St Jude

Because of my funk...

Shrine of Saint Jude

Saint Jude Prayer

Most Holy Apostle, St. Jude Thaddeus, faithful servant and friend of Jesus, the name of the traitor who delivered your beloved Master into the hands of his enemies has caused you to be forgotten by many. But the Church honors you, and I invoke you as the special advocate of those who are in trouble and almost without hope. Help me to realize that through our faith we triumph over life's difficulties by the power of Jesus who loved us and gave his life for us. Come to my assistance that I may receive the consolation and succor of heaven in all my needs, trials, and sufferings, particularly ( here make your request ) and that I may praise God with you and all the saints forever.
St. Jude, apostle of the Word of God, pray for us. St. Jude, follower of the Son of God, pray for us. St. Jude, preacher of the love of God, pray for us. St. Jude, intercessor before God, pray for us. St. Jude, friend of all in need, pray for us. St. Jude, pray for us, and for all who invoke your aid.

Gospel of Thomas - "If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you."


I had written a rather lengthy post and had not yet saved it when my computer pooped out on me. That was several hours ago, and as you can imagine I was very annoyed. I thought when things calmed down at my house I would try it again but the moment has passed and I no longer feel like whining about all the crappy things that have happened in the last two weeks. Not that my mood has improved. I just know it won't change anything. There are certain matters so toxic no matter how much you complain about them, write about them, fret about them, they have a way of constantly repleninshing. You thought you had emptied out the chest but you turn around and see it is full once more, piling up and over the sides, spilling out onto the floor. I have to figure out another way because all of this fretting just makes me sicker at the end of the day. I have to push ahead or I'll find myself content to sit here and rot like I have for more than a decade.

I put the Gospel of Thomas quote in because I believe it whole heartedly. If don't bring forth what ails me (bipolar), it will destroy me. That's why I am here. I hope everyone else find a way to do the same.

Also, I wanted to say if you ever post a comment and I do not respond, please know I am not ignoring you. Sometimes I am forgetful. Sometimes I overlook things. Sometimes I am completely socially inept. I really do appreciate your comments, your thoughts and your prayers. God Bless.

I'm Not Dead

I have not had 2 minutes to myself for nearly a week. My husband has been home for the past six days so I have had to set aside my blogging. I now have six days off nonsense stored up inside so I don't know where to begin.

I have been so anxious lately that it is affecting me in a very physical way. I can feel the muscles cramping in my neck and back. For whatever reason it seems to be worse at night. Last night I sat on the couch and shook. I can't pinpoint the reason for my unsettled nerves but it is draining my energy and my spirit.

Roughly two years ago I read a book by Judith Orloff called Positive Energy. In the book Ms. Orloff says that some people are open to the negative energy of others. I wondered if there is something to it. Why is it that when confronted with large groups of people you find yourself anxious, sad, oppressed or maybe even aggressive? Maybe you don't but I often do. She described how some people are emotional vacuum cleaners who gravitate towards and drain all positive energy from a source. --I often feel as though I am being sucked dry in the presence of my husband.

Sometimes I wonder if bipolar is in large an assault to ones spirit. I have no words to describe what it is I am trying to convey other than it feels as though it is only the thinest of veils that shield me from the things which bombard ones life. Does anyone else feel this way? How else can I explain this? Sometimes I am uncomfortable attending church. I find when I am there I am overwhelmed with emotion that I can not explain. It is as though a current of energy runs through my body and its power is so great that it causes me to cry. I can not say I feel sadness, or joy or it is some sort of revelation. I can only describe the feeling as pure energy. I try to hide the tears running down my face. There is nothing going on that would evoke such emotion and I am embarrassed by it because I have no explaination for it. There are other times when I have similar feelings and I wonder what they are or where they come from. Everything is a contradiction because the feeling is so unnatural and yet so natural at the same time. Ordinarily everything else when compared to these feelings register somewhere in the realm of numb. That in itself is a strange thing to say because I live my life being overally emotional to one extreme or another but this feeling is beyond all that and I simply have no adaquate means to describe it. Is there something going on that causes us to feel more accutely? Is there something more to this than genetics, hormones or lack of magnesium?

I wish I could discuss it with my husband but I already know he will dismiss me and make some snide comment about whether or not I am taking my meds. When you have no common ground you are always left felling isolated. I feel that way about alot of things which is probably one of the reasons I blog. People who are searching for eachother, can express themselves, find common ground and create something without being stigmatized or rebuked.

