I am reposting this because it’s just a beautiful post. Really giving and moving. Please take a look.
I am reposting this because it’s just a beautiful post. Really giving and moving. Please take a look.
Well I hate to add something to a post when I think it’s “done” but I forgot something pretty significant! The doctor told me that I need to kick the marijuana habit!!!!!!!!!! Oh Lordy-Jeezy this is gonna be a hard one. The reason is, he says the Wellbutrin is a big honkin’ dose of depression for me, and then he said adding the marijuana, which is so much more powerful than it used to be, especially here in Colorado where it’s legal and they’ve refined it and got it down to a science, is like adding a second dose of depression to my brain. FUCK!!! I have been using the Sativa strains (Sativa=speed, revs you up) to help with my ADD symptoms during the day with mixed results, but sometimes it really helps with my focus and I can totally kick ass. I also use Sativa when I exercise and walk for miles & miles. At other times it just spaces me the fuck out. At night I use Indica (knocks you the fuck out, what you usually think of a stoner, sinking into the couch) as a kind of reward for getting through the day and it helps me sleep. I know at this point it’s really no different than being an alcoholic and drinking yourself into oblivion, I am stoning into oblivion, except there’s no hangover. This is going to be really, really hard to kick. Oh fucking twelve-step programs, I don’t want you!!!!!!!!!!! I might need one. Fuck!!!!! Yes people I tell you all truth. Ok I’m off to start my day and mull this over. Peach out, homies!
This is the final report because this psychiatrist takes not one, not two but THREE one-hour appointments to reach his initial diagnosis and to make a treatment recommendation. Well, today was appointment number three. And voila! Just like that, I am Bipolar II. Nothing has changed! He is recommending Lamictal (sp?) so off to the pharmacy I’ve gone and gotten the prescription. He said he is going to “defer” the ADD diagnosis and wait to see how it goes for me on the Lamictal – I guess he wants to see me not depressed before he makes any further diagnosis. I guess that’s fair, although I must admit I was a bit disappointed. I wanted a bigger pronouncement. I guess I wanted something grand. I wanted The Big Fix. I don’t know what I thought he was going to do – a handstand? Tap-dancing with the little cymbals on his knees? I don’t know. It’s just another long process of trying to get better – my least favorite thing – long processes. I guess I’ll hop on the Long Process Train and take a ride – wish me luck!
Well tomorrow is Good Friday and stranger than strange, my company gives everyone the day off. I grew up in The Most Catholic Family, Ever (yes it deserves capital letters) and when we were kids we got Good Friday off too, but not “goodie, we’re off for Good Friday!” but “Oh no, it’s Good Friday.” Our parents expected us to mope around the house and grieve for Jesus, imagining what he went through. We went to Mass for something like sixty-seven hours and they read detailed descriptions of Jesus’ beatings and humiliations. We were expected to whip our heads back and forth with each crack of the whip on Jesus’ back. Ok I made that last part up but shit! we might as well have. It really took all the fun out of Easter. Then there was the whole Easter Mass (Glory! Glory Hallelujah!) where all the lapsed Catholics showed up for Mass (why do you do that, lapsed Catholics?) so the church was extra-crowded, and I would get hot and feel like passing out. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the church with all those people, flowers and HATS! Finally afterwards we could go home and eat a hollow bunny. Big shit. It wasn’t worth it! I was always relieved when Easter was over and we just had to get through regular Mass every week. Oh Holy Mary Mother of God am I glad to be a recovering Catholic! A-MEN!
I went to my first “practice” at the Boulder Shambala Center last night, it was really neat. We sat on cushions with our butts up and our knees curled back. (I needed two painkillers later on for my knees, I’m not thirty any more and I really can’t sit like that). Since it was a full moon they did some special chants, rather than just regular meditation. I have to say, some of the cadence and even some of the words reminded me of Catholic Mass. All of these practices are not as far apart as they would have you believe. As far as I’m concerned they all lead to the same God anyway. A lot of the chant was about our materialism, and duality. Yeahhhhh. Hey what can I say…I will be back. I don’t think it’s any accident that I’ve got all these buddhas all around the house. Rock on, Buddha Energy!!!
Well, it’s Wednesday. I’m sitting on the couch, supposed to be in a staff meeting (remotely), listening to my boss & co-workers drone on and on about bullshit I don’t care about! I am the reverse dream employee, believe me!!
I just did a meditation this morning on creativity…do I need more creativity? I need more time to express my creativity. If I visualize more time, will I visualize my way right out of a job? I’m such a magical thinker, I’d love to be without a job, I’d love the time, yet my rational brain is trying to call me back to reality, saying, “Uh, hello? You can’t LIVE without a job!” I know this is SSDD (Same Shit Different Day) but I can’t really get my head around what my solution is.
I need somebody to take care of me, but there’s nobody! It’s just me, me or me! Dammit! I don’t want the job!!!! Does anybody ever go through this???? Am I just a spoiled brat and a whining baby? Probably….Have a happy day everybody!
