Before I Die


This is not a suicidal post, but rather a reflection on life and how I want to live it. I heard a piece on NPR yesterday called “Before I Die”, funny enough, and it was about an artist who painted chalkboard paint all over the side of an abandoned house and then stenciled the words “Before I Die ________” all over it and left chalk for people to fill in the blanks.  The idea caught on in cities around the world and became a movement.

Too much of the time I feel like I am waiting to live – waiting to know the outcome on a disability decision, waiting for winter to end, waiting for things outside of myself to determine the course of my life. I also spend too much time on Facebook reading all kinds of fucked up memes saying “Today Is The First Day of The Rest of Your Life”, or “It’s Never Too Late To Make Your Dreams Come True” or other stupid shit like that, that doesn’t inspire me, but rather makes me feel like I have royally fucked up my life beyond all recognition.  But when I listened to the radio program last night, I thought, I could make a list, a realistic list, of things I want to do before I die.  And then I could make sure that the decisions I make in my life somehow point me toward these desires.  So here is my list, and I invite you to share yours too.

Before I die, I want to be truly loved by a man again.

Before I die, I want to go to France again.

Before I die, I want to write a book that details my battles with mental illness, shows that I am a real, relatable person, and inspires others.

Before I die, I want to see many more wild, ancient places and photograph them.

Before I die, (and not the day before I die), I want to quit smoking.

Before I die, I want to have a truly fit body and be active in the outdoors.

Before I die, I want to live independently again.

Before I die, I want to go on another archaeological survey.

Before I die, I want to reduce my belongings to a bare minimum so that my family is not left with a big pile of shit to go through.

Before I die, I want to spent A LOT more time at the ocean.


It seems like I should have something bigger to say, or more profound. But I don’t.  These are things that I want to do, and I’m going to print this out and remember that this is why I’m living.  Not to worry, not just to pay bills, not to exist, do daily chores, and count the days until it’s Spring.  I have a purpose, and it’s found in these desires I have.  What may ultimately come out of achieving these desires, I don’t know.  But I’ve thought long and hard about what my life’s purpose is, and today I realize, it isn’t one thing.  It IS to experience what I desire, and it IS to experience joy, and satisfaction, and meaningful experiences.  This is a revelation!  I found it!  My life’s purpose.  Right here.  Today is a good day.  I’m going to go start working on this list.  Hope your day is a great one.


The Curse Of Loving Things

Ever since I moved out of my own place in September of 2014, I have had a storage unit. Shortly after that move, I went to Florida for the Winter of 2014/15.  Upon my return, I moved in with my sister and her two kids, and then in August of 2015 she moved to a new house, which has a finished  basement with a living room, bedroom and bathroom for me.  I moved a lot of my belongings out of storage into this area, but I still have a lot in storage, furniture that wouldn’t fit, books, camping supplies, and all of my kitchen stuff.  With my financial future so uncertain, I’d really like to stop paying the hefty monthly fees for storage.  It comes to about $1,500 per year, which is a lot when you think about it.  My problem is that I am so attached to my possessions.  Moreover, if I get rid of my kitchen supplies, it’s like giving up on ever having a place of my own again.  I have so many mixed feelings, because I do have a small nest egg that I hope to use on building a tiny house someday, in which case I would need to pare down my possessions to the bare minimum.  What is the solution to this attachment to possessions?  I’m so afraid of feeling empty without them, or regretting getting rid of them.  But my only chance at independence is likely having a tiny house, that I could pay cash for, and then support myself on very little monthly money.

My independence is very important for me. Right now, the living situation I’m in is one of interdependence.  I help my sister with her mortgage payment, and I help her with the upkeep of the house and with the kids.  But there’s NO WAY I will do another winter in Colorado, due to the wicked Seasonal Affective Disorder I suffer from.  I absolutely must come up with a solution that allows me to go to Florida for the winters.  I feel like my life literally depends on it.  I feel like I see the solution clearly, but I have all these messy feelings that are getting in the way of executing it.  I don’t want to get stuck, or stay stuck, and end up here for another winter.  I need to start taking actions now to guarantee a different outcome next winter.

I guess ultimately my journey begins with a single step. Start going through storage.  Start parting with some of the stuff.  Sell what I can.  Get creative with selling stuff.  Try not to get killed by a craigslist killer.  Maybe hold up some people from Craigslist for their cash, I don’t know.  I’m just throwing ideas out there.  This week, I’m going to try.  I’m just saying I’m going to try some stuff, rather than just thinking about it.  For me, that’s actually monumental.  I get so stuck in my thoughts, swirling round and round and round, that to step out of the swirl and do something is kind of novel.  So here, I will begin.  I’ll be back to cry, I’m sure.  I’ll let you know :).



