I was prescribed another new medication. Hopefully it will be a better experience than yesterday, which resulted in a delightful afternoon and evening of nausea and physical illness.
Been playing the piano for almost two hours. My dad’s Knabe concert grand needs to be tuned, as well as played. He rarely sits at the keyboard anymore.
First I trifled around with some blues riffs, a couple of Scott Joplin pieces and then dug around the bookshelf for some sheet music.
I miss my fucking piano. You can’t play ragtime or complex classical pieces on a synth without 88 keys.
Usually when visiting I’ll pack a cache of my own music; nothing sounds a fabulous to a pianist as music played on a grand. Hell, nothing feels as fabulous either.
This trip I forgot to pack any music. Also forgot jewelry, a comb, my marbles and anything useful.
Yet the suitcase was still full when I closed it.
So in my rifling I find some old books that were mine as a student. Holy shit! The old bat who was my first piano teacher has left an indelible mark after all. Her bright red notations still exist even as she has been worm food for probably 25 years.
Funny strange. So of course this compelled me to play through some Bach Inventions and a few Beethoven and Chopin Etudes and Bagatelles.
Then I found an old book of Broadway tunes and an even older book of Billy Joel music. Oh god I must have purchased this while in high school. Obviously I’d left these compilations behind during various forays to the homestead.
Jesus. I can still mangle through Root Beer Rag! Not quite sure how that happened since it’s been at least a year since I last tried to play it.
The poor bastard singing opera earlier must be having a fit of apoplexy about now, since the windows are open and the Knabe sits besides two open French doors.
Singing and playing Suburban Showdown brought a crack to the vocals and tears to my eyes. Had forgotten the line in there “I only came to say good-bye and I won’t be back again…”
It’s already occurred to me that this is the real reason I’m here. To say good-bye to my family. I know it intuitively and have known since this trip was discussed.
My father’s 75th birthday is in early November and there is a party planned.
It’s doubtful I’ll be here for that so I’m grateful for this week to spend time with him.
We’ll go to AA meetings together, and out to dinner, and he’ll be his usual quiet strangely neurotic self.
Tomorrow after being poked and prodded and slid through machines that go bzzzzzzz and clunnnnnnk we’ll come back up the mountain. The next day I’ve an appointment with a different doc for blood tests and medication reviews.
I’ll surely be pulled off the Xanax. Fuck. Well, seeing as how it’s non-addictive and I’ve been on it for 10 years there’s no way that anyone would be concerned about that.
Will probably be taken off of every damned med that is currently coursing through my body and these will be replaced with different meds to course through said vessel. Actually there aren’t that many in my bloodstream these days. Went off a few myself (betcha didn’t know I was an MD) but have had no replacements now that the insurance went bye-bye. Not that this could have anything to do with the past two months of malaise, depression and suicidal ideation.
Quit smoking again and have been on the fucking Commit again for two days. There’s supposed to be a new trial med to help get off nicotine. Unfortunately the doc responsible for this is in the hospital. Argh.
It would be nice to ditch that final addiction before leaving this place.
The current medication prescribed to wean a smoker of the coffin nails is Wellbutrin.
Can’t take that one. It throws me into a manic phase; which while great for weight loss is bad on the teeth. Grinding one’s molars while staring at the television until dawn is not an especially pleasing way to pass the time. No siree.
Okay it’s back downstairs. Am going to try and concentrate for 10 minutes and read.
It could happen.
Besides, the phone has rung twice and every time I’ve hustled down the spiral staircase to find the damned phone the caller has already hung up.
Bastards say I.
I’m at the tippy tippy top floor of an old gingerbread tippy tippy top house. Using dial-up.
James picked me up and dropped me off at the airport yesterday morning and after the typically boring layover in San Jose my ass landed in untypically clear (hardly any smog) Ontario.
What am I doing here? There’s no one in the house this morning except for myself and a talkative orange tail-less cat named Bradshaw. My step-mother went to Orange County for a few days but I’ve no idea where my father is.
I don’t have my first appointment at the hosptial until tomorrow so a hike would be nice this afternoon, as I do not really feel like going into town to see any old friends. After finishing this cup of coffee I’ll have to walk down 4 flights of stairs to get another cup. Maybe a hike would be redundant.
The time it takes to schlep downstairs and pour more coffee should be enough time for a page to load on this computer though. Hard to believe that’s all we used to have for years isn’t it? Dial-up I mean, not schlepping.
It’s beauritful here in the trees, surrounded by mountain tops. The air is crsip and clean, since Idyllwild is at a 6000 foot elevation. My daughter will be here for dinner tonight and my old pals and former business friends (same thing) live in town as well.
