Topomax: makes me a raging lunatic bitch, controls my appetite. as long as I can control my inner 15 year old Disney villain, I'm good
Seroquel: makes me sleep, well. Calms the voices and the hallucinations to a dull roar I can mostly ignore.
Cymbalta: curbs my depression, I think I may have to go a little higher on this one, I'm still given to fits of inexplicable melancholy
For instance, right now on that melancholy thing. I'm listening to Pearl Jam. That should be a statement in itself on my mental health. I mean it's good music, but not the most uplifting. And mostly what I got through Kasey's death with. "Daughter", "Black" . . . at least I'm not crying. I'm dealing with the emotions.
I've never understood death. When I was young, four or five, my paternal step-grandfather died. This destroyed my father, and pushed my mother to join the mormon church. When we went to the "Sealing " Ceremony at the Mormon Temple in Oakland CA, my grandfather was there, sitting in the room with the witnesses. I saw him, he talked to me. I never trusted my parents again. They said he was dead, but there he was. I told them and everyone started crying and smooshing me and talking about blessings and such garbage. But no one could tell me why he was there. Ever since then I've had a very uneasy relationship with death. I simply don't believe it when I'm told someone has died.
I don't believe in an afterlife. I believe we get this life to do all we can with, and when it's done, it's done. I don't believe we are working toward some blessed goal, this IS the blessed goal, this IS the reward. That still doesn't tell me what my grandfather was doing at the Sealing Ceremony. I haven't seen Kasey. I don't see ghosts. I don't believe in them.
I don't know what I'm trying to say. I have a lot of thoughts running around that are making no cohesive sense.
Winter is coming, I need flannel shirts.
My family gave up on me because I'm crazy. I wasn't bad, or evil. I was just mentally ill. They tried to get me turned over to the courts after my first hospitalization at 15. The courts made them keep me. They never forgave me for that. That's why there can never be a reconciliation. They don't want to be reminded that the only child they produced and kept wasn't perfect. Yes, I said kept. They had a son that they put up for adoption before they were married. I have a brother out there. I wonder if he is ill, too. I wonder how much is nature v. nurture.
Back to the Studio, Cyd.
I have all but five pages cut out so I can start gluing. It's just so fucking hot out there. I will go out and finish cutting and start gluing tonight when I get Doc off to work.
N gave me a space heater for the winter in the studio and a rug for the floor. She is too good to me. She is the one who waters my plants at the Farm. A does the pruning and first aid (the burnt leaves for example, or bug control). N does the daily watering with the nutrients that Doc and I mix up once a week.
Doc and I were talking about walking Chewy through the neighborhood and coordinating who lives in what house and has what dog. We found that I know the men and he knows the women. I don't approach the women, I get too much judgment from them when they see my scars and missing teeth. From the men, who are mostly much older than me, i get a more paternal reaction, and they are friendlier to me. Doc said he'd never even considered that. I told him I kind of had to sometimes.
I've switched over to Lady Gaga. I love her so much.
I wear two bracelets, both sterling. One is a Medic-Alert bracelet announcing I have a psychotic disorder, the other is a hand hammered and shaped link bracelet made by the Hill Tribes. I wear them on the same wrist, the left. Every six months or so, the Hill Tribes bracelet comes undone for no apparent reason, and it just did. Lucky I was just sitting here and not doing something in the kitchen. Kelli has a matching bracelet.
I changed my Twitter profile to: "Left Wing Nut Job. Domestic Feminist. Punk Rock Poet. Remember, I only mock because I care." And I'm waiting for some right wing creep to ask me what a "domestic feminist" is supposed to mean. I have my answer all ready. "It means I vacuum topless with 'rape' scrawled across my torso in big black marker." I think it's funny. If they don't get the Riot Grrrl reference, I don't talk to them. It's a test.
As for Facespace, no trolls on there get my time anymore. I tell them to troll me on twitter or go away altogether. One account there is a personal account, the other is a promotional account. Which makes twitter my official troll account.
Oh, and I don't put my picture on my twitter account profile any more because the first thing right wing trolls do is assess my looks and determine, no matter what, that i am the "craziest looking bitch" or "keith olberman in a blonde wig". I don't need that. So it's lilac combat boots in the profile pic. I'm learning. Right wingers are cruel.
On a happier subject, if you can think of a way I can get a letter to Gaga, please let me know. Twitter, Facebook and her Monsters site are all out, she has "people" who sort through that, and I don't know how to get through them to her. She hates it when people contact her management to get to her, unless they are booking her. Maybe my facebook message got through to her, but I doubt it. Can I still be a Little Monster if I'm older than her? I've had touch and go luck with fan mail over my lifetime. the letter to U2 got intercepted by "people", the letter to the Alarm was answered by Mike Peters himself. Henry Rollins always answered my emails. Gaga has to have an email addy.
Time has passed quickly today. I'm sleeping a lot. but i'm getting a lot done when I'm awake. The seroquel keeps me woozy most of the day. If the illness doesn't keep me from having a job, the treatment will. I remember when I used to try to work through this. Without the meds I would eventually melt down at work in a big messy scene and lose the job. With the meds, I would end up calling out too much and lose the job. Denial totally did not work for me.
This entry is kind of all over, isn't it? That's me. That's how I feel. I'm all over the place. I'm surprised I could sit still as long as i have.