I was talking on the phone to my older sister last night and she asked me what exactly is bipolar? Then she said, "it just means you're depressed, right?" I tried to explain to her what a bipolar person experiences and she said, "oh, mood swings, everyone has those." I kept trying to explain but I got the impression none of it made an impact on her. Then I start to question myself. Maybe I am an attention starved dillusional nutbag to the extent I have to create an illness which explains the my behavior (which to outsiders is no different than their own.) I know its different but I can't help wondering why I can't "shake it off." Have you heard that before? " I get depressed, nervous, etc but I just shake it off" I want to ask what is it that your shaking off? Because whatever I have is either welded on or adhered to my back with a space age polymer.

So now that I have wasted 30 minutes of my day typing a bunch of crap that when read has no cohesion does anyone, anywhere understand what I am saying? I am just sitting here wondering how and why, why me and if there is something more going on than a genetic defect that causing me all of this pain and confusion.

BPD children

I have been thinking about BPD a lot. I have a stat counter on my blog and to some degree it gives me information as to how people find me - what they are looking for. It seems that there are a lot of people who are trying to understand what bipolar is or maybe what to look for if they have children that have been diagnosed. I have the same concern for my own children. They at times display behavior that is of grave concern to me. I wonder if I am overreacting but more than anything I want to shelter them and assist them because I don’t want them to go through what I have gone through.

This post will probably come off as tangent. I am unorganized and I have 50 things to say. Sometimes it’s unclear how to bring things together…Oh well here we go.


When I was a child I was horrible when awoken. I can not explain but I was incredibly angry if someone disturbed my sleep. So much so I kicked my poor pregnant mother is the stomach once because she woke up and on another occasion I chased my older sister out of the house with a butcher’s knife because she woke me up. On either occasion I was not driven to hurt my mother or my sister but I wanted to make it perfectly clear I was not to be woken up. I know it sounds crazy that I would go to such lengths. It is just as crazy to me. I don’t get angry like that anymore but when I was probably between 7-13 years old I was incredibly irrational and I suppose fair to say “out of my mind” when someone woke me up. I also did a lot of sleep walking and talking which provided ample amusement for everyone.

My own children are violent when woken. I, of all people, should be understanding but in all honesty I have a tough time with it. My daughter bites, kicks screams, pulls my hair and tells me she hates me. Sometimes it takes 30 minutes or more to calm her down. I become so aggravated I began searching the internet for clues as to what might cause such a reaction but I found little information. One site did say that this type of behavior (with regards to being woken up) is common in children with bipolar. This of course had me concerned. What does a bipolar child act like? Should I know? What is normal childhood development and what is not? I really have no answer for this. Like everything else in this world, the devil is in the details. I know how I felt when I was a child but what does that mean to anyone else? Children need to be able to communicate their feelings so we understand their actions. If they say they do something because they are depressed, anxious, nervous etc., I think it is something that needs to be explored further.

If you are a parent looking for information I think it is important that you go to different mental health sites but it is equally important that you read about other people’s experiences. To read the standard list of symptoms and to read what it is like to live with, is two entirely different things. Come with an open mind and realize that some things you will not understand. That’s ok, just be supportive. Being supportive is by far the most important role you play. It is when a person feels abandoned, alienated or as if they have no safe place to turn that they will cross lines they would otherwise not.

Your child may share things with you that are hard for you to hear. Listen anyways. My mother and I often had conversation in which she would state, “I wish you would not tell me that.” I would always respond to her by saying “that’s fine, I can lie to you now and we can save your embarrassment for later.” If your child is engaging in behavior you would rather not know about, trust me when I tell you the truth ALWAYS reveals itself. Do not encourage lies because it somehow saves your own dignity. BPD is beyond your control. Is has nothing to do with your parenting skills. It is a heavy weight, so help them carry the load. There are lots of BPD communities on the net. Feel free to explore, don't be embarrassed to ask questions. People suffering with BPD are bright, caring and want to help. All you have to do is ask...