The sun is bright and the azure sky blue and cloudless. It’s 8:30 am and I can hear occasional bits of a guy down the road singing opera. Yesterday afternoon one of the neighbors rode by. On her horse. This is a small secluded resort mountain town of artists, oddballs, retirees, tree-huggers, the over-educated and the out of place. It’s a reason I lived here for more than 10 years and fit in so very well.
So why am I still crying and craving the darkness?
Have once again accomplished nothing in the way of working on tinfoil hat guy’s site.
although the assmunch HAS called me four times today.
I did however clean the apartment; moved two bookcases including dusting the books, vacuumed the damned baseboards, scrubbed the friggin’ kitchen floor on my hands and knees, wiped down the cabinets and walls, de-haired the bed skirt and comforter in the other bedroom, and swept the floors.
Oh yeah also washed the sheets on the bed in my daughter’s room as well since the arrival of the anti-christ is imminent.
Sorry. I meant to say arrival of mom.
Also posted an ad on CL offering to trade the entire store inventory for ANY car that runs reliably. I just don’t care anymore you know?
Am attempting to talk myself into riding my bicycle to Albertson’s to get groceries and paper towels, etc.
Except it’s friggin 100F outside and I am just not into that ride.
Screw groceries anyway.
I would love some club soda though.
Oh goody. Something else for The Queen of Darkness to bitch about tomorrow:
Why don’t you have any food in this house? What is wrong with you?
Aye there’s the rub.
If thirty years of analysis, introspection, various and sundry spiritual paths, writing and therapy cannot provide the answer to ‘What’s Eating Rachael Black’ then I’m thinking nothing can.
Hey Mom try one of these Dreyer’s Tangerine Fruit Bars.
They’re good and good for you!
Now please shut up and I’ll see you in another nine months.
Remember what happened the last time I saw you and I was this depressed and alone? About 13 years ago?
Within eight hours of you leaving my house I swallowed an entire bottle of Trazadone and was rushed to the emergency room.
Praise the Lord and Pass the Xanax.
The other evening I was alone bored stressed and depressed.
Yes it sounds just like every other night in my life but what about it.
So, I decided to re-do my myspace background (stop laughing right now dammit. it’s a creative outlet) and contact box with pics from Boston.
A little Photoshop, my digital camera, a few crops, a bit of hocus-pocus and eye of Newt. Gingrich.
I just love the artwork on the headstones from the early 18th Century.
Skulls, Crossbones, Skeletons and all things morbid and reminiscent of death.
When did we, as a society, become so divorced from the reality of what comes after?
So I’ve been procrastinating on writing a blog since my triumphant return from the whirlwind tour of Boston. Meetings with the Kennedys, the Kerrys and the Cardinal took all of the stamina and fortitude I could muster.
Oh wait that was a dream. Something about donuts and snakes too but that’s not important right now.
Got an email this morning asking if Boston was nice this time of year. Well, define nice.
I’m sure that in comparison to the Amazon River basin this time of year it qualifies as spectacular.
Otherwise the weather can best be summed up by the following metaphorical blathering:
“I woke up, soaked a heavy woolen blanket in warm water and after showering and dressing wrapped said blanket about my body. Then I walked around the sauna until dehydration indicated admittance to Mass General.”
The weather reminded me in precise terms why living on the east coast in the summer became anathema and I’ve been back out west for the past few years.
Having slammed the humidity I will also add that in this Hades-reminiscent climate I ran in a 5K along the Charles River one morning.
The shocking thing (besides my actually getting up at 6:00 am to perform any kind of exercise –excluding strenuous sex of course) was that I did not finish last in my age group, and this was in a field of exercise-obsessed sober cardiologists, anesthesiologists, shrinks and dentists. They’re all whack-jobs.
I kinda felt at home.
After finishing the race I walked back to the hotel to find my lovely daughter still sound asleep in our room. I threw my soaking wet (and now mildly aromatic) woolen blanket over her reposed figure and said “Cate Honey… get your lazy teen-age ass out of bed and go find mommy some coffee before she becomes homicidal.”
She was not amused.
But I was.
My days in Boston were filled mostly with AA meetings and lectures given for physicians to obtain their CME credits. The free time was spent exploring every nook of historical significance I could find. I walked miles and miles, mercifully burning off the calories from the exquisite meals I’d been indulging in.
Did you know that Boston Common is Boston’s largest unmarked grave? There are more than 10,000 bodies buried there and not one tombstone.
Graveyards from the 1600’s, a night tour of haunted Boston, delicious seafood, sober doctors, ala-teen kids running amuck, lectures, bad banquet food, a fab evening listening to mystery writer/physician Michael Palmer speak, cannoli at Mikes Pastry, standing outside to have a smoke, buckets of coffee, my family, and general disorder.
