These are my thoughts. They are not meant to make sense. They are my echo into the woods. I am the tree that falls, and it is here that I make a sound.
Most recent babblings

The history of babble of the modern psychotic blonde

Warps to others, warped and otherwise
Sanity Optional
Monday, November 28, 2005

Short one

I want to close my blog.

Rob is making it very clear to me that he wants me to keep it going. He said that he knows what it would do to me to lose this outlet, even though I can't rely on it the way I thought I could.


I have choices to make.

If I'm not here for a while, don't worry. If the blog closes, please don't worry. It just may morph into a different one, using a different name, and a different nick.

I don't know what I'm going to do. All I know is that I'm incredibly sad, scared and feel paralysed by fear and paranoia.

I just have to tell myself this too shall pass.
Sunday, November 27, 2005

A fool

What a fool.

I've hurt my two sisters.

I've said awful things and I can't unsay them.

Apparently I've been saying awful things for years, but didn't know it.

They're never going to believe me. Never going to trust me.

And they both now think that my behaviour is imitated by Rob. And maybe by my son. But it's not.

I'm the one who says idiotic things. Not them.

We never said a word before you opened the door. You won't believe me but it's true.

I'm so lost. So very lost.


I've deleted my previous post.

There are people in life who deserve to get trouble. There are people who deserve attitude and discomfort, because they carry themselves through life negatively impacting everyone around them.

Then there are others. Others who do nothing but try their best to treat others with decency and respect. Who reach a hand out to help, to brush hair back from a sweaty brow, who steady a faltering step, who give of themselves and ask little in return.

My sister is one of those.

And I've deeply hurt her.

All she wants is friendship. I don't have many friends, actually I don't know if I have any friends, and it's because I don't know how - or when I do I'm too comfortable in my self-isolation - to be a good friend. She says she loves me and I'm not sure why. I've never given her much in the way of the support that she's given me. I sit in my little house, holding myself apart from others and thinking that's okay. I don't know how to be real with people: those of you out there with BP - we've all talked about this before, how being with others you select a mask and put it on, appropriately playing the part that matches the scenery, not because you are insincere but because you can't let the world see the real you.

Because you don't know who the real you is. The quicksand on which we live leaves us dancing, knees high, step to step, to keep from sinking and drowning, breathing in raspy lungs of abrasive rock.

My mom's always told me that I've too sharp a tongue and that one of these days it's going to get me into trouble. Mother's always right, isn't she?

I hope, my sister L, that I can once in a while be kind enough to you to reflect even a fraction of what you've done for me in my life. It'll never be enough to unring the bell, and it's never going to be close to the kindness you deserve.

And don't worry. Rob's home soon. I'll be fine.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005

I repeat: damned engineers

I went to work yesterday with my cold even though I know the company is very vocal about people staying home when sick (the average age in my office is probably 59-62) because they are older and don't need it. I went specifically to look after the issue with the drawing for the engineers.

I never got the drawing from our fabricator until about 4 pm and then it was awful, not even close to what we and the customer had requested. So I spent an entire day at work when I could've been at home getting better(although I don't know what I would have done at home, but that's besides the point).

I've now woken up with a the beginnings of a healthy size chest cold. I feel yucky. AND I STILL DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT DRAWING. This is a project worth about $20,000 and if we do this one right, many more will come. So now I have to go back to work to get the drawing and forward it to the right people. And this is one day that I really wouldn't mind staying home.

Ahh, we'll see. Maybe I'll just screw it anyway. I've got swollen glands under my jaw, my throat feels like used sandpaper and I've got a headache. And while I'm not coughing up organs yet, when I do cough, I sound like I'm auditioning for a Buckley's commercial If I'm going to work I have to leave in 1/2 hr. Let's see....
Tuesday, November 22, 2005


I have caught Rob's cold.

I sound like Bea Arthur with a frog in her throat. Lemme tell ya, it's a sexy sexy thing.

On the way into work this morning (because like an idiot, I mean, trouper, I'm not staying home - too bored there), Freak on a Leash by Korn was on. That song always gets me going, blood pumping, head banging. I'm almost 37 and I listen to the same music my teenage son does. One of us is weird. I think it's me.