#Barbie For You, #Barbie For Me


In breaking news, Mattel has released three new models of their popular Barbie doll. They are:  Tall and Pin-Thin, Tiny Petite, and Curvy.  Ahem.  I think Mattel may have missed out on a few crucial models if they aim to mimic the general population.  Here are my proposed new Barbie models:

  1. Ugly Barbie. Look. Some people are downright unfortunate-looking and it’s not their fault. Their name is not Kardashian so they can’t afford loads of fillers, botox and plastic surgery. They just have to live with it. So give them a goddamn Barbie they can live with too. Ugly Barbie. She has a hatchet-job haircut because her Mom did it, she’s knock-kneed, she’s got cellulite, her nose is too big and her forehead is actually a fivehead. But dammit Ugly Barbie deserves love too! So make me an Ugly Barbie!
  2. Flat-Ass Barbie. You all knew a girl, or two, who had normal features, normal arms, legs, maybe small tits, but then that ass!! It just stretched for MILES!! And no, it wasn’t big and round, either. It was like a big piece of plywood was stuck in her Chic jeans, left to right, four feet. I shit you not. Make that big flat-assed girl feel a little better by making her a Flat-Ass Barbie!
  3. Nerd Barbie. Is there actually a Barbie out there who has oily hair and wears glasses? Who has a nice spread of zits across her t-zone and wears a shirt that says I HEART ALIENS? Who is in both Band and Theatre? No there is not. But there needs to be a Nerd Barbie.
  4. Cutter Barbie. A girl who cuts will wear those scars for life. How comforting would it be if she pulled up Barbie’s long-sleeve shirt and saw the slash-slash-slash marks across Barbie’s forearms, or pulled down Barbie’s pants to see a bloody thigh? We need a Cutter Barbie, (mini razors included) to let these girls know it’s ok. Barbie cuts too. And cut fucking Barbie! Not you!
  5. Fat Barbie. God damn it! Why oh why do I have to spell this all out for Mattel? They should have come out with a Fat Barbie TWENTY YEARS AGO!!! People are fat! There’s always a fat girl or two in the class! Shit! They are the most picked on kids in the school! Give them a Fat Barbie! It’s not Rocket Science!

I’m sure I’ve missed A LOT of categories. Maybe you can let me know.  I am going to get this over to Mattel STAT!  They “claim” to want to mimic the actual population, when all they’ve done is to further shame girls by adding three more gorgeous Barbies that most cannot relate to.  And when oh when will Barbie get a damn vagina?  That’s a topic for another day.  Let’s stay focused.  FREE THE BARBIE!!

When All Else Fails, Help Someone Else

Well I am off to Fort Collins, Colorado to help my technology-challenged Aunt look into other phone options.  She “may” finally be ready to graduate from her flip phone to a smartphone, we’re not sure.  She is very hip, but still in her 70’s, and very intimidated by all this new-fangled shit like iPhones and Internet and she sure as fuck wants nothing to do with Facebook!  Nevertheless, she needs someone to hold her hand when she goes to the Verizon store and if there’s one thing my disability has afforded me, it’s the time to be of service to my family members and their various needs.  I am going to stay grateful, try not to panic, and go one day at a time.  Just as I remind myself when I’m working out and waiting for that thirty-three minutes to pass, Be In The Moment.

And in other news, THE BRONCOS WON AGAINST THE PATRIOTS!!!  It’s the little things, people, the little things that renew my will to LIVE!  LIIIIIVVVVVEEEEE another day.  The Denver Broncos are going to the SuperBowl!!!  Now I have renewed my faith in Jeebus Krikey and I pray that they don’t get their asses handed to them by the Carolina Kittycats.  SO EXCITING!!  Off I go to walk through another day . . . I hope yours is splendid ❤

Disability Denied!

Today I got notified that my Social Security Disability appeal was denied. To say that I’m in a panic would be an understatement.  To say that I’m baffled, completely unsettled, terrified, and feeling a quite desperate would be equal understatements.  Having been unable to work for two-plus years, multiple hospitalizations, forty-plus ECT treatments, leaves me just wondering what the fuck!!!! It takes to qualify for Disability.  Certainly, in my eyes, I am disabled and cannot work.  The written decision states that I am “able” to work part-time at an unskilled job.  Um, really?  What exactly is that?  Holding a Slow Down sign in traffic?  I just. Don’t. Get.  It.  Part of me thinks maybe I should have continued with the ECT, or been hospitalized MORE, as hard as I’ve tried not to be, just to display how disabling my Bipolar is.  There are no prizes for trying to function, no matter how little.