In a word the trip was…. Surreal.
Here’s proof below. It’s my daughter, myself and my dad in front of the Revere House.
The one meeting I looked forward to was a bust. It was a lecture given by an Associate Professor of Psychiatry at Harvard, and the subject was:
Treatment of Bi-Polar Disorder in the Alcoholic and Addict Population.
This is a subject near and dear to my heart, and other parts of my anatomy such as my liver.
Sadly the doc delivering the lecture was possibly the lamest speaker it has ever been my misfortune to hear. I looked at my dad and he leaned over and said “My God this is the lamest speaker I have ever heard.”
My suspicions were confirmed. The guy was bad.
Unfortunately I learned nothing new. The poor bastard didn’t have any more info than was already available, to both lay persons (that would be me) and physicians and psychiatrists (that would be my dad).
For instance; the rate of suicide for persons suffering a dual diagnosis (addiction and bi-polar) is far greater than that of the general populace or a patient diagnosed with one or the other.
Whoa! No way. This guy is a fucking genius.
No new treatments were discussed, no new meds, no new anything. The speaker was unorganized as well. If I want unorganized there’s always my life to review.
|After the meeting I had a cup of coffee and considered heading over to Cheers, on the other side of Boston Common. Where I could have a drink and ponder all of this and of course,
everybody knows my name.
Another morning comes awake in Reno’s desert heat.
At least I slept in my bed again last night, after first falling asleep on the couch, a book on my chest, the AC on High.
Waking up alone in my bed is still disconcerting. There’s that brief 20 seconds when I think ‘where the hell am I.’ Then I notice the sun and am alright for another minute.
Then the memories and realizations crash in and stop my heart.
Sat outside in Little Tijuana and had my coffee with the last cigarette in the house. Am out of money for more until tomorrow. I’ll be in great form in another hour when the withdrawal starts in.
Later this week I’m supposed to actually collect some money for a design job I did last winter.
Been waiting six months to collect even a partial payment. Got an email yesterday saying that my check will be going out today. Cross your fingers. It would be nice coming back from Boston to a fridge that runs (hey lady is your fridge running?) and a functioning telephone and Internet connection.
Okay fuck the phone connection but I need the DSL or I’ll be doing design work from the public library computer.
Received an email from Tinfoil Hat Client this morning. He is happy with the store I’ve set up on his site. I’m not.
I think the entire thing is shite and don’t have my name anywhere on it. All of the work on that goddamned thing and I’ll never use it for a reference or resume.
Why? ‘Cause I did it exactly the way I was paid to do it. If the (grossly infinitesimal) check clears then who am I to argue with a client over layout.
Please save me from the blind.
Today I’m going to try and get out of the house. My depression is so severe that I’m incapable of doing anything but writing to keep my mind occupied.
To go through life without feeling is impossible for me. I cannot blame my faults and foibles on another person and know it is my job to work with what little I’ve got. To at least try.
Is it so wrong to find it inexplicable that others will not do the same?
Maybe I’ll be able to listen to my favorite music again today or play the piano.
Maybe I’ll sit inside in the dark and write.
Maybe I’ll go to the gym or for a walk to the river.
Maybe I’ll stop weeping for thirty damned minutes.
Maybe the phone will ring and I’ll smile.
Maybe I’ll obsess about sex again someday.
Maybe this is all a dream and I’ll wake up in another place.
I’ll let you know.
–nevada desert photo by arthur durkee–
I‘m trying to find some ways to feel better. The past three days have been colored with darkness, occluded by sadness and imbued with both hurt and guilt. Instead of feeling better about things I’m worse tonight.
These are all feelings that cognizant people work through. At times though the abyss is so black and the future so frightening that even finding that starting point seems pointless. Suffering clinical depression, overcoming a severe illness and trauma of all kinds exacerbate despair.
This essay is an effort to help myself.
Maybe you will find something of value as well.
Or, maybe you’ll simply say ‘ohfortheloveofchristrachael!’ call your shrink and take a xanax.
The kicker is this: it’s my life. You can always turn the page right?
Friends are hard to come by. Friends are people with whom we have real things in common. This indicates that we can also push each other’s buttons and have many of the same reactions to outside stimuli, be it good or bad.
I’m one of those folks who have learned to keep anger inside, hidden and buried. To show emotion, whether happiness or anger, in our family was to be ignored. It was not respectable. Later in marriage it was a cause to be screamed down and abused. There will be no feelings here dammit! Bad Rachael! No Donut!