I'm working on a project at work with a natural gas company, trying to coordinate this equipment manufacture to their specifications, which have changed 5 times in the 4 1/2 weeks since we received the PO. The stupid part is that they keep signing the approval drawings, effectively saying yep, we like it. Then some other engineer pipes up and says, hey wait, wouldn't it be neat if we could paint it blue AND have it whistle Dixie at the same time?


Can't live with 'em, pass the beer nuts.

Speaking of beer:

There is a section of business that my company is involved in that is predominantly centred on the brewing industry. We supply millions of dollars of product per year to breweries big and small: Molson's, Labatt's, down to little mom-and-pop u-brews. I got invited to a "vendor appreciation night" at Canada's third biggest brewery (Sleeman). I avoided responding. Because you know if you avoid things they do always go away. She finally called and basically said are you coming or what. I referred her to my manager.

He's going in my place. I told him that I wasn't very good at events like that. He said "You likely would be good, but you just think you wouldn't". There's some truth to that, but there's two reasons for my hesitation:

1) I'm an alcoholic. Putting me in a brewery surrounded by free beer, with everyone around me drinking beer, probably isn't a good idea.
2) I'm finding more and more that I am uncomfortable in social situations where I don't know many people. I've lost my confidence to be the centre of attention social butterfly I used to be. Like a lot of people with BP, being in a situation like that makes me feel like I have to be "ON", shining smile, rapier wit, centre of attention and guarantor of a great time for all. And the danger of that is that once that "ON" feeling leaves, you either continue straight up, or you fall because the scaffolding you've built has been moved by your internal social committee and no one told you.

For example, recently, Rob's ex company sponsored a table at a "gala" for a foundation that sponsor wishes for terminally ill children. Rob went as a guest of a vendor he dealt with while he was there. He splurged and got a tux, and was picked up by a stretch limo. He asked if I wanted to go, but I didn't think I'd feel very comfortable. And besides, if I went, I'd miss one of my hockey games. C'mon! What's a girl to do?! I've gone to other events with him and I couldn't imagine sitting around trying to be civil to these people that I don't even know. It's such a stretch, such a change from before. Now, I'd be more likely to tell them all to fuck off, or to spend a good part of the night sitting in a bathroom stall, just because it's the most convenient place to hide. Rob enjoyed himself anyway and I'm glad he's able to do that, that he doesn't feel it necessary to always have me with him to have a good time.

So I'm not going to the vendor appreciation night. I'm going to stay at home with my family, where I feel safest. I guess that's a lot of what this boils down to: safety.

And tonight I'm going to go home and just have a good bowl of hot soup, to think if I can get rid of this frog.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Such a kidder

You know, I really kid myself sometimes. I tell myself I don't get depressed. And I don't. Not really. I get into these funky mixed states where I have the mindset of depression but the energy of mania. It's great for those long lonely car trips. What is my drug of choice? Why, my pretty, it's driving alone and figuring out the many ways they could find me.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not that way right now. Rather the opposite really.

I went to see the pdoc today. We have a new receptionist apparently in his tiny little office. The other receptionist always made me a bit nervous, even though she was as harmless as a newborn's fart: her kids and my son went to dayschool together, so she knew me "before", that magical time pre-diagnosis, before the scarlet letter was tattooed on my pale forehead.

But this new receptionist. Her name is Lillian. I was alone in the waiting room when I walked in and I promptly grilled her. She was a bit taken aback, I think. I asked her name, how long she'd been there, what happened to Heather (the other one), did Heather leave of her own accord or was she forced out, was Lillian permanent, did Lillian know that this pdoc is always always always always always late (yes I did say it that many times)? She said he's not always late. I said yes. She said, no, not always. So I made her a bet that I'd not be in before 15 past the hour (my appt was for 6). When does the dr take me? 6.12. So she won and made a point of saying so as we squeaked by her desk in the narrow hall to his office. He asked what it was all about and I said about three times in a row: nothing, it's between her and I.

