do NOT go there.


I had to force a hug upon my non-supportive spouse before I left for the shrink on the bus today. He acted like it was no big deal to him, that he did not understand at all. After this many fucking years? Get a fucking clue! What do I have to do? Wear a sign around my neck? A sandwich board?

I made it out the back door of the building in my dark sunglasses and favorite boots, listening to happy iPod walking songs. I watched a wee murder of crows gathering around the base of a tree and poking around it. They were so close to me but had no fear. I managed to cross a few streets to the bus stop without getting hit. The last time I went out, I think I just crossed the streets and forgot to even look around me.

The bus stop was crowded, which was a little disappointing, because there was no place to sit. Luckily, the bus came early and took me away with my music, and personal space shield. I couldn't wait to get to the part of the route that passed the large cemetery to look, and wish I was wandering around there, listening to music.

Just after I got off the bus, I put on "Don't Fear (The Reaper), which has become a silly habit. I lost a button on the way in the shrink's office. At the shrink's, I bawled the whole time and talked mostly about how to try to better communicate with my spouse, make him more aware of his hurtful words, what the hell he means by some of them, and shit like that. I had green tea.

My spouse picked me up at 1pm and "Don't Fear (The Reaper) immediately came on the radio. It reminded me of how I wanted to shoot myself so badly last summer, and how quietly and calmly suicidal I was. How I kept it all to myself. I had planned to get a weapon, a dress, boots, time, music, place, booze, pills, all that shit. Then something happened that switched the suicidal thought from "ON" to "OFF". It was weird. But I can't write about it because no one in the whole world knows about it but me, and I'm going to keep it that way. So... I guess for some reason, I want to live.

At least live long enough to get to the drugstore and buy a few boxes of truffles and a See's sampler. Maybe even more!

We swung by the drugstore on the way home, the spouse was in a rush, so we ended up with nothing, but I'll have to go back for more meds, and will try to ride the bus again if he won't go with me. There will be fine chocolates here. I swear!

Better living through Rx and fine chocolates? Fuck yeah!


Monday, February 10, 2014

The Power Of "Swearing Like a Sailor"

Ok... I am really fucking fighting the goddamn nausea now to get back into the swing of things this morning. I got up at 6, dressed for workout, did a load of laundry, read blogs/g+ stuff, made and drank coffee and tea, and am now sipping some more tea (jasmine), hoping the fucking nausea will pass.

I really need to wash my hair, and the only way I'm going to get to do it is to get in the shower. And the only way to force myself into the shower is to get on the treadmill. My goal is only 2mi as I'm just starting again to make it a habit again. My alarm will go off at 10.30am, the time that's supposed to be the latest that I should allow myself to start exercising. The end of the lazy little shit period. I don't think I'm going to make it, but I'm going for 11 or 11.30 at the latest.

Fuck it. I should feel better soon. I had a piece of a baguette from yesterday's trip in the snow to the store. Saltines and more water will be my next move. Yuck.

Mmmm... now. Fuck. Fuck Fuck!!!

I don't want to start a week failing at anything that I need/want to do. I'm afraid that everything will go downhill from there. I've got a shrink appointment on Wednesday to get anxious over! I can't let shit just go from fucking bad to worse. The snowball of shit effect! Damn. Just writing that turned my stomach.

Yes, so it's saltines and water. Fuck! Motherfucking FUCK!
No! Fuck! I won't let it get to me!


I swore like a sailor, got disgusted and angry with my meds side effects and said FUCK YOU, I'm gonna do it! Fuck you! So I made it to the treadmill with enough time to watch "Supernatural", lose track of time by concentrating on the show as much as I could, and reached my goal. Fuck Yeah!

Oh, and I do plan on eating some spinach later.

Saturday, February 8, 2014

Post Treadmill Cool Down

I read my last post the other day and decided, its title was perfect. It was trash. It made absolutely no sense at all. The rantings of a crazy broad running in circles in a round padded room. What a pile of shit! I laughed at it yesterday and today. At least I had something to laugh about, even if I was the butt of the joke. The song was great, though.

Update on "SuperBetter" game (SuperBetter.com):

It's helped me out most days, guilt-tripping me into doing things that I want to do but need that extra massive, in-your-face-in-writing "Quests" to complete. You don't want to fail. You don't want to record that you fought various "Bad Guys" and lost. It shows up on your activity feed, I guess you'd call it? You want to do things to see yourself progress in gaining strength in various categories, including emotional and physical.

