Somehow, I have found the motivation to relocate my blog to a better neighbourhood. It can be found here. It is still under construction, but if you can ignore the mess, you are welcome to stop by any time for a visit.
Yay for Wordpress!
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Dear Blogger
Dear Blogger:
I've been thinking lately about how shitty the internet has become. I've been online for about 9 years now, and some of the things I used to love have slowly had the life choked out of them by gigantic takeovers...mostly by Google. Google owns you, and that makes me sad.
I have been a Blogger user for most of that time, and it used to be awesome. Remember the days when you could find a million user created templates over at Blog Skins? Yes, you still offer the option to revert back to Classic Templates (which I still do from time to time), but they don't support all the widgets that I have come to know and love. Its like you got me hooked on Meth, but didn't tell me that my teeth were going to fall out. Remember when you could sign up for a Blogger account and it was only for a Blogger account? You could be anonymous so much easier before Google took over and forced everyone to link it up with a Google account that links up to YouTube and god knows what else. Everywhere I turn, Google is there. Why do they have so much power? Why didn't you show some indication of integrity and just say NO to Google? You were fine on your own.
Oh, Blogger. We need to talk about AdSense. I hate Adsense. Ever try to read a blog with those fucking ads before, in between, and after every post plus in the sidebar? I no longer do. I have unfollowed blogs because of this, and I don't even bother to try and read them, because they are unreadable. If someone likes the idea of income generating ads offered by Google or Amazon, then I think its great that the option is there. But too many people show zero common sense and overpower their website with ads. It sucks for a blog lover like me. This also makes me sad.
Another thing I've noticed happening a lot lately is that you have been shutting down music related blogs without warning to users who have been following DRMC regulations. Seriously, Blogger: WTF? Shut down the blogs that are not following the rules, not the little people who actually have shown an internet moral standing...clearly, this is something you are having problems with. Maybe you need to create a new business model. From now on, every decision that you make should be the opposite of what you actually think the right thing is.
I'm thinking Word Press is going to be the way to go. The only reason I'm still here is because formatting WP is such a mystery to me. Maybe after this you will exile me, and then I'll actually have to learn WP. I don't think thats a bad thing. In fact, it may be the nicest thing you could possibly do for me.
In closing, fuck you , Blogger. You suck. Your ease of use has lulled too many people into accepting much less than what you used to offer, and I'm not going to be falling for your lies veiled under convenience any more.
I've been thinking lately about how shitty the internet has become. I've been online for about 9 years now, and some of the things I used to love have slowly had the life choked out of them by gigantic takeovers...mostly by Google. Google owns you, and that makes me sad.
I have been a Blogger user for most of that time, and it used to be awesome. Remember the days when you could find a million user created templates over at Blog Skins? Yes, you still offer the option to revert back to Classic Templates (which I still do from time to time), but they don't support all the widgets that I have come to know and love. Its like you got me hooked on Meth, but didn't tell me that my teeth were going to fall out. Remember when you could sign up for a Blogger account and it was only for a Blogger account? You could be anonymous so much easier before Google took over and forced everyone to link it up with a Google account that links up to YouTube and god knows what else. Everywhere I turn, Google is there. Why do they have so much power? Why didn't you show some indication of integrity and just say NO to Google? You were fine on your own.
Oh, Blogger. We need to talk about AdSense. I hate Adsense. Ever try to read a blog with those fucking ads before, in between, and after every post plus in the sidebar? I no longer do. I have unfollowed blogs because of this, and I don't even bother to try and read them, because they are unreadable. If someone likes the idea of income generating ads offered by Google or Amazon, then I think its great that the option is there. But too many people show zero common sense and overpower their website with ads. It sucks for a blog lover like me. This also makes me sad.
Another thing I've noticed happening a lot lately is that you have been shutting down music related blogs without warning to users who have been following DRMC regulations. Seriously, Blogger: WTF? Shut down the blogs that are not following the rules, not the little people who actually have shown an internet moral standing...clearly, this is something you are having problems with. Maybe you need to create a new business model. From now on, every decision that you make should be the opposite of what you actually think the right thing is.