He sat down and asked how I was and I told him, after consulting my calendar (which I've taken to use as a mood log of sorts, writing down those days I struggle, otherwise I forget and tell him eveyrthing's hunky dory), I told him I'd had a week of good, a week of ok, a week of not so good, a week of good, a week of slipping and now we're cool. But, and here's where my point comes in about NOT being depressed or suicidal, I told him, when he asked me if I've been talking too loud or too fast, that I get the impression over the past week or so that there are things that I'm saying that I shouldn't be and that I'm stepping over verbal boundaries with people but I don't realize that until after I've done it. I also told him I had one vendor on the phone return a voicemail of mine saying "HOW MANY COFFEES HAVE YOU HAD!" because of the babbling and strangeness I left on the message. The pdoc wrote things down.

And I actually almost started TELLING him things. Holy cow. That just doesn't happen. So I have a funny feeling that I'm on the up. (on the up and up, honest, even, straight forward, best that a bipolar can be).

The appointment ended with a two month script (4 weeks plus a renewal) and an appointment to return mid January. Which comes after Christmas, which is causing me some bit of stress when I let myself think of it because I'm now officially the only breadwinner at home and THAT's just not going to work for long.

So, I'm not depressed. I'm not even mixed.

But I'm kidding myself when I tell myself that all I ever do is bounce from stability to mania or someplace between on the happy side of the rainbow. I just can't admit to feeling not "up". But up I am, I believe. Up I am, green pills and ham. Let's see how long this lasts....let's ride this puppy till she sings (I wrote "till she bleeds" but some of you'd take that the wrong way....c'mon, relax. I'm not going anywhere. Not in this frame of mind).

I should be going to sleep now. Seroquel hasn't kicked in yet, another sign of upward mobility (upward mobility=cash, so I have to think of another phrase).

Rob's calling me now. Poor guy's got a sinus infection. Quite sexy for the job interview set. I guess I'm going to bed now.

Behave kiddies. If you're nice I'll tell you another fairy tale tomorrow.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005

One of the best quotes I've ever read

Best, because it's so near to the truth, so close to the bone that it beats with primitive arterial truth.

"Do you know what it feels like to be crazy, Rusty? Really crazy? To not be able to get any hold of who you are? You never feel safe. I feel like every step I take, the ground is soft. That I'm going to fall through it."

Taken from "Presumed Innocent" by Scott Turow.
Sunday, November 13, 2005

Questions for the Mentally Ill

I got this from Manica. I think I saw it (or something similar) on broke's blog as well. It's not original, believe me, and I've added in these three sentences so no one gets the wrong idea (I might be being paranoid but I don't want anyone upset with me just because I didn't - rightly - attribute the original source).


What is your diagnosis?Bipolar Disorder

When were you diagnosed?September 2003

How long do you think you have suffered mental illness?Since I was a teenager.

What medications are you taking for your illness? Epival (Depakote/valproic acid/same thing) 1000 mg/day (500 mg AM, 500 mg dinner), Seroquel 600 mg (200 mg in AM, 400 mg before bed)

Tell us about an episode.
really serious one where i was hospitalized and finally diagnosed: spent $5000 to reupholster my entire living room (which I had no experience in), ran 3 miles a day, roller bladed, was training to become a volunteer police officer (bench pressing, push ups, chins, etc), crashed, decided I need to cut my left hand off, scared myself silly, went to the ER who kept me there against my will and had to phone Rob to tell him I was in the loony bin and they wouldn't let me go (he had no idea where I was)...that's a basic outline. I know when episodes are starting when I think people are whispering about me and I have to use super human strength not to drive into a bridge abutment, and I'm starting arguments with everyone around me.

Do you feel ashamed of your illness? A lot of the time, yes. But less and less as time goes by. I just wish it would go away and leave me be.

What advice do you have for other sufferers?
Bury your pride and learn to live by a schedule. It helps a lot when you sleep and eat regularly and take the medications at the same time. Since our brains can't manage stability on their own, we have to help it along by imposing a stable time schedule.

What advice do you have for those who don't suffer from your condition?Not everyone with mental illness is dangerous or weird (ok, weird is more likely). But don't start thinking I'm less of a person than you because I'm no better or worse. Just different.