Since it’s clear that I have to figure out a way to go back to work, here are some of my ideas for what I can do:

  1. Circus clown. This is a kinda “why the fuck not?” choice. I like makeup and I like loose-fitting clothes. I guess I can tolerate the big shoes and the honking nose. I have no problem piling into a car with a bunch of other dumb motherfuckers. I can ride a bike, blow up balloons, and fart on command. This one seems like a no-brainer. However, if that doesn’t work out for some reason, there’s always….
  2. Lawyer. For someone who has trouble getting along with people and could argue with a fire hydrant, this is a natural. Most of this job is just arguing and presenting an opposing point of view. Glaring obstacles: No law degree, “fuck you” is not a valid defense or argument, and judges don’t generally consider pajamas as appropriate apparel for counsel. Dammit! I thought I had that one nailed down. Ok I need to refine it but it’s still a possibility. Let’s be optimistic and look at other options:
  3. Judge. I am naturally judgmental which one would assume a judge is. I also would not mind wearing a black robe, as I could wear anything I wanted under it, i.e. the aforementioned pajamas, or the same outfit every day for a week (yes I DO do that, what the fuck? I never get dirty). I don’t mind sitting high up and surveying my surroundings, like sitting on a small mountain. I enjoy blurting out “Order in the court!” or “You are out of order, sir!” in my daily dealings with people. I would like to have my utterances respected, or even better, to cause people to pee their pants just a little when I speak. On the off-chance that this occupation doesn’t work out, I present my fourth and final option:
  4. Therapist. As I often say, I have an honorary PhD from all of the therapy I’ve done over the years. I know how it works. I can sit there silently gazing at someone with the best of them. I’ve mastered the phrases “How does that make you feel?” , “That must be tough”, and “Oh my God! My Dad is a total dick too!”. Some of my less orthodox methods that might be questionable are the phrases “What in the FUCK is WRONG with you???” or my sometimes lack of a poker face, resulting on an open-mouthed look of horror on my face. Horrifying your therapist (or knowing that you did so) might interrupt the therapeutic process. I don’t know, but over the years I have been amazed that I have never been able to elicit the horror-face. Maybe it’s a class they take, The Poker Face. I haven’t mastered it.

Friends, if you have any ideas as to how I might support myself, please, let me know. There may come a time when I have to write this fantastical blog from the homeless shelter, but I’d like to avoid that.  I’ve heard that homeless shelter wifi sucks.

I Am… An F5 Tornado

There’s No Way In Hell I Could Resist Reposting A Blog Called ‘Bipolar Bitch Uncensored Writers” – It’s Like Magic!

I'm just a girl in the world

imageDo you ever feel like you are the source of everyone’s pain and frustration? Like you and your illness driven behaviors make life miserable, not only for yourself, but everyone in your path? Especially for those closest to you?

I do. I feel like an F5 tornado that destroys everything it passes by. Those unfortunate enough to get a close look at this incredible force of nature are torn to shreds because of the ferocity of the emotions behind the storm… The racing thoughts and paranoid thinking. The over-analytical beast that is my very being and the anger that drives this perfect storm to cause all of this destruction. All around me carnage lies…

These thoughts bring me here, to two, little words. Two of the most powerful words on the planet, in my humble opinion.

I Am.