What to write about

Sometimes I have so many things going on in my head, I simply do not know what to write about. I know this sounds dumb but I am still mad at Oprah. If anyone watched her David Crespi interview, I think it is fair to say she lacked understanding and was ...well dare I say harsh? I think anyone who doesn't have first hand experience with depression would walk away from that episode with a very sour taste in their mouth and little sympathy for anyone dealing with mental illness. But I suppose I need to move on with my life. I am sure Oprah doesn't care. She's on to 75 million dollar houses.

I could write about how I keep checking my e-mail to see if I have gotten anything else from the man I love to hate. I had written quite a few posts before about a gentleman I refer to as Laney. Sometimes people are like a horrible poison in your system and it is so hard to rid yourself of their ill effects. I really shouldn't care if he writes or doesn't write but there I go every few hours checking. You know the holidays are coming up. You would think he would try once more... You would think if he did miss me he would try a little harder. But he's married and I'm married and I already know he's a jerk, but I keep checking my mail every few hours. When I think about it I know what I am really looking for. It's a reason to feel good. It's just like anything else I might do to feel good when I have felt bad for such a long time.

The closest I can come to describing that wonderful high sensation is to say it is like being in love. The teenager love at first sight, head over heels kind of love. I remember a crush I had when I was thirteen years old. I met a boy (whose name I don't even remember) at the beach. On that day and at that time he was the most handsome, funniest, nicest guy a thirteen year old girl could meet. My stomach was full of butterflies, my pulse raced and I could not contain the silly smile on my face. I had no need for food or sleep for several weeks, because my enthuasism carried me on clouds.

The best parts about Laney represent a better time in my life. Out of that relationship came an upside and that coupled with lust was like the purest, rawest energy I have ever felt. Now here I sit not making near the progress I had hoped. I am so tired. Honestly physically tired. I have napped the last three afternoons. If I did not have other commitments I would spend a month in bed. I just keep hoping the feeling comes back. And as illogical as it is, I imagine if I set the stage somehow I can recreate it.

I suppose I should get going. I need to check my e-mail one last time before I go to bed...

Oprah Winfrey Doesn’t Know the Truth About Depression

I have to say I have never been more disappointed in Oprah Winfrey than I was yesterday when she aired her show “Dad Kills wins: The Truth About Depression” The truth about depression is that unless you have ever found yourself as depressed as David Crespi you can not relate to or truly understand the state of mind of a truly depressed person.

What incensed me most is how she repeatedly asked Mr.Crespi why he did not bother to share his feelings so the tragedy of killing his two twin daughters could have been avoided. I am not a psychologist, but I don’t believe even during the interview Mr. Crespi’s mental state was one of clarity. I am not certain what he could have possibly conveyed to Oprah that would assist in giving her even a limited understanding of his thought process. So if Oprah were ever a reader of blogs, I am happy to share this with her…


Oprah, someone who suffers from depression as severe as Mr. Crespi’s lives in parallel universes. He crosses between them often several times a year. There is a man inside Mr. Crespi who thinks and feels as you do. He exists in the absence of depression. He would be horrified and appalled by any story concerning a man who killed his children, it is fair to say it would bring him to tears.

There is another Mr. Crespi whose life is void of anything meaningful and is completely without hope. The weight of his depression is both mentally and physically painful. He labors under an enormous weight which perches upon his chest and his shoulders. This weight keeps him from breathing deeply, and consequently he finds himself in a state of panic. I am not saying this to give you a colorful analogy. I mean just as I say, that his depression physically manifests itself in a variety of ways, and he feels it not just in his heart but all the way through to his bones.

When he is void of depression he is aware that his depression comes and goes. He takes comfort in knowing that there are some good days ahead. But when he is depressed his rationale leaves him, and he is certain the depression is here to stay. Each day is darker than the next and his paranoia mounts. Everything is an indication that he was not meant to live this life. There is no future for him, only more pain, greater pain, pain so invasive that after years of this cycle is both mentally and physically exhausted.

Mr.Crespi thinks about killing himself. He thinks about where and how. Sometimes he thinks about killing his family because he imagines the shame and embarrassment his suicide would cause. He wonders how they will provide for themselves. He wonders how they will cope with such a tragedy. He thinks it might be best if they go together because this is the one way he can shelter them from this pain. I don’t make excuses for him. I am not here to tell you it is logical. It simply is what it is. It is Mr. Crespi’s reality.

