Fucken Fuckity

In the month of October both my bff Gran and our middle cat Pants passed away. 

The broken little pieces of my heart are starting to accept it. But Oh, those searingly painful reminders; how deeply they penetrate, in stabs and slices. 

Grieving is not what I want to be good at, but at almost forty, it seems inevitable. 

Love your loved ones. High-five your liked ones. Smile gently at strangers.

We are made to love.

Dear Brain

While you delight me most often with your immense imaginings, I must ask that you cease having imaginary conversations with the following:

- exes

- the dead

- yourself

Please remedy the situation posthaste. 

Yours,

Consciousness 

Hibernation

Just let me sleep, at least til the next crushing blow. 

Bed Rest

Forced bed rest, huzzah.

Well, forced by my body. Stress + fms (arthritis x old) = nervous exhaustion. No social media, no stressful calls, no nothin' until my strength has returned. 

I'm so sorry to those I disappeared on, but this was a sudden moment of oh-shit that needed immediate attention.

<3

Back to rest now.

Several of Seven

Dopey

Sleepy

Sneezy

Grumpouchy

That's one, right? 

My empathy is draining me. 

There have been many times I've wished for the emotional detachment of the sperm donor, but in my ever-loving heart I know my life has literally* been saved by feeling empathy. Both mine and others! Given the choice, I'll keep my fragile heart just the way it is, taped up bits and all.

*original meaning intended

Too much

As I write this, I realised that "too much" is not an accurate description of life at present. 

Kitten, kitten, old cat, gone cat. 

Four thousand dollars for gone cat care. 

(Another lost one added to my list)

Gran, my Gran; evil strokes, Alzheimer's, hospice.

Sofa city, kitten patrol, ouch ouch ouch.

Consolation, motivation, rah rah you!

Exhaustipation, nightmare visions, fatigue, meds, boo.

I need. 

Part of my heart will forever be broken; I'm running out of tape. 

Fonziepants Sleeps.

We had to send our sweet one eyed guy to sleep last weekend; sudden, sinister, and devastating lymphoma. He was fine Tuesday. He was gone Saturday. My heart hurts. Achingly, hollowly, painfully raw.

Uncertain

Just a few minutes ago, I learned of the death of someone who was once my friend, then my stalker. Uncertain does not encompass my feelings at present, but it is close. He was an artist, like me. He had mental health issues, like me. He had self-destructive tendencies, like me. He had voices in his head...unlike me. Those were what broke him, I think. I do not claim to know, as I had to block his access to my life after he became threatening a few years back...which he brought upon himself. He's free of them now. He hung himself. 

My tears are for the man he wanted to be, not the man his demons made him. 

Judgment

I will never understand why my family judges me so harshly for doing what makes me happy. It's not contagious, infectious, harmful, dangerous, or illegal, and it is my body, my money, and my joy. 

No Answers

Why do my nights end in stress tears, why am I more suicidal at night, what is it about darkness that feeds the demons, will there ever be a night with no fear waiting, what is the point of my pain, goddamnit, what? 

So Much

Now that the nation is having a "conversation" about Depression, my various inboxes have flooded with questions, since I haven't been quiet about my own mental health in decades. These folks know they can ask me anything and it won't be met with judgment or attitude. Since my teens I've said I prefer education over ignorance, so while it may have taken a bit longer than imagined, I am so thankful for the simple trust these folks have shown me. Your secrets are as safe with me as they are with you, because I have the same secrets; depression whispers lies to me, too. Remember: Depression Lies. SO MUCH!

Robin

The world learned of the suicide of Robin Williams today, a force of comedic nature who inspired and comforted us all with his manic hilarity. 

The world forgets that with manic comes depressive, and with depressive comes despair, and that no amount of money or accolades can beat the monster. No awards, no SUVs, no mansions can thwart an attack on one's very mind. 

The world hopes for better, but does the world band together to solve depressive disorders? 

Not yet, in my world.

May you rest in peace, soothed by the calm silence of your tragic victory. 

