June 10th, 2016

2013, cyd, new

Dear Diary, Swallow it, Bitch

Dear Diary,

I am so soul-weary. My new policy of stay positive and repress the bad and keep a smile on my face, no matter what, is draining me psychically. All of Doc’s nastiness, disregard, broken promises . . . I just smile, help him make excuses for himself, and swallow it. The same with the world. I try, while keeping the smile on my face, to deal with people’s ignorance and nastiness. I swallow it.

And I am beyond ready to puke. But I can’t. I accidentally let my “smile voice” down for a moment on the phone with Doc just now, and he started a whole big deal about it and hung up on me, so I have, in an instant of weakness, destroyed the next 5 hours of my life. So I’m trying to get myself back together so the smile is pasted back on my face by the time he gets home in a half an hour. I can’t ever let him know that he has done something wrong. His ego is far too fragile for that. I have learned that over the past few months. Do no criticize him in any way, to any extent. It causes him at turns to withdraw and lash out.

I spent the evening cleaning up after him and doing his laundry. Why he didn’t do it when he took an unpaid day off from work yesterday baffles me, but I guess he was too busy playing on the computer when I needed it to do work.

He lashed out at me for selling my VHS collection. But right before that, he grilled me about why my shop has made no sales yet. So what am I supposed to do? I am working my ass off to try to legally bring cash in, so he can continue to take two unpaid days a week off, in addition to weekends, while still affording my doctor and meds. I spend my days digging through my toys and collectibles and doing ebay research to figure out what I can possibly sell to make some money. As it stands, I am out of meds and can’t go back to the doctor until I come up with $600. That’s most of my monthly check, so I have to find another way to make the cash. If I don’t, he is going to have to radically alter his attitudes and work ethic and go back to work full time, but practically, I don’t see that happening. He has expressed to me many times over the last few months that he is not going to change one single thing about himself, and I have no right to ask.

And this isn’t just a one-time thing. I get now that he is going to use the FMLA excused, unpaid absenses to stay at home and play on the computer and sleep. So I am scrambling to find ways to bring money in to support myself. And I am still not allowed to go out and get a job. I wanted to apply at the corner store, they are hiring, but he nixed that idea, saying that I am not stable enough and he doesn’t want me alone and responsible for a store, in case something happens (which actually is why I’m on disability in the first place, so I can’t really argue with him).

2013, cyd, new

The Writing on Trump's Mirror

The Writing on Trump’s Mirror

I used to know a guy who was a lot like Donald Trump. An absolute narcissist, greedy, power hungry, never slept, no regard or empathy for those around him, quick to anger and driven by delusions of vengeance and grandeur. He scammed, lied to or outright stole from everyone he met. Every crooked get-rich-quick scheme that came along, he jumped on board and recruited others into the scams. And everyone else was always to blame for everything that happened, never him.

When he got out of rehab, he was a completely different person. He was human. He wasn’t a joy to be around, but he had feelings, and a realistic view of himself, and wasn’t constantly obsessed with going, going, going, earning, scamming.

There’s a lot of talk about Donald Trump being mentally ill. Phrases like “sociopath” and “Narcissistic Personality Disorder” are being handily tossed around, and psychologists are being trotted out to long-distance diagnose him.

Being mentally ill myself, and high-functioning, I know that a person can be a success and still have a debilitating mental illness. But I truly do not think that someone with the disabilities/disorders being described could keep their collective shit together this long, on this grand a scale as has Trump.

So what’s his deal, do I think?

This is where we get into personal opinion, conjecture and conspiracy theory, but if you stop to think about it, it seems really obvious, especially to those of us who came up in the 80′s.

Cocaine, Bolivian Marching Powder, toot, snow, blow … the guy is a massive coke-head! Think about it, Google it. Check out what happens to a person’s personality when they rely on coke to live their lives. They become Trump.

Why has no one addressed this? Is it that much easier to blame mental illness than to look at the obvious signs of raging addiction? Is that because mental illness can’t be cured, or helped, so it isn’t his fault, he’s just sick? Is it so hard to believe that his extreme personality issues are of his own making? The whole guy’s personality screams “junkie” and everyone is pinning the “hapless mental illness” label on him.

I’m sorry, he doesn’t get off that easy. I think someone needs to look into what is really causing the Donald to be so out of control. And look no further than the bags under the make-up under his eyes and the white powder under his nose. I don’t think for a minute that this man is “sick” with any personality disorder other than addiction. And it’s not a problem for him because he has the money to support his habit, which by now must be Yuuuge. But it is a problem for the people of this country, and the way he is going, the world.