I still jump at loud noises or a raised voice. Jesus. Slow learner or what.
I’m so afraid of hurting someone’s feelings or being yelled at or taunted that I don’t say anything until my anger reaches levels of epic stupidity.
Until of course it comes roiling out at usually inappropriate times. Or better yet, at a person or thing that does not deserve the level of my ire.
I’ve also been known to make light of the things which scare me. It puts the situation off and diffuses uncomfortable feelings. My own daughter even accuses me of this…. because it’s true. It’s another coping mechanism.
‘Cause what do people do? We’re at heart selfish and self-centered and easily hurt. It doesn’t matter if we’re also a soft touch, caring, giving, loving and want the best for those we love. That old animal instinct is still there.
Even Mother Teresa wanted to kick someone’s ass at times.
Not good for me, my blood pressure or the poor bastard (or bitch) who is around when I finally can’t keep those things inside any longer. Of course by this time my hurts have grown into monsters instead of simplistic problems that could have been worked out.
Rule Number One: Talk things out right away.
Why in the hell do I forget this on a regular basis? It’s so simple and effective but I am so afraid. Your partner or friend cannot read your mind, no matter how much they love you. Ouija board not included.
Rule Number Two: Learn to forgive
I’ve found over the years, when I fucking remember, that the best way to get over any anger is to forgive. Even if the anger is misplaced.
Either forgive the person who has said something to hurt me, or harder yet, forgive myself.
It’s a bitch to forget the hurt and anguish you went through. It takes a lot of convincing on your part, but it can be done. Forgiving releases pain.
Writing a letter to the person who has caused me anguish and pain helps. Writing in detail what they did and its effects. In the end, I normally write “I forgive you for all the pain you caused me. Much Love.” then I BURN THE FUCKING LETTER AND do NOT send the fucker.
TK gave me a great piece of advice one night when I was pissed off at someone. He said “wait 24 hours before you send that!”.No shit, it sounds simple.
I forget the cathartic effect of simply writing about how I feel and then just deleting, or better yet, burning the missive. It works too. Oh god I’ve mentioned my version of drinking and dialing… it’s called insanity and writing –shudder-.
Rule Number Three: Admit my part in an altercation.
We ALWAYS play a part somewhere. I have said something somewhere somewow to incite the current incident or problem. Doesn’t matter if it was knowing or unknowing. Everyone STILL plays a part in the outcomes of their lives. Thinking back to see where I fit in is a big step in allowing me to find a bit of understanding. Damned if I don’t forget this one as well.
Rule Number Four: No one is perfect
Say it ain’t so. Who has not had a disagreement with a friend/lover/spouse or family member? If you have strong feelings for someone then it’s gonna happen. It’s about remembering that we all make mistakes AND we can learn from them. Making amends means changing a behavior that is hurtful and it just cannot happen overnight. To me it indicates that willingness to give it all I have to change my reactions AND actions. Willingness and action together. Fuck more work no not again.
Rule Number Five: Exposing Vulnerability
This is the hardest thing in the world for me. Seriously. I’ve been accused of being unapproachable. Never unfriendly, rude, cold, or lacking in humor. Just unapproachable in matters of friendship. Sadly I feel the need to keep up that facade.
It’s true. How can I share myself with someone else when I don’t really appreciate anything about myself? More work on this one. Although humanity in general DOES tend to piss me off.
Rule Number Five: Be Friends
Share the good the bad and the oh-so-ugly. If someone is really your friend they will understand. If they’re not then it will hurt but you’ll know. Do stuff together. Make fun of retards. Kick back and just read a book in the same vicinity. Do the things that make you both happy. Together.
Rule Number Six: Always order extra sour cream at the Mexican Restaurant
Betcha didn’t think that this belonged her but it does. Why, my last marriage broke up over just such an incident. Never underestimate the power of enough sour cream to bring joy into your life.
Well clearly I’m not a doctor. Hell I’m a two time loser at the Alter (with the exception of that human sacrifice thing but that’s another blog for another night).
I just write this to try and sort out some feelings and thoughts and maybe have something to look back on.
My natural state is laughter at everything including myself. Being this sad is killing me, and that goes literally for a person such as myself.
We all want love and acceptance. Crave it. It’s the human condition and that’s the proverbial Good that goes with the Bad.
Talking it out, admitting vulnerability, being friends and sharing the special experiences and most of all forgiveness.
Wonder if one of the tattoo places here in Reno can ink that paragraph on the inside of my eyelids. That’s gotta hurt.
I can be right or I can be happy.
Happy is healthier and more fun.
Life is so fleeting. I could be dead tomorrow.
You could be dead tomorrow.