Pieces of Peace

This moment, with my sweet boy Fonz on my lap, is what my aching body and wounded heart needed. A shy, "broken" cat loving his human enough to sleep, belly up, in the safe spot he knows won't hurt me...his "broken" human. 

Pure, unconditional love. 

Reason 106,737,042

To add to my growing list of reasons I'm grateful my hub and I share our lives together:

    The man does not play Sims games, never has, yet he still helps me to come up with names or activities for them. 

     I am a longtime Deadhead, and hub dislikes to a huge degree, yet when he finds out Ratdog is playing near us, he offers to treat myself and a friend to tix, just so that I can have a great time.

I promise you all: if I can ever clone him, I most certainly goddamn will. 

Hopeful Cat Folks!

We just had the pleasure of meeting a new neighbor, who has one cat. She takes this one sweetly adorable lady cat on leash-less walks on our street, which is just off of a busy road. There is a stray cat, Ringtail, who loves the lady and her lady cat in a very gentlemanly way, but he has cat balls the size of baby fists. Lady cat is fixed, so that's not the issue. The issue is that, the longer Ringtail and his plumballs are roaming the town, the more stray litters will be born, who will then age to adults, who will make MORE strays, and so on and so forth. 

Today, as we chatted with our cool new neighbor and her fluffy kitty, we mostly convinced her to take Ringtail to a local low-cost spay clinic and then, to bring him into her home, where he can live out a good, safe life with good, safe humans. 

Yep; hub and I totally high-fived one another for that one. 

Cats need safety just as much as humans do! 🐱

No Worries

Previous today's were spent rushing betwixt parents, soothing ones' ego before spinning round to boost the other, exhausting my body and spirit pleasing them. 

Today's today is leisurely, relaxed (for now), almost peaceful. If not for the parade one block over, but eh...everyone loves a parade, no? 

Rah rah and all that shit. 

For Give

Waking in the afternoon makes me feel like a lazy, useless, wasteful piece of worthless shit. 

Of course, my body decides for me how much sleep it needs, so my anger is pointless. Much like me. Round robin I go, once more into the self-hating fray. No one will ever be as angry at me as me, I've had a lifetime of working at it. 

(but...why?)

The Monthlies

Here's a secret for you, are you ready? 

I am nervous about paying the bills. Petrified at the thought of having to call a utility service, speaking to a stranger who could flummox me. 

Fibro fog is a bunch of ass, yo. Heh. 

My hub has no idea how much I appreciate him! If I could afford it, I'd send him to a base ball camp, dagnabbit. 

Swept Under

Life is somewhat simpler now. Tentative peace? Zen on tenterhooks? Calm commercial break, more likely. I'll take what I can get, frankly. Today, I'd like my useless ovulation cramps to gtfo, along with the presumably horrid dot to follow. 

Guys, I do envy you sometimes, I'll admit it. Not just for the ability to piss your name in snow, although that's been a longtime wish of mine. No, I covet the life missing monthly cramps that can only be understood in comparison to (but not nearly as sharp & stabby) the gut pain when you need to shit, but are sans shitter, and your intestines are chock full of monkey balls and ghost chili hot sauce. The fever that comes with that desperate need to shit? Yeah, that's involved in lady dots, too, but it doesn't go away after you've shat, because the fever has reservations for at least a week, and it invited the ibs crew, the spinal angst fellas, the headache kid, and finally, after a week and a half to two weeks, the Final Boss arrives: Aunt Flo, who settles in (with me, at least) for a fortnight of Shining-style elevator gore. 

So next time you piss your name in the snow, add a lil' a for yer pal anonybitchy. 

Much obliged. 

/curls up, wishes for hysterectomy

<| |3

Please, please let make this week better than the last. Please. 

Ugh

Fuck today, yo. 

/drops mic

Crazy Crazy

It is a lovely Sunday here, with the sun shining and the skies blue; pity it had to be broken by my relative spreading lies about my hub and I to the family. Pity my m believed her. Pity them all. But no pity for me; I'm the craaaazy one, the medicated-for-public-consumption one, the one who is so craaaazy that anything can be pinned on her. Yep. 