What comes after these words defines and shapes you. It is and…

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Slimming Down

Have you heard all this talk about gut health? Good microbes vs. yeast and all that shit?  Probiotics?  Well after my bout with H. Pylori and three antibiotics, it’s safe to say that the yeast was winning in my gut.  Yeast=sugar and carb cravings=out of control eating=more yeast=more out of control eating=ass bigger than a car!  Dammit!  I was fighting a losing battle with my weight, and I really wanted to take off the 33 pounds I gained on the Clozaril.  Lucky for me, my doctor prescribed an antifungal medication in pill form, which helped stop the yeast overgrowth.  Along with that, I have been taking a big-time probiotic to support a healthy gut (30 billion CFU’s), and I’ve been avoiding eating and drinking anything sugary, along with sugar substitutes, which are also said to feed yeast overgrowth.  Artificial sweeteners are also strongly correlated with obesity.  (Saying things like “strongly correlated” isn’t my usual fare I know.  No, I haven’t been hacked.  Here’s a “fuck” to prove it’s still me). The upside to all of this is that, the less sugar I eat, the less I crave it.  A few months ago, it wasn’t unusual for me to eat a whole pint of chocolate ice cream with chunks of fudge in it, and caramel sauce on top (I’m so sorry, pancreas).  Today, I am 24 pounds lighter and so encouraged!  Yes!  I can be bipolar, medicated, and still make weight corrections!  In addition to avoiding sugar, I try to eat a very healthy diet heavy in fruits and vegetables, and I work out every day, which I’ve said before is another form of medication for me.  Daily exercise is a must for this seasonally affected bipolar.  I try to be very matter-of-fact about it, not considering “not” doing it.  It’s just a part of my day and a part of my regimen to stay healthy and non-suicidal.  In my mind, I’m not “on a diet”, but have come up with a new way to eat and a new way to live.  To me, it’s a small price to pay to get out of body prison, which is truly how it feels to be covered in so much extra weight.  I don’t want to live like that any more!  Being properly medicated and exercising every day gives me the power to make changes, and goddamn am I grateful for the changes!!!

The other thing that motivates me to keep going is, I don’t want to end up back in the mental hospital. My last hospitalization was involuntary and having my choices taken away was devastating.  I never want to go back to the hospital, I never want to be forcibly medicated (especially on the “big-guns” medications that cause weight gain), and I never want to feel infantilized like I do in the hospital.  Never again!  For a serious bipolar with super-serious SAD, this may be a lofty ambition, but I am going to try my damdest.

I’m sure I could Google up some statistics on Bipolars with weight issues, but I’d much rather hear from you – who has struggled with their weight? Have you ever stopped a medication due to weight gain?  What kind of solutions have worked for you?  Sound off below – please!

Same Shit, Different Day

I am living in the movie Groundhog Day.  Every day is the same.  This fucking winter is never going to end.  Get up, drink coffee, sit in front of therapy light for an hour, wonder what in the fuck I am going to do for the rest of the day . . . it’s GREAT!  How did I ever live with responsibilities?  A job?  I’m not for sure but I think I *may* have the winter doldrums.  Why write?  What IS there to write?  I get up.  I take medicine.  I go through the motions.  I pee  I poop.  Woo!  This is LIVING!!  I’d say I need another trip to Florida for a temporary lifting of the SAD symptoms, but the re-entry into winter last time was so harsh, I don’t know if I can take it again!  Underlying everything is the fear of ending up in the mental hospital.  Yes, that same mental hospital where I kind of burned up my bridges with gasoline and a cigarette.  See, the last time I went for maintenance ECT, they kept me waiting for more than an hour, and I flew into a rage, called my ride, started to leave, they came out to get me as I was leaving, and I cussed them the fuck out.  It was only appropriate!  Don’t keep me waiting for an hour!!  I was more mad for my Mom, who was going to pick me up, and would be waiting an extra hour.  I can just see me showing up in the hospital, and them saying “Hey, let’s shock the shit out of you again!” and me showing up in the ECT room where I bitched them out, and being forced to have treatment.  And eat shit for being such an asshole.  All my fears.  So this is why I get up, and take my medicine, and go through the motions every day.  Why I sit in front of my therapy light an hour in the morning and an hour at night.  Why I exercise every day.  I just want to stay out of the mental hospital!  I wish I could say I had loftier goals, but this is what I’m living for right now.  Just to stay sane and non-suicidal.  It’s a tightrope I walk that’s balanced by daily actions that I take, whether I want to or not, even if I’m sick to death of going to that fucking health club, I get in there and move.  I sit in front of that fucking light and try to entertain myself.  No, I haven’t tried masturbating while sitting in front of the light.  Thanks for the idea.  Just saying “entertain myself” gave me the idea.  I hardly even have the desire to entertain myself!  Ok well . . . one day at a time, one workout at a time, one pill at a time, I will get through this fucking winter.  Sing it with me now “I will survive!  Hay-HAY!”

Is This My Life?