I don’t know if I told you that I’m in love with my camera? I don’t know jack shit about photography and when I say I don’t know jack shit I mean I. Don’t. Know. SHIT! But I LOVE IT!!!!!!! I don’t know why I don’t take a class, maybe it’s because I’m Bipolar ADD (Hi! My name is Bipolar ADD!) and my shit just don’t come together? I don’t know. I’m changing the title of this post to “I don’t know.” It’s getting obnoxious. ANYWAYS! I just got a macro lens and I am playing with it! I love how it makes everything look beautiful…..See?
Well this was another riveting sixty minutes for both me and the psychiatrist. He asked me for all the drugs I currently take (Me: “Didn’t my medical doctor already fax that over?” Psych: “Yes but I want you to tell me.”) I threw in that I’m a daily marijuana user and he verbally interpreted that as “daily substance abuser.” Oh goody this is gonna be fun! He asked me sneaky questions like “Do you ever hear someone calling your name when no one is in the room?” (No), “Do you ever hear a voice that is not yours talking to you or telling you to do things?” (No), “Do you ever see a group of people talking and think they’re talking about you?” (Yes with a fresh rush of tears, I have been paranoid since I was a little girl.) It cracks me up how they ask those questions. I call them the KooKoo Index. So I got a 1 out of 3 on the KooKoo Index, or 33.33333333333333. That’s pretty crazy. Beware of me!
P.S. – This is my 100th post!! Substance Abuse Party at my house y’all!!
A new day of work
A new week I’d rather skip
I prefer weekends
“CeCe, do you want to go swimming? Come out here!” called Mama. There was a strange boy at the door, quite a few years older. “This is Robert. He’s the Thompson’s nephew. Take him out back to the pool.” CeCe obliged, having put on her swimsuit when she woke as she did every summer morning. “How old are you?” she asked. “Fifteen” was the answer. “I’m ten!” she called, as she dove in. He made his way to the diving board and did a cannon-ball, splashing everything in the vicinity. “Pretty good!” she called. Robert was at the deep end of the pool and signaled with his index finger to come closer. She swam closer to Robert, thinking he must have a teenage game they were going to play. WhenCeCe was about a foot away from Robert all of a sudden he reached over and plunged her head deep under the water, holding her down five, ten, fifteen seconds. She sputtered and gestured wildly, swallowing water, trying to get away from him, but he had ahold of her head and wouldn’t let go! Finally he allowed her to come up for air but before she could scream for help he plunged her back down into the deep water. She kicked wildly, but he seemed impervious to her ten year old kicks at his legs. She swallowed water again and wondered wildly if she was going to drown while her mother was inside, watching All My Children. Again Robert let her rise up and take a breath, and again he plunged her down into the deep water. What had she been told about the big boys? That they might try to hurt girls and that girls could defend themselves by kicking between their legs? She tried now as she wildly thrashed under water to aim a kick between Robert’s legs, once, twice she kicked at the mushy mass between Robert’s legs as he held her down under the water. All of a sudden he released his grip on her head. She bobbed to the surface and swam to the other side of the pool and got out. She heard him groaning as she lay on the hot concrete, shaking. He heaved himself clumsily out of the water. “You BITCH! I was only PLAYING with you!” he yelled. “Oh yeah well your game was NO FUN!” she yelled back, as warm tears mixed with the water running off her face and hair onto the hot concrete. She stayed put and watched Robert walk out the gate and head for home. She had been through a terrible ordeal and wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t kicked in between his legs. She realized then what an awesome newfound power this was, this kicking balls. A big fifteen-year-old boy was stopped by a kick between the legs! She vowed then and there that she would watch what happened next year at school. If she EVER saw a boy mistreating a girl, well, she would walk right up to that boy and just kick his balls! With that she picked herself up, now nearly dry, and went in to tell Mom of her ordeal and her new discovery.
Do you want to walk?
No, not with a foot of snow.
Just call me Snow Bum.
I went to see a new psychiatrist yesterday. I failed miserably in my effort not to cry throughout the appointment. DAMMIT! Why can’t I ever control my tears??? I wish I could turn off the damn spigot! I am a baby. Anyways, the psych seems like a good guy. He actually takes THREE APPOINTMENTS to diagnose, so I have one down and two to go before I get his grand pronouncement on what the fuck my problem is. I swear to GOD I am so down on the depression and so sick of it and so sick of crying and so sick of struggling, I’m ready to request ECT!! I’ve never had it before but I’ve heard that zapping the fuck out of your brains can help when nothing else does. I will wait and see what he says. I personally think I have bipolar, ADD and depression. The Trifecta of mental illness, I know, I’m just fancy like that. I guess depression might be included in the bipolar diagnosis, but I hear/read of some bipolars who don’t deal with too much depression, so what the fuck do I know. Anyways this is a long ramble of a post so I thank you for coming along, at the end you get a cookie. Ok just kidding but if I could I would hand out cookies for reading this sucker. Well I guess I will go back to doing a whole lotta nothin’. Peace out homies. Or, as I like to say, “Peach out.” PEACHES!