Is there anything you want to say to Tom Cruise?(1) come out of the closet already you little leprachaun (2) keep your opinions to yourself (3) come out of the closet (yes,repetition for emphasis)
Monday, November 07, 2005

A glimpse into my head today

scattered scattered scattered scattered Light BULB scattered scattered scattered

A reprieve

Rob's "special project" has been extended: they want him back for one more week at work. So the axe has yet to fall.

I feel somewhat better, both on this news and after a weekend full of successful hockey. Rob said watching me play Saturday night that it was probably the best game he'd ever seen me play and Sunday night was pretty good as well. I'm getting better as a player and it's such an incredible release for me. Oh yeah, and great sex this weekend too :-) I know, too much information. But ya know what? Life's a bitch, wear a helmet.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005


Thanks everyone for the kind support. That day wasn't a good one at all. There is a highway I take coming home, #410. It ends at another highway, the #401 (my friend Jim reads this and knows me in RL, and will know where these highways are). The 410 splits in two at the top of a very high ramp to go to either 401 east or west. At the juncture of the split is a barrier. A strong, pointed barrier. It took an immense push of will and an incredible internal struggle to turn my car infinitesmally to the right, to go to the 401 west to go home and not drive straight into that barrier. I was quite shaken by the depth of my desire to plough straight into it.

I realised also that I've not been filling up my dosette properly again (the little old lady pill separator thing). I've been missing some of my anti-psychotic Seroquel, which would explain a lot.

But I read something on ombren's blog, while she was filling out the mental health meme, about the shame and the frustration with being mentally ill. I'm paraphrasing but she referred to the "dis-ease" of disease, of being uneasy with the state we find ourselves in once given the label of mentally ill. I don't know that I'll ever get beyond that. Sure I'll have more lucid and productive days, more manic or more confident, more secure or more strong. But there will always be a part of me that will be wondering where I went wrong, what I have done to end up walking the road I do. DO NOT GET ME WRONG. I understand intellectually the process of genetics and the theories of the biochemistry that help explain why I can't always rely on my own sense of reality. But there is always going to be a gap of varying width between my intellectual and my elemental self. And it is the elemental self that will always harbour that insecurity.

Now, all that said, I've had a good few days. But things are looming, things of real solid fact.

Rob's final day at his job was just shy of three weeks ago. But the VP of Operations asked him to stay on and do a special project for a few weeks. He will be done that project either tomorrow or Friday. And then: nothing. He's come so close to two other jobs, to be disappointed. I asked him today after dinner if he had a plan beyond that. He does: he will hit some more employment agencies and then if he has nothing within two weeks (when his last paycheque runs out) he'll go for temp and part time jobs until the big full time one he's looking for comes through.

Christmas is less than 2 months away. Adam needs new running shoes. I haven't had a new winter coat in about 8 years and the pockets are falling off the one I have - the snow will be here before we know it. My licence and my plates are both coming due at my birthday in early December.

I'm afraid. I've been dirt poor before during my first marriage: my father in law had to drop by a case of formula now and again because we didn't have the money to feed our own damned kid. My mother was in tears when I moved back home and she did my laundry (I left with Adam in one arm and a bag of clothes in the other, nothing else). I can remember this quite clearly: she was holding up a pair of my underwear, which were being held together essentially by the elastic. Oh, she said sadly, you were not raised to be this way. You were raised to be better than this, she said, crying.

I'm afraid. I trust Rob. I want to trust him completely. But part of me is in reserve, watching. I've even offered to get a second job. He tersely rejected that idea. Now would be the ideal time to apply, as stores are ramping up for the xmas season. But no.

It's a good thing the meds are working right now. Because that highway divider would look mighty tempting with all this on my mind otherwise. The meds, and the fact that I couldn't leave my son. I need to see him to the end, to adulthood at least, successful and sound. I have to keep that goal in sight because I am afraid that soon it'll be all I have to keep going.

Copyright © 2005 Blondzila (because no one else would own this).

Powered by Blogger

Powered for Blogger by Blogger templates