When Mr. Crespi is not depressed and of clearer mind his considers his depressed thoughts. He knows (believes) he would never act on those feelings. Just having them is shameful and embarrassing. Mr. Crespi does not share these feelings because he knows he will be vilified. He is loving father, a successful banker, an overall family man who when not depressed is like everyone else. But if he tells you he fears you will make other assumptions about him. He does not abuse his family mentally or physically. He is not obsessed with violence. He does not have a porn addiction or fantasize about taking women and casting them down into the earth to be his slaves. He does not abuse animals or keep diaries of his darkest secrets. But if you knew how he felt when he was depressed you would throw him in a societal cage with the likes of Ted Bundy and Jeffrey Dahmer.

Should he be punished in such a fashion? Mr. Crespi has gone through this cycle more than a dozen times over the course of 11 years. If he never acted on his feelings, or caused harm to his family is it fair to take his children away? Is it fair to be his judge?

Mr.Crespi did kill his children so I am certain there are people in the masses who would say “Yes, take his children away!” What Mr. Crespi needed more than anything was to feel safe. Mr. Crespi needed to know he could share his feelings without repercussion. He was already caring a cross upon his shoulders. He did not need anymore weight.

If you simply do not understand this man’s sadness and desperation, then thank God because you are blessed. I understand him far more than I care to. Yesterday I watched Oprah and I cried for that man, I cried for his wife and most of all I cried for his children. I too ask why did he not just kill himself. I ask why he did not reach out for help. But that is another Alex talking, because deep within myself I already know the answers. I have felt that ugly inside and my ability to relate to him is not superficial nod, the kind that is given when we say to another, “I can only imagine it must be hard to lose your wife to cancer” or “ it must be difficult to lose a child.” It implies that in the recesses of your mind you can find and harness that person’s pain and understand the weight of their sadness. The fact of the matter is we are all in the habit of giving lip service. There are so many things that because of our own lack of experience we are incapable of understanding. But I do understand Mr. Crespi.

Unlike Mr. Crespi, I go to my therapist and share even my ugly feelings. I do this because my grandfather killed both himself and his second wife. He was bipolar, as am I. There is a point when your own mind can overpower you, and when you find yourself treading on a path which is unflattering at best, you have to tell someone who can help you.

I wonder if things could be different if when a person goes to the therapist the therapist said you may feel this… and when you do come to me because I can help. It may go a long way in decreasing the fear and alienation one feels when they have those kinds of feelings. What would it have changed if Mr. Crespi knew he was not alone, he was not a horrible person and someone, somewhere could help him manage those feelings without taking a wrecking ball to his life? Consider the possibilities, consider how many lives could be saved if we did not fear candid conversation.

For Rebecca

Thank you very much. I am glad that my entries give you a better understanding. I am sure it is difficult being a parent of a bipolar child. I am sure it is very difficult to gauge what is normal and what is not. Knowing that your daughter is bipolar allows you to be a tremendous support and to an extent a guide. So for the two of you this knowledge is a blessing.

I don’t want to sound like a broken record but I really did wrestle with what was wrong with me for years. It was and has been apparent for sometime I behave differently than a lot of people. But when I was younger I would have never attributed it to an illness. On more than one occasion I had asked my parents if I could see a therapist. It was on those occasions when I was most depressed. My parents are good people, and one would think that knowing the illness ran in my father’s family you would take my request seriously. But my parents had a difficult time accepting that between the two of them, they had produced a child who was less than perfect. My mother always would comment she did not “raise” me to be like that. How could I be depressed? Why would I need a therapist? I was not “raised in that kind of home”. She was absolutely right. What was ailing me though had nothing to do with my environment or the amount of nurturing I received.

I think I have mentioned before that I have dropped out of college essentially three times. I am a sixth year senior with no degree in sight (and I am not currently attending). Every time I have gone from the A to D student and then I withdraw. For the longest time I attributed my dropping out to extraneous circumstances. True, each time there were difficult circumstances surrounding my withdraws, but the last time I dropped out, which was in 2005, it felt like déjà vu.