I'm thinking Word Press is going to be the way to go. The only reason I'm still here is because formatting WP is such a mystery to me. Maybe after this you will exile me, and then I'll actually have to learn WP. I don't think thats a bad thing. In fact, it may be the nicest thing you could possibly do for me.
In closing, fuck you , Blogger. You suck. Your ease of use has lulled too many people into accepting much less than what you used to offer, and I'm not going to be falling for your lies veiled under convenience any more.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Random Thoughts At 2am. Again.
So much has changed from my last post....and so much hasn't changed from my last post....
Employment Insurance has finally decided to send us Biff's back pay from February, so we can at least get caught up. Woohoo! It only took 4 months! Why is it that when the government owes you money, it gets tangled up in red tape every fucking time and is such a hassle, yet if you owe them they expect it immediately? So help me, next time I owe on my income tax, even if its $10.00 I am so going to jerk them around.
I'm still not at my best, but have had two doses of my newly prescribed meds. I expect to be having side effects shortly, but I'm taking only a half dose for a bit until my system adjusts. I've also managed to pick up a terribly annoying head cold and have been taking Benadryl (Benylin? I can't remember) for 2 days to keep my sinuses from draining on undesirable surfaces (like this laptop). My lungs are hurting enough to worry me about the prospect of developing bronchitis. Just what I need next. Anyway, between the new drugs, the cold meds, and the last of my weed, I've been pretty...detached. Maybe not the best for daily functioning, but temporarily perfect.
We plan to move in about 4 weeks, and have to still scrape up first and last, find a new apartment, and find employment. After the past week(ssssss) of stressing about this fucking E.I. payment and having no money, I have to admit, it feels pretty damn good to just chill my brain out for the long weekend and get prepared to deal with life again on Tuesday.
Almost 2am again...better try to sleep.
Employment Insurance has finally decided to send us Biff's back pay from February, so we can at least get caught up. Woohoo! It only took 4 months! Why is it that when the government owes you money, it gets tangled up in red tape every fucking time and is such a hassle, yet if you owe them they expect it immediately? So help me, next time I owe on my income tax, even if its $10.00 I am so going to jerk them around.
I'm still not at my best, but have had two doses of my newly prescribed meds. I expect to be having side effects shortly, but I'm taking only a half dose for a bit until my system adjusts. I've also managed to pick up a terribly annoying head cold and have been taking Benadryl (Benylin? I can't remember) for 2 days to keep my sinuses from draining on undesirable surfaces (like this laptop). My lungs are hurting enough to worry me about the prospect of developing bronchitis. Just what I need next. Anyway, between the new drugs, the cold meds, and the last of my weed, I've been pretty...detached. Maybe not the best for daily functioning, but temporarily perfect.
We plan to move in about 4 weeks, and have to still scrape up first and last, find a new apartment, and find employment. After the past week(ssssss) of stressing about this fucking E.I. payment and having no money, I have to admit, it feels pretty damn good to just chill my brain out for the long weekend and get prepared to deal with life again on Tuesday.
Almost 2am again...better try to sleep.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Money = Options
Tuesday. I finally made it into the E.R today, and got a prescription for medication. Hopefully it works. I have to wait two days until I can use some of the Child Tax Credit to pay for it...which is the only income I will see in May.
Our financial situation has become fucking ridiculous. Biff is fighting with the government for his Employment Insurance that they owe from February until now, and the only reason it hasn't happened is due to a previous employer deliberately withholding a critical document. I've been unemployed for one month and three weeks, and despite having over 100 resumes out there, I've had no leads. There is a very slim possibility that EI will pay up, and we will know this on Friday. Maybe. This is the trillionth date they have given for their stupid decision, but they keep dragging it out longer, as though we are totally cool with not having any fucking money. Biff thinks that some asshat in the EI office will decide "NO!" on a complete whim, just because they are having a shitty day. After dong everything we were supposed to be doing, its so disheartening to watch our lives go down the toilet. We have no support, no money, nowhere to go and the eviction notice should be coming right around the same time as the red final notice from hydro...which is any day now.