You can be creative and make your own "Quests", "Bad Guys", and "Power Ups" that help you along in your success. There are also links to information on the science of parts of the game that are interesting.

I've gone from just curling up in a ball again, in a safe, possibly overmedicated state, freaking out with anxiety nonetheless, to taking a brisk walk to nowhere while watching "Supernatural" or On Demand tv. I'm up to 2mi now, and am working my way back to 3-5, 6 days a week. Ugh, meaning 6 fucking showers a week! Two miles may sound like nothing, but it's a hell of a lot more than staring at the huge machine in your living room, and watching the gigantic fucker collect dust. I even allow myself to wear and dirty more shirts, pants, socks, which I felt too guilty about doing before. Feeling like I didn't deserve to wear clean clothes.

I still haven't managed to get outside like I'd like to, but I believe it has decreased my daily anxiety levels. I also don't freak out if I get separated from someone if I'm in the store with them, as long as we have phones. It's taking time, but shit, man, it sounds like things are progressing, slow, but better than before SuperBetter.

Now if I could just beat the shit out of that "Kitchen Monster" ("Bad Guy") I created... I should have called it Bessie the Kitchen Grazing Cow.

Final word at the moment is crippling anxiety levels lowered! Exercise increased! Feeling good about some little accomplishments I've made toward feeling better mentally, emotionally, and physically, etc.  

Ok, back to the rest of my stupid life. Yeah, my spouse was being a dick the other day. He doesn't know how to have a relationship with someone for more than a few months, let alone as long as we've been together. He's never lived with anyone other than me, he's a Brit, he's never lived with a crazy woman before. I'm not making excuses for him, in my eyes, ears, head, and heart, he's pretty ignorant, and the crazy hyper-emotional part of me says that I'm easily hurt by some shit, take some things to heart that shouldn't be, and blow some things out of proportion. He's a bit like me in some of those ways as well. Sensitive. Missing and/or abusive dad, not much else. Depression, taken care of by meds, he says.

So I'm in my cool down and relax period after my time on the treadmill. I'm supposed to be letting myself be OK with being stinky, sweaty, messy, nasty, runny old makeup, in my underwear, etc, It's hard for me, because I used to feel rushed to take a shower right afterward, as if I was going to die or something. No more pressure. It'll happen. No more potential anxiety-causing shit like that. Relax and be proud that I matched yesterday's record, and that in the very near future, I'm going to be breaking some more records and taking advantage of our DVD collection.

I don't feel so shitty today, but I am a little anxious about the possibility of having to go to the grocery store, even though I've made a list, know where everything is, will have my phone, and know that once I get in there that I won't feel too anxious at all. I'll be too distracted by all the movement and shit around me. I'll be OK. I'll keep telling myself that I'll be OK.. I'll be OK. I'll be OK. I'll be OK.

Wednesday, February 5, 2014


                                                                "Trash" - NY Dolls

Just got back from the (mostly) weekly torture with the therapist, by way of a ride from my husband, which I almost didn't want, even though I was beginning to hear that little voice inside whisper to me about suicide, and my iPod with my suicidal soundtrack play list. I told him I had to get out of there, because not only did I have to take a piss, but I was done feeling like shit and being dragged down by it, bawling and all that shit to someone who really doesn't care.

When I first came in, we were talking about my new meds update and bitching about my weight. He handed me a 3-page bill.I immediately wanted to slice him with it, or tell him to shove it up his fucking ass. Put it in the fucking mail, or give it to me at the end, fuckwit! Have some class.I decided right then and there that I wasn't going to let him off that easy, so I started talking about my relationships with my daughter and sister, how I still feel so guilty for the past X amount of years, never allowing myself to really be happy, because I felt I didn't deserve it. Also how I felt/feel like such an outsider when it comes to the relationship between my daughter and sister, which is more like mother and daughter relationship than I could ever hope to have. My sister has no kids, and we have no mother. I didn't know anybody with mother experience.

I asked - begged my sister many years ago to take care of my daughter when I was going through the worst bipolar and alcoholic shit/wtf/freakout. I was afraid I might hurt my daughter in some way, and I could NOT let that cycle of child abuse continue. I would not let my daughter be harmed physically, mentally, emotionally, etc. I wanted her to have a normal childhood and a life. I wanted her to have a chance. It ripped the shit out of me, and tore my heart to shreds to realize that I couldn't do it. I hate and hated myself for it. But I know she had a safe childhood, and a decent and social upbringing. She had things and opportunities that at I never had, due to my alkie/depressed/wtf/emotional and mental and physical abusive psycho father, and mother that died under me at age 4 in a car wreck, covered in blood.