I started thinking long and hard about what was going on in my life and it occurred to me that I was a run away train long before I skipped the tracks. The anxiety and paranoia set in and then comes the depression. You skip one class the first week. You skip two classes the second week. By the third week it is totally hit or miss if you go to any classes at all. You start drinking or taking pills. You do whatever you personally need to do to take the edge off. You do a variety of things you shouldn’t hoping they will make you feel good again. Everything seems hopeless. I need a reason to leave school and eventually the reason comes. One of my grandparents died, then my other grandparent died, then my husband and I were separated. You need the reason because a reason is something that explains everything to everybody when they start to ask questions. It is far easier to say A.) I am very depressed over the loss of my grandmother than it is to say B.) I am extremely nervous every time I enter the classroom/lecture hall. I can’t listen to you when you talk professor. I am sure everyone is talking about me, and honestly I’d rather be dead. Anyone can understand A, but very few can relate to B.

Nothing in life is certain but I wonder how things would have turned out if the first time someone suggested I was bipolar, I followed through and went to a psychiatrist. Had I the means to manage what was going on then, I might have a degree now.

Life is a journey that is difficult to navigate but it is much easier done when you understand the road your on. So when you daughter goes through the bad times remind her that they do end. Help her find ways to alleviate the burden that she carries. I don’t know that there is anyway to put an end to the symptoms that is 100%, but help her find her own way to press on. Life is fleeting, we have to make the most of it.

The worst part about...

The worst part of being bipolar is ...Probably whatever I am feeling at the very moment I contemplate the worst part about being bipolar.

I keep crying and I honestly don't know why. I feel so horribly sad. Everything is making me sad. And the elephant is sitting on my chest again. That is what the anxiety feels like. It physically feels like weight on my chest. I get so anxious it takes my breathe away. I keep trying to take deep breathes. I imagine I am on a raft in the ocean and I can hear the waves hitting the shore. It is night and the moon casts its reflection on the water. I try to keep that in my mind to block out all the other things. It is so difficult to explain. I have tried to explain it to my therapist. Imagine that your teen age son has a garage band, and they are using your garage to rehearse in. At the same time your daughter has her stereo playing full blast because she is trying to drowned out the noise of her brother. Your husband or wife has the TV on and its very loud so he or she can hear over the other music. The phone rings. Its for you, and you try to listen, and you try to talk, but with all the noise in the background it is so difficult to focus on the conversation. Now your youngest child is interrupting you while you are trying to speak. You are so frustrated you want to put the phone down and scream at everyone to turn off all that shit.

I want to tell someone to shut that crap off but as luck would have it my noise pollution exists in my head. It is in the form of racing thoughts combined with nervous energy, because I can not keep all the things I need to do straight in my head. And suddenly I am worried that I will forget to pay bills or pick up my oldest son. I start writing lists. Multiple lists. I write on my hands because I am so worried I am going to forget to look at one of those lists. I have to have the lists because what if I wash my hand and forget to write the list back on my hand? What if I forget everything that is on the list? What if I lose one list or misplace it? I need a back up list. Does any of this make sense???

My therapist thinks this is good because at least it allows me to function, but I can't say that I accomplish anything on the lists. Maybe a fraction of what is on the lists, because I will spend more time fretting over how I should strategically plan what I do and when I do it. When should I run the laundry? I need to take a shower. Do I take a shower or wait until after I do laundry. Should I run dishes, then shower, then do laundry? Maybe I should run dishes at night because the dishwasher has a timer. Should I go to the post office in the morning? Maybe I should wait until after I pick up my son.

Sometimes I think maybe I have a million different diseases. For instance I only eat one thing at a time. Most people will get a burger and fries and will take a bite of burger then a few fries until they are done eating. I have to eat just fries and then the burger. I can't interchange the two. I never realized this was an issue until I was older and people would constantly comment about it. I really can't eat any other way. I have tried to but it is very unsettling. I like to go to bed on the hour or the half hour but I hate to go to bed say at 12:23. I want to go up to my bedroom at what I consider a precise time. I know that makes no sense at all...

I have to stop rambling and get off this computer because I do have things to do. Nothing gets done when you spend too much time telling the whole world what a shit house rat you are...

Where is God?

I know I said I was going to write everyday. I mean it. I swear I did. But my husband has been home the last two days and for obvious reasons I can not blog it up when he is around. If I did you would be seeing pictures of me, my children and my home on Fox and CNN while the police scoured dumpsters for my remains.

I am in such a horrible mood. I really hate the very erratic swings. Sometimes I feel so faithful but other times I think God is dead.