Fuckin pity. 

Windows

My neighbors are abuzz with springtime maintenance, planting and mulching to their hearts content. It is a beautiful day today, even if the air is thick with pollen, achoo achoo. The kind of day that begs for a picnic, laughter, hugs and smiles. 

Naturally, I'm trapped in my lovely home, heh. 

Get some extra sunshine for me, please! :-) 

Ground Control

The majority of the side effects from the experiment have thankfully disappeared, woohoo! My old pal z is back in the saddle, regulating my nuttiness into a fine parfait. 

Uh huh, yup; I'm tired. At one oh two in the night, no less! Huzzah!

Btw

Fucken YAY for renewed anxiety meds!!!

Experimental

New meds can suck it; I'm weaning off the fetz and back on to my old pal zol0ft, per my doc. 

Life, at least mine, will go on. 

Which may not seem like much, but after continuous nights of fighting myself to not cut/pill/whatever, the idea of going back to (my) normal life fills me with flat, boring happiness. WAY better than crazy-insane-impulsiveness. Trust!

New Meds pt. 2

Just now, week+a few into taking the fetz, I finally decided to look up the side effects and well, boy fucken howdy, have I got most of em going on presently. 

So much dizziness, nausea, cryyyyying, dear gods the fucking crying!!, Bad Thoughts, (worse thoughts), addlemindedness, and not one fuckin iota of pain relief, exhaustion cessation, or depression alleviation. 

S'gonna kill me, this shit; heh. 

Ugh. 

Gotta vomit. 

Ciao for now-

Selfish

A small gathering, predominately vagina-bearing, in my home last eve; laughs, looks, giggles, books, cards against humanity, tiny cupcakes. 

The sounds of my love, hungover, give a clear sense of the days' plans. Our sofa feels loved, today. 

Settled in for tea. 

New Meds

Had one day break between last of the old zol0ft & first of the new fetz1ma (sorry for that; must avoid spambots somehow, heh). And, as last post mentioned (heh), my fucking useless dot has been here all along. I've gone from one mood swing to another, awake all night, exhausted from sleeping all day whilst paranoia and Bad Thoughts course through me, only stopping when my hub reaches over to hold my hand or kiss my forehead. This is the first day I've been semi-coherent; thought I'd write it out. 

Please, please work, new med. please. 

Ovaries, You are Dicks

After twenty four years filled with monthly torture, I may have reached the point of no return. Setting an appointment to consult with my ladybits doc, see if we can't just get this fuckled non-reproducing repro system out, OUT damned dot.

Yes, I know the line is "spot," but I call my monthly sentence a dot; if only it truly was the end!

The days spent per month without any dot symptoms (both pre and during) average out for me at approximately four. FOUR FUCKING DAYS out of an average thirty. That ain't no way to live! 

Bye bye, bitchezzz!!

It's Okay to Cry

This "brave face" worn for everyone 

(has cracks, tears, tears)

solace in solitude keeps it fresh, gently placed just there,

 in case

a stranger calls. (they never do)

Today, with no company but feline, it is okay to cry. 

They won't tell. 

Changes

Finally weaning off of the zoloft; going on a new med which, theoretically, will decrease the constant exhaustion & head-to-actual-goddamn-toes pain. Please please, pleeeease work. It is harder each day to plaster on the happy face, even though I go nowhere. 

Yup, there it is; the nitpicking, debasing little thought monster, telling me AGAIN to just give up. That no amount of meds, vitamins, counsel, or shots will make this pain cease, that any release is a good release, that giving up is really the only choice, that today is a good day to _________. 

Well, fuck you. Today is not that day. 

Today is a good day to live. 

Ferdinand the Hyper

My newest reason for lack of sleep. 

37 going on 33

When the insomnia gerbils just will not quit, I'm forced to do a hard reset; stay up a full day, no naps - and go to bed at a reasonable hour, exhausted. 

Hour 33 (I think?) of consciousness. If not for the sims, I'd never have made it!