I want to spend the little time I have here smiling, joking, making love, being a smart-ass and learning.
Not gloating in private.
Well okay sometimes. Just for a few minutes each month.
Little Shop Of Horrors: Original Cast Album (1982 Off-Broadway Cast)
By: Alan Menken
Release date: 25 August, 1992
Character defects are something everyone has in abundance.
Well except for me of course. -cue laughter from backstage-
Am attempting to incorporate three salient points, as opposed to Salinger points, into today’s musings and meditations
Never confuse boredom with serenity (Easy)
Never confuse drama with human interaction (VERY Difficult)
Never play cards with a cheating cat (Impossible)
Speaking of peculiar behavior (which is a specialty in these here parts) it was time for the monthly chat with Dr. Haveasquishy.
Sadly it’s a bitch to be honest with someone you don’t respect. Hell, I have a problem vocalizing feelings, terrors and thoughts to people I DO respect for fear that my less than brilliant contemplations will offend them and propel them screaming into the night.
We did have a decent session today and I was as honest as I’ve ever been with him.
Progress not perfection.
Am still suicidal and not yet homicidal so I need more couch time. Nothing like being the progeny of a psychiatrist AND growing up in L.A.
Nobody walks in L.A.
They all have therapists though.
Okay here’s what I learned this week:
1. If I am going to re-wire the end of an extension cord the white wire is the common, black is hot and green is ground. I don’t HAVE to use the green either.
2. Never dwell on a hurt or slight whether real or imagined. Mention it immediately and see if you’re being obsessive, overly sensitive or you’re right.
3. Raleys on Mayberry hires every tard in Old Southwest Reno. Surreal.
4. I’d forgotten how talented the singers of Manhattan Transfer were
5. A hub and a switch work differently. A computer on a switch runs faster (albeit imperceptibly) because packets traveling through a hub have to determine if the different computers connected to it actually receive that particular packet of information
6. The first dinosaur bone discovered in America was found in West Virginia and when presented in a scientific paper promptly ignored. The bone was given to a museum and promptly lost.
7. Experience is something you don’t get until just AFTER you fucking need it
8. Master of the House from Les Miserables is evilly tenacious and will not release your brain. UNLESS someone puts on Overkill by Men at Work which will immediately fuck you off with it’s insidious tune and lyrics.
9. Discontinuing a medication which has been in your system for 12 years without weaning down the dosage slowly puts your body into severe physiological and psychological withdrawl.
nausea, uncontrollable weeping, dizziness, stomach cramps, vertigo, inability to concentrate and it just gets better! Especially Effexor. Especially if you have not had organic chemistry since college and are not a doctor.
10. My Work is maintaining a tan for the benefit of all mankind
11. I need new business cards made up:
Rachael C. Black
Exectutive Ne’er Do Well
12. All the tinfoil in the world will not keep my whack-ass client from contacting me. if only he was a real client. If only I had not lost all of the tinfoil to lizzie in that poker game last weekend.
13. Lizzie Borden cheats at poker. This with no opposable thumbs. Bitch.
14. A teenager forgives pretty quickly and will begin to say I Love You again.
15. Do not walk behind me, for I will only lead into temptation. Do not walk ahead of me, for I may not follow. Do not walk beside me either. Just leave me the hell alone.
16. If you have to lose sleep, don’t do it alone
17. No matter what happens, there is always someone ready to tell you that it happened according to his/her pet theory.
Rachael’s Corollary I: No matter what happens, there is always someone ready to misinterpret what it means. A few times it’s been me.
18. Directly spraying kitchen ants with Clorox does NOT kill the bastards
19. Stephen Hawking can’t swim for shit
20. My mother saves every goddamned picture she ever took and today I find that I had a super fine do in 1985 -yark-
Yours in Suicidal Ideation and Non Sequiturs,
~The Still Fabulously Deranged Miss R
Dammit I forgot one. Thanks TK
if you’re hungry eat
if you’re thirsty drink
if you’re happy dance
If you’re tired… watch court tv
Living In Oblivion : The 80’s Greatest Hits, Vol. 1
By: Various Artists
Release date: 23 March, 1993
—written May 2, 2007——
So tomorrow morning my daughter is off to live with her father.
The flight leaves at 10:55 am and she starts school in Idyllwild on Monday.
This is destroying me.
There was another Chernobyl-worthy melt-down Saturday night, at which point I was treated to a verbal barrage equal only to Linda Blair’s character in the Exorcist.
‘Go FUCK yourself.’ You can’t make me stop swearing” Fuck you I don’t have to listen to you.’
All the while said demon was attempting to barricade itself into one of the rooms at TK’s house while intermittently threatening to break a drinking glass and slash her wrists. Oh yes, she also advised TK to go fuck himself as well.