My sister and her husband have been having financial problems for quite sometime. The business he works for has not been as prosperous as it was a year or two ago. He is in sales so his commissions have tanked. Consequently, they were no longer able to afford their rent and had to look for somewhere else to live. In the meantime, my brother-in-law was offered a new job but it was several counties away. I for one was very enthusiastic about the new job, because I saw it as a great opportunity. The new house they were moving to cost half of what the old house did, and my brother-in-law would be making significantly more money. I pray for my family and friends on a daily basis. And I really hoped God would do something to change their lives in a positive fashion. In my life I have gone from having money to no money more than once. People love to say money isn't everything but it is a tremendous stress when you do not have any.

Back on course....The job is not exactly as it was described. My sister and her family have now moved, making less money, now have more bills and are being sued by their previous landlord. So basically my sister has gone from plain old broke to public assistance broke over the course of 2 months. I wish there was something I could do for her, but at this point in time I don't have any extra money. I feel exponentially worse because I encouraged the move.

For reasons I can not explain, all the things I thought would be blessing have turned into curses over the last several years. Many months ago we had a video in church where a man was backpacking with his infant son and a storm came up while they were stuck in the wilderness. The baby is of course afraid and begins to cry. The father comforts him and the long and the short of it is that God is with you when you are going through difficult times, and it is in those moments that he cherishes your relationship with him the most, because he is able to carry and comfort you. I had very mixed feelings about the video, but mainly it made me angry. It would certainly be my preference to have God bonding moment in times of great joy. When people experience great turmoil over the course of many years, I wonder when is enough enough?

My sister and I were on the phone earlier and she told me a friend of hers who had been pregnant lost a set of twins. This comes only after both her mother and father recently passed away. To find out she was pregnant with twins was a such a blessing. It was as if God had replaced the two big people she had lost with two new little people. It is one of those "God works in mysterious ways" situations. But as her pregnancy progressed she found out both the children had severe developmental problems, and it was questionable that she would be able to carry the children to term. Now she has lost her parents and a set of twins. She has no other children. And so I have to ask, where is God?

For a long time I have been a firm believer that God transforms us through trials and these experiences shape who we are and allow us to become who God wants us to be. For instance, John Walsh. Would he have devoted his life to finding abducted children had his own son not been abducted and killed? Perhaps this was John's purpose in life, just as much as his son's purpose was to pass so that he could transform his father's life. We weigh the value of life in earthly terms as if it were no life at all because certain rights of passage must be experienced in order to say it was a life worth living. But what place do these things have in heaven? If you found yourself in heaven would you regret the prom you never went to? The children you never had? I doubt these earthly measures mean anything in heaven. They only mean so much to us because we have no concept of eternity.

But then there is this other side of me that asks when does it begin to turn around? It does obviously turn around for some people, but for others they are left to walk in darkness for years upon years. It seems so cruel to me. I think if I allowed my children to be in pain or to be hungry, and children's services were called to my home, I could not tell them I allowed my children to suffer so that they would come to depend on me more, or love me more, appreciate me more, hone their faith in me more. My children would be taken away. It seems like this creates a situation where God can never fail. If you life turned around, well that was God's plan. And if your life did not turn around, that was God's plan too. So when your cries fall on deaf ears, God was listening all along... or was he? Some days I just don't know.

When Did I Stop Being Cool?

I’ve been wondering that a lot lately, because I have always regarded myself as a cool chic. I have been visiting a lot of other blogs and it appears everyone has more interesting lives and far more interesting graphics. Some of the blog directories offer a short description of people far more fascinating than I. Things like liberal, vegan, wiccan dominatrix who writes poetry, does tattooing part-time and is married to a apostolic minister…ya we gotta talk. Or…Hi, I am a 20 something starving actress making a way for herself in the big NYC. Join me as a chronicle my adventures, sexual exploits and the ups and downs of my neurotic gay Latino roommate Rene.

I guess I thought I was cool because of the “I don’t give a shit” attitude I often feel and do my best to convey. I’ve had people say, “ that’s what I love about you, you do whatever you want and you don’t give a damn what other people think- you’re the coolest.”

What about my high school year book?

“To the wildest and craziest….”
“To the coolest girl ever…”
“Stay crazy…”
“2 cool 2 B forgotten…”

All this time I had no idea these assholes were lying to me.