My life is not the glamourous Hollywood experience I signed up for.  Instead of seeing and being seen, “doing” lunch, shopping, heels, nails, and lots & lots of sexy sex, here I am badgering my new health insurance company (please oh please correct my birthdate so I can get some prescriptions) and chasing down prescriptions at Costco where I can pay cash.  I’m calling doctors, lawyers and therapists.  I’m finding out that the new insurance company doesn’t cover Dr. Drugs after all, despite my careful studying and entering of criteria.  This is not what I envisioned for myself!  I’m on half a dose of Abilify, and looking at no dose for tonight.  This is not glamourous!  This is not gorgeous!  I am not orgasming!!

I guess the gist of adulthood is constantly processing and accepting “what is” as opposed to “what I think it should be” or “what I wish for” and frankly this is a bitch of a way to live.  I know, I should have the hang of it now, I’m in my forties, for fuck’s sake.  Well, I don’t.  I’m still getting stuck on “this should be easy” or “this should just work” some of the time.  Thank GOD for  hair dye, that’s a quick fix!  I feel a little better with a pop of color in my hair, gray covered (fuck you gray, I am NOT in my forties!).  It’s the little things that can carry me through, I say.  I’m OFF to FIGHT THE GOOD FIGHT!!  LET’S HAVE A GOOD WEEK, PEOPLES!!!  Peach out!

Still So Snotty!

Wow, it’s been five days and I’m still the Snot Queen! Yahoo!  It’s good to be Queen.  Oops.  No.  Not of snot.  Well what the hell is going on?  I am sweating this new insurance I had to buy with the new year.  Am I insured?  Yes.  Or maybe no.  It depends on who you ask.  This is not very reassuring since I have prescriptions that are running out tomorrow and the refills would cost me oh, around $900 without insurance.  Yep.  That’s for generic fucking Abilify.  I told you that drug is my nemesis!!  It’s a devil drug company, but the shit actually works pretty good.  One of the few mood stabilizers that doesn’t have me eating the kitchen table, so I like it.  That, and I have a modicum of creativity back.  How the fuck do these things work?  How do so many of them steal the muse, and then one doesn’t?  It’s really a mind-fuck to me.  Are we just ultimately a set of chemical cocktails?  I tend to think so.  And my cocktail is good right now, baby.  Don’t fuck with it!  That’s what I’ll say to Dr. Drugs next week when I see him.  He is a fan of the “tweak”, whereas I am much more “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!”  This is why we lock horns.  Sooner or later I fear he may fire me for being such an ass-pain.  In the meantime I’m gonna fight!  For the right!  To funnnnnnnnnction!

On the weather front, I’d say it’s between suck and suckaroo with about five inches of snow today. Driving with snowpacked roads and assholes with four wheel drives (I have a four wheel drive but in this one case I’m not an asshole) trying to pass on two lane roads if you’re driving cautiously.  I guess it’s time to go sit in front of the therapy light again and dream of warmer climes…nothing wrong with a little fantasy, right?  Hunky hunks and warmer climes are what I want!  All in good time….

Hope your day is fantastico, filled with good drugs, good human connections and a general lack of assholes! Peach out!

Snot, Cough, Sleep. Repeat.

Being sick sucks!  Big-time!  For us Bipolars or Depressed Persons, it can cause a resurgence in our mental health symptoms as well.  For me, I tend to get very mental whenever I run a fever, losing all perspective and going straight to suicidality.  Fortunately, this flu doesn’t feature a fever, or if it does, my daily dose of meloxicam (all day painkiller) is counter-acting it, because I haven’t gone completely mental, for which I am grateful.  I have pretty much calmly accepted that all I can do is lay in bed, cough, blow out snot, and sleep.  Not too much eating, maybe a light snack per day, and no coffee or light therapy.  Just sleep.  Knocked on your ass much?  Why yes, yes I have been.

Because I am an asshole, I remember having a fleeting thought last week that “I wish I could get sick so that I could check out of life for a couple of days.”  I KNOW!!  Totally assholian!!!  So, on the off chance, or the maybe-chance, or the probable-chance that I can create these things with my thoughts, let me state loud and proud a few more wishes that I’d like to bring into reality:  1.  I wish I’d come into roughly one million dollars (Dr. Evil voice);  2.  I wish I’d meet a hundilyicious hunkety-hunk of a man who fuckin’ LOVES me;  3. I wish I’d lose twenty five more pounds and keep it off.  Not much, eh?  I think these things can TOTALLY happen!

Well I feel like a new person, I just took a shower for the first time in….five days?  I know, don’t judge.  I was gross.  I am off to make my famous fruit-and-veggie smoothie, the cornerstone of my healthy diet.  Hey, let me know how the hell YOU are, eh?  Peach to the outs, homies!