What a great time was had by all. You shoulda been there.
This was the day after TK had allowed her to have a sleep-over there with three of her friends, where they were treated like the spoiled little wanna-be goth princesses they are. Tons of food, TV, late hours, a soak in the spa, etc.
I am exhausted and so very very lucky that TK is even speaking with me. Yeah I’m quite the friend:
“Excuse me TK? I have a surly 114 pound bag of screaming drama with me. May we please come in? Oh is it alright if she is abusive as hell to you for being kind?”
So after the door was besieged and psycho-child was removed to the kitchen table I called…. West Hills! On the drive over my loving daughter kept making attempts –not real or valiant enough- to jump out of the moving car. The machinations were enough to fucking piss me off and bring on an anxiety attack though.
Once there we were ushered into the office of Large Marge.
Oh I liked this bitch. She fucking rocks.
Buenos Dias Dudes!
This blog comes to you from the crumbling asphalt, failing laptop and bathing suited attire of Reno’s own Little Tijuana.
Last night I slept for 8 full hours, with only one awakening.
This is a freakish oddity of such magnitude that a blog mention is called for.
It is the potential reason that much of the day has been spent in tears, commencing within 20 minutes of slipping out from beneath the sheets.
Apparently this much rest is a gross and severe shock to the body.
In an effort to continue the ‘it’s bad for you!’ thing I decided to forgo sunscreen this afternoon. If my life extends another 5 years it will be a freak of nature and just too weird to contemplate. Therefore gaff the sunscreen and bring on the wrinkles say I.
Spent an hour today outside writing a blog on The Ancient Laptop of the Gods (pat. pend). Unfortunately the wireless slot now appears to be totally fried and this model Compaq is too old to burn a CD.
And then ah ha!
Roderick I have a cunning plan.
Somewhere buried in the house were some old 3.5″ discs.
I tore apart the closet, found one, slipped it in to transfer the essay… and the damned diskette just stuck in there. It would not read. It would not eject. It would not have the common decency to self destruct.
I am now sitting at the desktop and trying to pull an occasional thought and coherent sentence (she laughed) from the laptop screen.
It has been a day of horrors. Too bad it wasn’t a day of whores because then I could have ran the wenches and made a few bucks.
But I digress.
My Demon Seed saw a psychiatrist today, as opposed to her regular therapist. She is now on a small dose of an anti-depressant. The doc says she will be fine and her apathy and lack of interest in school is due to the depression. I’m thinking that just living with the kid should have indicated an up in MY dose of anti-depressants.
Earlier in the day I had seen the shrink (don’t go selling crazy we’re all stocked up here) and was prescribed Seroquel.
Fuck me to tears this is the third change in my cocktail in as many months.
The good news is that this drug has been approved by the FDA for the treatment of bi-polar disorder AND it does help insomnia. The bad news is
1. It was originally developed to treat schizophrenia –oh how nice.
2. Dr. Haveasquishy says “Rachael I have to tell you that one of the side effects of this medication is weight gain”
At this point in the session I contemplate going from tearful and incredulous to borderline hysterical.
I’d rather have been told I have six months to live.
He continues on to say that I will have to watch what I eat and get even more exercise. Even More Exercise? Even Less Chocolate?
If I’d been given the six months to live thing I’d have it made!
Cut the gym visits DOWN to 2 to 3 days a week to keep the endorphins up, eat Bavarian pastries at midnight. Bushmills on the rocks for lunch. Bailys in my coffee in the morning. Weed in my brownies oh anytime.
I will gain weight and have to increase the calorie counting and gym visits because the meds will theoretically curb my always happy thoughts by helping me to get some damned sleep.
What could be better? I’ll tell you; Seroquel also scrambles your H1 histamine receptors which increases appetite.
Dr. Haveasquishy ordered blood work to check for lipids, diabetes etc because of the weight gain side effect and the even cooler side effect of this miracle medication… it can speed the onset of diabetes.
I did some research tonight and have found stories and studies of people getting restful sleep… and gaining 50 fucking pounds in one month.
I’m thinking of switching doctors. Maybe to an oncologist. Pass the Bushmills.
50 pounds in one month? Hell, why don’t I just get married again and put on 6’1″ and 185 pounds. No wait. That’s exactly how much I gained when I got married last time. All it took was the divorce decree to have that particular tumor removed.
Not as if weight isn’t an over-riding long-term physical and neurotic problem in this house. Or that the past few men I have been involved with seem to crave thin women.
WTF do they see in me then?
Hell if I know –sigh-.