What is with all this crazy crap (no I really want to say shit) with the World of Warcraft, elfin magic, pixie dust create your own virtual identity F%$king garbage??? Ok, that’s horrible of me. And the truth be known, I am lashing out because it is so dreadfully apparent I have lost touch with what all the cool kids do. I don’t have any wild online identities like Mistress of the Dark Knight or Elexia of Gardonia. I’m the one taking pills 2 times a day but somewhere along the way I’ve lost all of my gusto. I am just a twit sitting in front of her computer, eating egg rolls, frustrated, because more often than not I can not figure out how to modify my blog template

I have a MySpace account which boasts TWO friends. TWO I TELL YOU, TWO!!! Is that not the saddest thing you’ve ever heard? And I think those two only contacted me because they were trying to sell me product. If MySpace had been around in say 1990, I know I would have had more than 2 friends.

Okay, I’ll stop with the ramblings. Just know I am going to bed tonight trying to figure out how and when I lost my hi-pro glow.

If Sex Were a Job, I Would Give My Two Weeks Notice

One point of constant contention in my home is sex. My husband firmly believes that we should have sex 7 nights week if his work schedule so allows. In some cases he expects it multiple times a day. He tells me that because I have no real employment sex is my only job. I explain that if it is in fact a job, I expect a 5 day work week much like everyone else. To be perfectly honest 5 days a week is too much. My girlfriends have confided that their husbands complain because they may only have sex once or twice a week. They may go an entire week without sex at all. (How nice it is to have the option.)

Sex has become a chore, so much so I rarely enjoy it. The intimacy of our relationship has long since lost its luster when someone forces you to have sex regardless of whether or not your tired, have a headache, not in the mood or any other reason you may devise.
When I say force, I don’t want to give you the impression that I am thrown down on the bed and bound. I say I am forced because there are consequences in not having sex. The verbal abuse I endure escalates beyond a comprehensible means. My husband enjoys creating a spectacle and loves to air his grievances in public by making snide remarks of how he’s “not getting any”. “Not getting any” means he went two straight days in a row without sex. He throws insults by telling me I should be happy he still wants to have sex with me. I have let myself go, I barely put any make-up and as he describes it I dress like a hippie. He on the other hand regards himself as a trophy husband. He works out daily, sometimes multiple times a day. He has more “product” than one woman could imagine.

This is just one of the many occasions when I find myself in a position where I can not win. A vast amount of discretionary funds are spent on my husband. If the truth be known, between the two of us, it is he who has the walk-in closet. I own 3 pairs of wearable shoes, while he owns 12. He has masks, moisturizers, toners, exfoliaters, gels and balms for his hair. He has well over 20 pairs of jeans in addition to dress slacks, cords, khakis and cargo pants.

When I purchase anything for myself it is always a fight. A year ago I bought some MAC mascara. Why the hell do I need that? I rarely get my hair done and again it is a fight about the cost of having it cut and colored. I rarely buy clothes for myself and when I do it is an argument as well. As he so famously talks out of both sides of his mouth, there is only one person in our house who is entitled to personal care and a wardrobe and that is the employed party. I would go to the gym if he would bother to watch the kids but he hates to have his precious free time tied up with that responsibility. He has suggested if I want to go I can go at 6 in the morning so it doesn’t interfere with either his schedule or the children.

I am capable of cleaning up and cleaning up nicely. If I so desire , and I decide to suck up the rants which will come my way I then begin to hear a new complaint which is who am I trying to impress? Why am I doing my hair? Why did I put make-up on? I must have a boyfriend. If that were the case, he must work at Super Walmart, and we must fuck like mad in the stockroom, because other than that I don’t really get to spend a lot of time out of this house.

And so you see the pattern is circular and never ending, he wants to verbally abuse someone and he is always looking for the reason. This is why I am going to keep writing and writing and writing. Because I need to write my way out of this funk as much as I need to write my way out of this marriage. I so desperately want to give my two weeks notice.

Sometimes you just write to write

I have made a promise to myself that no matter how utterly crappy I feel I will do one of two things. A) Write in this blog (same as journaling as far as I am concerned) or B) work on my drawings. Tonight is a difficult night because I have a migraine and every minute I stare at this screen is making me sick.

Anyways...I made this pact with me,myself and I, because I know that it is all to easy to sit around feeling as though things will never change. It is then a self fulfilling prophecy, because life does not get any better. There is no pressing ahead when you are lying in your bed crying yourself to sleep.