Okay, night night. 

Tricksy

Next time my dot is a week late, I'll try harder to not hope it is menopause...dammit. Woke today at about a 7, pain-wise, excluding the period pain which is at an eight, the allergies, and the ibs.

My maths are fuckled. Wheeeeeee

Waiting

One of our felines has a vet appointment today, so we packed her into her carrier, my chair into the car, and me in there, too, only to realize the vets office is not exactly accessible...my memory thought they had a ramp. Like, swore-on-my-nose had a ramp. 

Nope!

So while the hub and the queen are in there, I am out here, in the car, waiting. This is my standard when we venture out, so I've learned to appreciate the views.

Whoops

Chaplin, Keaton, Pickford...those names evoke the wonderfully entertaining era of the silent slapstick moving pictures; a time when one had to know how to land both oneself and the laughs. I've been known to fall a few times (ha!), and tonight could have been a fuckin doozy had my head or leg shifted slightly while botching my landing. 

The cat got the joke, but no one else did.

Even being extra-super-careful is not always enough. 

Don't forget that, either. But mostly, remember this moment. Safe, sound but for some bruises, tucked into an already warm bed...make good dreams, whether they be in colour or good old black & white.

Great Weekend!

On the bad days, the crazy with pain days, the irritable bowel insanity days, and the worse than I can describe days, remember how great it feels to go out TWICE in a weekend! A double date with fam/friends, sushi, laughs, sake! Out in the truck to another town! OUT!! 

Don't forget this, and never forget how great it feels to get out of the house when possible. 

Blaauughs

Someday, I hope to have a meds regimen that does not include the (now standard) 2-3 hours of nausea post-ingestion. 

No wonder I get nothing done around here; I'm too busy feeling disgustingly ill. Thank ya, ibs! Yer a fucken pal. 

Admittedly, the half-pill I take every day is probably behind some of the blaauughs, but that's my prescription and goddamn, it has taken a long, long fucken time to find what works for my head. 

But still. 

Blaauugh. 

Rethought

The more I read about my 20yr reunion, the happier I am that the large majority of my graduating class a. has no idea who I am and b. wouldn't know me if I wheeled over their foot. 

I thank the gods for small-minded-miracles. 

Le Sigh.

Why insist you are not a racist when each letter that pours from your mouth is edged in hate? They are gilded with your sense of self-righteousness; your father's voice in your precious mind, giving you excuse upon excuse for your hatred. 

He was wrong. 

You are not him. You don't have to be a racist adult. You can just be a human, flawed as the rest of the planet, but comforted by the knowledge of sameness. The certainty that we all are pink on the inside. Pink is my least liked colour, but I'll be happy to wear it if it'll trigger a positive change in your young, boundless mind. 

We are born imperfect and we die imperfect. Why waste time hating? 

Hello, lovely lady.

My evenings are, for the most part, spent alone with a book, a game, a movie, or a sketch pad, plus one of the cats. Perhaps one of these evenings, I'll make an effort to not resemble a hobolicious derelicté. I am horribly out of practice in "dolled up" and probably should practice. 

Why not, right? 

Ever-further Spring

Warning: ridiculous hyperbole headed your way! 

Spring is totally screwing with us. No, wait; maybe Winter is the jester? Some season has it in for several parts of the planet. Will this be the neverending winter of our discontent?! Aaaaaahhh!!!!!!! 

/end rant

________________

Each face I see shows the same drawn, desperate plea for warmer temperatures. Mine shows the same, with a smidgen of hope wiggling it's way through the yarghwhargarble. 

Smidgen, yo. 

Again with the Snow

Cabin fever, you're the one 

who makes nighttime not so fun

Somewhere, a meadow has daisies and butterflies waiting for my worship. 

Fucken winter. 

20 Whatsits

If one more fucking cliquey cheerleader sends me a friend request on the face books I may go postal. NO, I will NOT go to your reunion. Yes, I was in your class. No, no, NO. You chose a venue with no fucking ramp. Fuck off. You don't even know who I am. Asshats. 