A great example of my personal obsession was the hour I spent online yesterday (talk about a weird coincidence) researching Abdominoplasty i.e. tummy tucks, trying to figure out how I could rob the local 7-11 to pay for one.
It’s a mere ten grand and leaves a huge, nasty, unsightly and spectacular jagged permanent scar.
No, this is NOT my gut but it is an amazing re-creation. Well pretty close I guess.
Ohhhh but the benefits? Pay no attention that the above pictured bitch needs to take a razor to that scraggly bush…
1. No more pooch hanging down!
30+ years of yo-yo diets, pregnancy, abdominal operations and the like have left me humiliated to even take my clothes off in front of a man.
I’m a goddamned hottie in the dark though. Grrrrrrrrrrr.
2. I can wear a 2 piece bathing suit. I hear that they’re available all of these years later.
3. Wear clothes from ‘real stores’ and toss my fucking Lane Bryant card in the garbage.
Dammit Jim I’m a garden variety neurotic with occasional flights of fancy into the land of suicidal ideation. Is that so wrong?
I’m beginning to think that the only cocktail I need can be found at the Zephyr or TK’s place.
Keep in mind that depression is a boon to the creative mindset.
Happy people are idiots. The only thing they create is a pain in my ass.
Who IS afraid of Virginia Woof-Woof?
So, in conclusion, I’d like to thank you all for attending this conference. I shall bid you a fond adieu as I have no intention of ever leaving the immediate area of this apartment again.
It will take all of my willpower to either avoid any food for the rest of my life (hopefully short if that’s the case) or becoming morbidly obese and never getting laid again. Once again, thereby mercifully shortening my life expectancy.
I’m hesitant to take this new cocktail tonight. Very hesitant.
I’m not a doctor, but I could play one on television.
If anyone in the audience is interested in a used laptop one can be located in the dumpster behind 5XXX La Rue, Reno NV.
Grab yourself a piece-of-shit laptop, and enough left-over medication samples to make a move to Guyana and start-up your very own Jonestown.
First come first served.
Who loves ya babe?
Addendum: Decided last night that I AM not taking the fucking Seroquel. The side effects are too scary. I’d rather be depressed and possessed of my normal cheery, cynical demeanor than wearing clothes from Omar the Tent Maker.
Been in isolation mode the past few weeks and have not posted anything. My brain is on hiatus but rather than gaff writing at all this will do for tonight. Had planned on writing a ‘real’ blog’ today while sitting out on the back side of the apartment building. I affectionately call my back ‘deck’ Little Tijuana. Ugh.
Unfortunately the old compaq computer has given up the ghost and the wireless card seems to be a goner.
Lost the initiative to create after screwing around with the thing for 30 minutes. So, if you have an older laptop you’d consider parting with for a reasonable price or trade please let me know. On the bright side I did play the piano and annoy the neighbors with my vocals for over an hour. Take that you wretched fleeting muse!
Now regarding this abyssmal survey; I was instructed to write EXACTLY what came immediately to mind and not change it. In the interest of a public service announcement and free mental health advisory here you go…
1. My ‘ex’ is….
a total fucktard who should only spontaneously combust. Which ex btw? This pretty much covers them all.
2. I am listening to…
3. Maybe I should…
take those meds
4. I love..
the smell of napalm in the morning
5. My best friend…
is an executive whack-job
6. I don’t understand…
7. I lost my respect for…
myself. I have a way better time now!
8. I last ate…
a bowl of ice cream
9. The meaning of my display name is…
Well that’s pretty damned self explanatory
10. Love is…
an ex-husband is spontaneously combusting
12. I will always…
fall in love too hard
13. Love seems to be…
on your fucking mind doesn’t it? dear god.
14. I never ever want to lose…
my disturbed (and disturbing) mental faculties
15. My mobile phone is…
a piece of crap. oh yeah sprint sucks ass
16. When I woke up this morning…
i had lost the will to live. again. wait that’s every morning.
17. I get annoyed at…
let’s narrow it down; what doesn’t annoy me?
make me nervous
19. My pet(s)…
my cat and my daughter
21. Today I…
got out of bed. didn’t kill myself. cleaned the house. filled out disability reconsideration paperwork. laughed at the misfortune of others. pretty satisfying day all in all.
22. I wish…
do not get me started
23. I really want…
to be happy.
ANSWER TRUTHFULLY (as opposed to my usual devious lies?)—
What would you rather be called?
01. Sweetie or Honey:
neither. Better yet… darling
02. Darling or Hun:
well there you have it. should have read ahead.
01. is your hair wet?:
no should it be?