How can I expect any personal or professional growth if I find myself spending most of my life in a static state. I keep looking for answers but apparently the US postal service does not deliver them. Rather than looking for answers perhaps I need to invent my own. The path I have walked upon thus far as done little to produce results.

How much of my life have I wasted? I definitely don't feel that I am old, but I read articles about entrepreneurs in their 20's making millions, maybe billions of dollars. I am not seeking fame or fortune in my life, but I think to myself that their success was achieved through tremendous drive. It is not an issue of dollars and cents but rather a matter of accomplishment. What have I accomplished?

It is a sad statement of your life when you no longer bother to do anything because you anticipate the fall. The glory of my life should not be summed up in 6 week snippets which may occur 3-4 times a year-maybe none.

Why can't I force myself to act in a manner which produces achievement even when I do not feel like an achiever? Isn't everything in life a matter of relativity? Many people in life have hurdles. Mine happens to be bipolar disorder and the depression that comes with it. An athlete has to overcome pain and exhaustion. Last year I watched the Espy awards. This is not common occurrence with me, but it was late at night and I was flipping through the channels. Oprah was presenting so you know I had to stop and watch. I mean if Oprah is presenting it has to be important-right??? Anyhow, she was presenting the Arthur Ashe award to Jim Maclaren and Emmanuel Ofosu Yeboah. I respectfully request that you click on both links to hear their stories. I would tell them to you but they are quite lengthy, and I could not do them justice. The suffering that both of these men have endured is unimaginable. I can honestly say that if I had the same life experiences, I would have undoubtedly killed myself. If these men can face their days without fear or hesitation, why can't I? I am both ashamed and humbled by their courage. I am also inspired by it. Life is a matter of choices. It is time I start choosing differently...

Maybe I'm Just a Bitch

I did not post yesterday as it was Halloween. I had to help in my son's classroom for their party and then later in the evening we had trick or treat.

It has really gotten to a point where I absolutely hate Halloween. In my neighborhood we have well over 1000 tricker treaters. YES over 1000 tricker treaters. I live on a "main street" so to speak and we have kids coming by the truck loads. Every year I buy more and more candy but, I never seem to have enough. This is the first year ever that I was able to pass out candy for the whole time. In years past I have ran in the house and shut off all of the lights, because I am out of candy and their are large mobs of children heading towards my house.

2 or 3 children come at a time, but more often than not they are lined up down my sidewalk. 4 children standing in front of me saying trick-or-treat at once and rows behind them. My nerves are frazzled a half hour into the evening because I know by the end of the evening my back will be aching and I will have dealt with enough feral children to last until next year. I barely see the costumes because I am so busy reaching down into a large canvas laundry container ( I need something to hold 40+ lbs of candy) that I don't have time to do anything other than reach from candy to bag, candy to bag.

But that's not what gets to me. What gets to me are the children who walk up behind me and self serve out of the container after I have given them candy (3 pieces per customer). Then there are the ones that say stuff like "hurry it up already." Many do not bother to say trick-or-treat, which is fine,but I do expect a thank you and many do not say that either. They just walk up with their bags out.

Some of the children tried to walk in my house??? Why? I can't say. I passed out the damn candy there was no party to go in the house behind me. I had a couple of kids tell me they needed to go into my house because they need to use the bathroom. This is probably why I am a bitch because I told them no. I don't let strangers meander through my home.

I called my mother after words and told her about the incidents and she responded by saying, "well what if they really had to go?"

I asked, " would you have ever taken me to a strangers house to use the restroom."

She replied, "no."

And I said, "exactly!"

Where are the parents? Why would you let your child come into my house? I could be a child molester, an axe murderer, who knows, I might being running a meth lab.

What about me? I suppose I am to leave my post so that the candy grubbing rug rats and grab some loot and run. I will escort them(the potty kids) into my house, and being that they are small and generally elaborately dressed, it will be a big production just to go to the bathroom. Three days later the cops will arrive at my door because they received a report that I took little Susie into my home, bound and gagged her while I danced around in a clown mask and worshipped Satan.

Am I a bitch? Maybe a paranoid bitch? I have been thinking about it since last night, and I can only conclude I would never go into a strangers house and I can't believe other people ask.