Aah, exclusionary tactics; you've been there all along. 

Hic

Omfg hiccups. 

Medical Wrong Righted

I've recently had my medications on my mind. Perhaps because of the increase in insomnia gerbils or depression hamsters; I don't know. Regardless, this is my tale.

A while back, before we had my meds figured out, my doctors had me trying out different pills, hoping to find a formula that worked. One made me fall down, which is a big problem when you can't get back up unassisted and your hub works until midnight. The doctor who put me on those pills is no longer my doctor, as he treated me like a junkie looking for a fix instead of a patient looking for help due to his careless prescription. One of my satellite doctors put me on another pill, hoping it would cut the chronic pain and regulate the depression; that one brought on several sleepless nights spent obsessing over suicide. OBSESSING, yo. When I called that doctor and sobbed at her, she had me immediately stop taking those pills and scheduled me for a visit the next day. Because holy shit, she CARES. Some pills made me cry uncontrollably; others gave me searing headaches or tore my already fuckled stomach up; some took away my appetite or tripled it, and others caused such a disturbance that I no longer recognised myself. Hallucinations, lucid nightmares, suicidal intentions...all in the name of quality of life. MY life. It took several years and many, many sleepless nights to find the right combination of medications, exercises, doctors and therapists to get myself where I am now, in a pretty fucking sweet place where I love my life and I love living it. Sure, I don't get out much, but I do create crazy things whenever the mood strikes me and I can read any goddamn book I want while cuddling with either of our ridiculously cute cats while listening to anything from Shubert to Diamanda Galas! I may have no commute, no paycheck, and no happy hour, but I do have control over my health (to a degree) and control over how I spend my hours - and I like to spend them laughing.

So the moral of the story is this:
 If you don't recognise yourself due to your medications, CHANGE THEM.
 If you want to life your own life, CHANGE IT. 

But most importantly?

Be as authentically YOU as you possibly can. If you need medications to help you in daily life, well rock the fuck on and take them! But if you feel that the meds are causing you more harm than good, no one can tell your doctor but you --and you must demand that something be changed! At the end of the day, we have to depend upon ourselves.

Our own badass selves.

To Err is..

Letting go of the shit piled up in my head and my heart. Tons of cliches and memes say to "forgive and forget," and "move forward from your anger," and I'm sorry, but it is fucking tough to forgive some things. You know the tropes; abusive relative, abusive partner(s), authority tossers, and so on. Sure, I can forgive the kid who tried to knock me down, but a. we were ten, and b. I knocked his ass down flat. But can I so easily forgive the beaters? The molesters? The repeat offenders? As far as that last goes, I should forgive myself for being so gullible for so long. But that's the other side of letting go; forgiving oneself must also occur, and that's the really difficult part, for me. Progress is being made, yes ma'am, but in my mind's eye I am climbing a mountain that reaches to Jupiter equipped with only a plastic trowel.

I keep climbing, though, learning what I can and, yes, dropping the shit that has taken up residence in said head and heart for far too long. I suppose that, as most of those monsters-of-my-past are...well now, what are they, exactly? 

Scraps. Remnants. Refuse. Trash. Garbage. Putrescence. 

Trash day's a comin'.

Four!

Amidst the shittastic few weeks thus wrought, a bright and glorious light shines today; the twenty first day of the first month. A magical day in my world, and one I dreamt of as a shitty teen, and kept dreaming of as a shitty adult. 

Today is the fourth anniversary of the day my thunderbolt and I were married. It is magnificent, more so by dint of the recent past. 

I love my s.b. and our fairy tale life together. Even the pea beneath the mattresses. 

<3

Trigger warning: Cutting

Until my body gets back to a pseudo-regular clock, my defenses are weakened. I know it'll pass, I know depression is a liar, and I know cutting does nothing to help. Well, from outward appearances. Shh, I didn't say that. 

I'm so muthafucken depressed I can't elucidate. Winter is always shitty in my head, January is always extra shitty, leading to a downright fugugly February. As this is my yearly schedule, I know the SADs will cease at some point. So that'll be nice. But on Day 19 of cabin fever, it'd sure be pleasant to see some butterflies. Or sun. Or a relative. 