02. is your cell phone right by you?:
03. do you miss someone?:
very much so
04. are you wearing chap stick?
ugh. No. dark red lipstick if you please
05. are you tired?
every minute of every day and every night
06. are you excited?
hmmmm what are you offering?
07. are you watching tv?
no. the voices are blocking out forensic files
08. are you wearing pajamas?:
I don’t wear pajamas. Sheesh.
01. recently done anything you regret?:
of course although my rationalization process is finely honed
02. ever lied?:
EVER? Oh please. Of course.
03. ever stuck gum under a desk?
hell no. I always drop it on the sidewalk in the path of unsuspecting pedestrians
04. ever kicked someone?:
05. ever tripped over your own feet?:
every damned day. you don’t ever want to witness my dancing.
01. have you cursed?:
02. yelled at someone?
03. have you gotten mad at someone?:
Q: is there a person who is on your mind right now?
Q: do you have any siblings?
Q: Do you want children?
A: fuck no but I have one anyway
Q: do you smile often?
A: ya all of the time
Q: do you wish on stars?
A: not for years
Q: do you like your handwriting?
A: bwahahahahaha. Good luck reading it
Q: are your toenails painted?
A: yes thanks tk
Q: are you a friendly person?
A: well you’d think so if we were to meet. i’m also a hell of an actress though so watch it.
Q: who’s bed did you sleep in last night?
A: none of your damned business. Pushy little bastard aren’t you?
Q: what size ring do you wear?
A: if it has a diamond or ruby I’ll have it re-sized. don’t worry.
Q what color shirt are you wearing?
A: white cami
Q: what were you doing at 7pm yesterday?
A: enjoying a wonderful sunset and luxuriating in the experience of someone making dinner for me
Q: I can’t wait until…
A: i die
Q: Is tom on your friends list?
Q: Look to your right:
A: Roland D-10, small peavey, computer tower, original litho on the wall, pile of cds to be burned
Q: Ever cried on your friend’s shoulder?
A: rarely. I do not like to have people see me cry.
Guess that covers it for tonight. unless i can’t sleep and write a more original piece around 1:00 am.
not that this has ever occurred.
peace and prozac,
this despite ‘good morning’ being an oxymoron.
weird and terrible dreams all night long and i slept fitfully until after 9:00 am, waking up constantly. fucking constant insomnia of the depressed and damned.
feeling torn up emotionally and physically at this moment and taking a xanax with the first cup of coffee instead of at noon.
it may be time to rethink the plan of waiting until cate graduates from college and reschedule my date with mr. reaper (that’s MR reaper to you now eat the salmon mousse) to high school graduation.
wordpress is my ‘honest’ blog. have had another going on myspace for a year and a half, but the dark machinations in my mind are not revealed there. for godsake it’s myspace.
as their tagline says: myspace a place for friends!
it does not read: myspace a place for dark honesty and gallows humor!
oh if i ever spilled the truly dark things in my mind you would lock the doors and never speak to any person named rachael again, ala no king ever bearing the appellation john of england. yeppers there’s always one freak to spoil it for the rest of the class.
Have decided that the weekends are my own and I’m under no obligation to answer slews of emails and phone calls from unnamed clients.
|A current client sends a minimum of 25 emails each day along with 4 phone calls, all of which I am expected to answer right then goddammit. This is not a high-paying gig. At all. This has become a dance with death.|
Things to consider while contemplating this matter:
- Yours Truly has 12+ years of experience doing what I do. That would be for a living you perv. I’ve 30 years experience in the other department but am now too old for anyone to actually PAY me.
- Somewhere in the past is an utterly useless but fairly expensive college education.
- I am funnier and far more amusing than my clients or employers. Darker too which adds another 1000 points to my High Score.
- Am going through a horrific period of acute depression via my close personal friend bi-polar disorder (oh yeah I’m bi. I speak Spanish. Into S&M too ‘cause I can speak Spanish and Mexican).
- The bank account is depleted
- I am a whack job of paramount distinction
So what we have here is a conundrum: I am too fucked up and distraught to stop weeping or concentrate for longer than 20 minutes at a time but need to support the demon child and myself.
Miss R presents…..
The 2006 Myspace Winner of our
Hannukah, Yule and Christmas Greetings to All. Dammit.
I don’t actually know anyone who celebrates Kwanzaa so you’re on your own with that.
Well I’ve got to say that after my last blog there were a lot of entries for our Holiday Contest. The previous Only-Partially-Tongue-in-Cheek essay was replete with references to garden hoses and autos, razor blades, and dark mountain drives. You know, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.
So again here’s my original list and at the bottom we have the Best Picks from Miss R’s Blog Readers.
This was fun and cheered me immeasurably. Without further ado….