Fucking Medicare.gov (?) and their complete SHIT out of date online information site. Lazy cunts. I'm in no state to go shopping for another therapist again. I'll just have to bring up things that have damaged me, like my meds shrink says to do, and either talk this guy's ear off or until he checks himself into the psych ward.

I mentioned to the shrink that there are horrific things that no one on this earth knows about me, and how I have lived with the shame, disgust, depression, suicidal ideation, etc that it has caused me. I feel like total trash. not like a discarded milk carton or errant fly away plastic shopping bag, but a full fucking stinking dumpster in summertime, teeming with flies and big filthy seagulls are picking through it, grabbing the best parts for themselves. I've lived through some horrors and I wish I could wash it all away and be clean. Hell, I'd even douche! hahaha! fuck :(

My fucking eyes are still burning, and I hate myself for losing it and crying so much in front the therapist I'm seeing... It makes me feel so fucking weak. I'm still wearing my fave and only cashmere scarf indoors with a warm hoodie.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

The Devil Within

                                                            "Supernatural" soundtrack*

Well, I guess I can call myself lucky that my spouse is still laid off from work, and could take me to the (meds) shrink on top of ghetto hill. That awful ride would have taken me about 1.5hrs and 2 buses, starting at  about 7am, plus I would have frozen, even in my lovely cashmere sweater and scarf. I'd say I'm not so lucky because my shrink started asking me all kinds of questions about upsetting things that I should be talking about in therapy. I think he wants to say, "You're seeing an idiot." Anyway, he dug up some horrific guilt, failure, and shitty issues that I've tried to bury. Made me fucking cry. And I was hell bent on not crying a drop when I was there. Shit. He even distracted me enough to make me forget about asking about a new pill on tv that I was going to ask about.

I really shouldn't complain at all, because like a dahling, he upped my dose of topiramate (Topomax) which is supposed to be yet another anti-convulsant, BP, etc, but one of the side effects is supposed to be weight loss. And I'm taking generic seroquel, so this will hopefully help motivate me more to get rid of those extra 10ish lbs that mysteriously appeared on my body at some point. This is the reason he's giving it to me anyway, plus its lamictal-type properties. I looked up topomax and had to laugh out loud that it's given out for migraine pain! Who the fuck is selling that big fat juicy lie? I've had dozens of migraines, and it's been no good at all. I'd rather have terrible migraines and be losing weight than no migraines and my weight being steady and stuck as it is.

The weight gain thing has added to my dread of going outside alone, of course, but I don't know how much since it's winter and you can really pile on the layers of clothes..All I know is that I felt more confident, now and then, when I was at a weight that wasn't so bad, but still overweight to me. Yeah, I got that "I'm fat and ugly" demon riding on my shoulder since I stopped being a size 0, then 1, then 2, which is not unreasonable for my height. I just want to look good to me, because it would feel good to me, and it would certainly add to my self-confidence. Man, I sure miss that self-confidence you float down the street with when you're in a good manic phase.No matter how much I weigh, I will always find some spot to call fat and be disgusted and depressed about it. Yeah, I have weight/body issues too to pile on that big pile of miserable shit I fight every day

Somehow, I managed to force myself to walk on the treadmill about 1.5hrs after I came home from the Dr and Rx store. It was so hard because I felt kicked around emotionally, and I was still hurtin' from my appointment earlier. I'm slowly making it back to my old daily goal of 3-5mi a day. I crank up "Supernatural" on TNT, the fan, and try to walk without thinking about my body. I try not to notice how much whiskey they're drinking on the show. I try not to notice all the beer either. Sometimes, to push myself to keep going, I think about the death of a person that I hate, and that deserves a horrific, painful, messy death, like watching him get set on fire after a good beating with a baseball bat. By me. Sometimes I think about the sound of bones breaking and skull being crushed, as well as all the different shades of red, black, and blue he'd be. And the blood. I like to think about the flames lapping at him, and making him scream and cry like a little girl. I wonder if he'd smell like BBQ'd chicken, or just burning shit, like the steaming heap that he is.

I tried to fight off the evil kitchen monster (aka the devil) that keeps dragging me in there to nibble on something, but I lost. At least it wasn't in a really bad way. I stuffed myself with canned green beans and frozen brussels sprouts. Who the hell does that? A fucking nut like me.

*song added to "Suicidal Soundtrack"