It's the late night mind fuck here, though, with a near constant stream of berating as the finale warms up backstage: the Cutting Cacophony. They're the ones whispering sweetly of how, if I just get the blade, I'll be able to feel something. It'll all be okay. Just get it. 

But no, assclowns: I will not cut. Not tonight. Tonight is for one eyed cat cuddles. For Tom Robbins and Alobar. For Kudra, Wren, and Frol. Tonight is for safe escape in literature and purring. Le sigh; I do run on, don't I? Having just grenaded several toxic relationships, you'll hopefully forgive my ramblings, but if not? Incoming...

I kid, I kid. ❤️

Naturally

I'm awake at four oh seven a.m. Of course I am, what better way to spend the wee hours than wide the fuck awake in bed. One of those rare nights when the insomnia gerbils left the depression hamsters behind which is, truthfully, a nice change, considering they've been here mucking about since Jan. 1 and being general nuisance emotional rodents. Those imaginary little shits.

If sleep does not dig in its heels soon, a puzzling I may go. 

Why don't I sleep? Because I blog. I think too much. The internal orchestra is out of tune. Or playing the 1812. Maybe I'm afraid of sleep. Of nightmares. Of missing something. Of seeing those dreamscapes so quickly turned to the Hell of Constantine.

Or maybe I've had too many beans this week, and I'm afraid I'll fart the cat out of bed.

Stay warm. Avoid Dutch ovening your loved ones. Remember: tomorrow is all new- every tomorrow forever. 

A Few

Here I am. 

Medicated, domesticated, appreciated. Creating, embracing, accepting. Forgiving myself for the mistakes of my last life. Learning to live my life with joy and love. 

There I was. But not anymore. 

Released.

We make choices based on what we want or what we need. We choose to pepper our lives with friends, hoping all along that they'll be Good People. We choose, sometimes, to ignore the Bad Signs from said friends' and disregard the heart and head's klaxon bells. 

I chose to end those relationships today. 

I never wanted to, but in retrospect I NEEDED to cut said people out of my life about, oh gee, six years ago?

Friendship should not be based on fear of hurting, either oneself or others. 

I will never be your dress up dolly.

I will never be your intervention. 

I will never be your friend again.

None of you.

No more.

This post brought to you by the letters F U and the colour Drunk Red.

Don your Armour

Really?

Well. 

Fuck this dick sandwich of a week. 

First, a penis in my inbox.

Second, a dickhead on my line.

Third, no one told me my cat died. 

NO ONE.

So. 

Fuck this shit. Fuck it ALL. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck her, fuck them, FUCK 'EM ALL.

Yes, I've already taken my meds. 

No, I will not be okay today. 

Perhaps in a fortnight. 

Goddammitallsofuckingbad. 

Need vs Want

After mistakenly answering a call from someone I'd prefer out of my life, it seemed time to choose between my aching want for a father and my absolute need to cut the father I've had out of my life. 

It is not my fault he loves money above all. 

It is bad for my mental and physical health to continue with him in my life. 

My life is wonderful without the overhanging guilt, anger, heartbreak and disappointment that he causes. 

It was not with joy or relief that I closed the door to him. 

It was with fear, regret, tears, sadness, panic...all the emotions he best inspired in me from my first memories forward. 

Mourning the father that never was, the one that could have been. 

Grateful for the other fathers who stepped up and loved me. 

Stronger than I ever imagined.

New year, new name to follow.

 (Privately, not bloggily. That is fun to pronounce: bloggggily.) 

Peace. Finally. 

But Why

Why, after a twenty-plus year friendship, would one think it acceptable to send a photo of one's penis to one's married friend? I mean, I get that it's New Years and hangovers tend to be cured today by hair of the dog, but...why? 

Men: keep your dongs to yourselves. In every way. Unless specifically requested, of course. BY SOMEONE ELSE, not your dong.

WTF, indeed.