Lock him alone in a room for 6 weeks and see what emerges. I’m willing to bet everything he wants right now to sue me for, that he would come out of that room a different person. Maybe not a joy to be around, but human.

*Interested in reprinting this? Contact me, I’m open to it.
2013, cyd, new

Dear Diary, Beyond Ready for the Weekend

Dear Diary,

It has been a busy-as-fuck week, followed by a surprisingly eventful Friday. And I am sipping a martini (! yes, really), and trying to decompress.

Today I have had a woman called Candace reprimanded, and likely cost her her next raise. I have declared war on a woman called Janae, who is the manager at my former apartments, the Villas at Mountain Vista, who made the regrettable mistake of calling me a liar today and hanging up on me not once, but twice. I have contacted a lawyer. Candice’s employers were all too willing to credit me $100 and give me a 12 month $50 discount on my cable/internet bill for her indiscretions. For Janae’s? Well, an international apartment management company in Salt Lake City, and Janae herself, are going to buy me the house next door. For cash. And if they continue to piss me off, I’m playing the schizophrenic card and they will also pay for my dental implants and a car for Doc. And maybe that pair of gladiator sandals I found at zulilly.com the other day.

When that woman almost hit me with her car, and I kicked in her door, something clicked in me. I suddenly felt free, like a HUGE weight had been removed from my head and shoulders and back. When I decided to stand up for myself and threaten to fuck her up if she didn’t get back in her car and leave, I suddenly felt completely alive for the very first time in my life.

Every action I have taken since that day has been with that freedom and attitude. And 95% of everything is golden, really. Even though I am completely off my meds temporarily. And the other 5% that is absolute shite, it’s like my brain was programmed in my sleep with the ways to maintain this freedom, this strength, this autonomy, and I am handling it with grace and eloquence, if not a large amount of snark and hard-to-read sarcasm.

Tonight, the Kickstarter campaign goes live. And this weekend will be devoted to getting fliers out to advertise it at pet shops and vets and groomers. I have all of the elements of the original graphics ready to go, and a font picked out (can I just recommend Typograph for Windows font management? Absolutely fabulous tool that let me see the logo in the fonts before I decided which to try), and I just need to assemble them in the proper size formats for the various sites. I’m waiting for the muse to strike, as I am mired in layout choices and cannot possibly decide right now.

I still haven’t made any cash. But it’s emminent. Something will come trickling in, and I am cool with that, but most importantly, Doc finally sees how hard I am trying and the sacrifices I am making with putting my collectible toys up for sale. That means everything to me, and it has finally comforted him. He is still having trouble falling asleep, but he is staying asleep longer and getting quality rest. And he’s taking less Xanax. I don’t dare mention it to him, I don’t think he’s even aware of it. The point is, everything is falling together.

I think, think, think, that maybe, quite possibly, Doc may be warming to the idea of Punk Rat Life. I think I mentioned we had a very traumatic experience with our beloved pet rat that resulted in her death, and then had to leave her sister behind in PA when we left. He is still not over it. I don’t think I am, either. I mean, I have gone to great lengths to find a vet who specializes in domestic pet rats so that I can get them care at the first sign of a problem. But I’m ready to open my home and my heart again. And the project is about so much more than just pet rats. It’s about awareness of the heroism and beauty of these animals. It’s about therapy for me to keep me in the real world and give me a thing to do that gives me purpose and forces me to face my fears in a safe way. It’s about reaching out and proving to myself that I can come up with and idea, develop it, see it through to completion, and do it to the best of my ability. And I think that Doc is starting to see these things. I’m so glad. I’m still going to put “emails of support to Doc” under the Call to Action on the Kickstarter page.

Okay, time to catch up on this season of NCIS, finish my martini, contemplate making another, and wait for this pain reliever to kick in and relax my stress-tight muscles for a few hours until I calm down. Though, you will be proud of me, I was pleasant as all get out to the cable people. And I kept my cool for as long as I possibly could with the stupid bitch from the apartments.

If you’re curious about the flurry of letters (there is some classic passive-aggressive snark and barely masked sarcasm going in these letters, I had fun with them), you can check them out in today’s post on my Facebook Artist’s Page. If you have the time, they are a hoot.