Barring a miracle (I'm not holding my breath, since I am well aware of how much god hates me), we will have to go on welfare, which is totally new experience for us both. I suppose I can look at the bright side, being that we'll have enough to eat and we can all see the dentist and keep a roof over us for a little while longer.
I find that the general outcome of attempting to manoeuvrer the health care system when you are sick is the same as dealing with the government when you are poor. Kind of like removing your own bra using only your "stupid" hand.
What is so frustrating for me is that this is such a small amount of money required. We live simply and don't shop. We wear our tiny wardrobes of clothing until they are full of holes. We go without constantly. We don't need money for new unnecessary possessions, but it buys options and opens doors that seem nailed shut when you are experiencing the unrelenting burden of poverty. Or so we have noticed.
I am so overwhelmed with it all. I hope this new medication helps.
Our financial situation has become fucking ridiculous. Biff is fighting with the government for his Employment Insurance that they owe from February until now, and the only reason it hasn't happened is due to a previous employer deliberately withholding a critical document. I've been unemployed for one month and three weeks, and despite having over 100 resumes out there, I've had no leads. There is a very slim possibility that EI will pay up, and we will know this on Friday. Maybe. This is the trillionth date they have given for their stupid decision, but they keep dragging it out longer, as though we are totally cool with not having any fucking money. Biff thinks that some asshat in the EI office will decide "NO!" on a complete whim, just because they are having a shitty day. After dong everything we were supposed to be doing, its so disheartening to watch our lives go down the toilet. We have no support, no money, nowhere to go and the eviction notice should be coming right around the same time as the red final notice from hydro...which is any day now.
Barring a miracle (I'm not holding my breath, since I am well aware of how much god hates me), we will have to go on welfare, which is totally new experience for us both. I suppose I can look at the bright side, being that we'll have enough to eat and we can all see the dentist and keep a roof over us for a little while longer.
I find that the general outcome of attempting to manoeuvrer the health care system when you are sick is the same as dealing with the government when you are poor. Kind of like removing your own bra using only your "stupid" hand.
What is so frustrating for me is that this is such a small amount of money required. We live simply and don't shop. We wear our tiny wardrobes of clothing until they are full of holes. We go without constantly. We don't need money for new unnecessary possessions, but it buys options and opens doors that seem nailed shut when you are experiencing the unrelenting burden of poverty. Or so we have noticed.
I am so overwhelmed with it all. I hope this new medication helps.
Monday, May 17, 2010
My Weekend In Hell
I spent the weekend with my family, and I have to say that when the inevitable process of life is concluded for them, I will breathe the biggest fucking sigh of relief there ever was. Perhaps family is important for people who have had love and support, but I wouldn't know. I am sick of that obligation and I wish it would end. I spend every other weekend at my mothers' house because I live 4 hours away from my son and she is only 10 minutes from my son. I pick him up, leave my daughter with her dad, and spend the weekend at her house. Its nice that she lets us do that, but spending time with mom and sf is torture for me.
I am very different from my mom, and she likes to create drama. She truly believes she has the biggest cross to bear in the world and no one else has any problems. She also "has no time for anything", "has so much work to do" and chain smokes. She is the most stressed out and worryful person I've ever met. My sf is a seriously obese 75 year old with insulin dependant diabetes. He is also on dialysis, had a quadruple bipass last summer, almost had his pancreas explode, has a fake eye, and every last thing wrong could have been prevented through a proper diet. He drowns everything in gravy, eats only high fats and sugars, and is in complete denial about his health issues. His idea of managing his diabetes is to use extra insulin after eating half a box of doughnuts.
Saturday evening involved going for a van ride with my mom, step father, boyfriend and son to a town about 20 km away. We went to a diner that mom and sf frequents and ate burgers that Steve makes really well (or so we were told about 10 times), during which they had to say hi to several other older people who also have made this diner their second home. After dinner, I went outside for a smoke and was forced into conversation with several other old people. I listened to mom talk to some guy who thinks that poor people are garbage, and a weird man who felt it necessary to go on endlessly about the length of my sons' hair.
Finally we got into the van to go. Sf wanted to drive down to the pier, so we went. Biff, my son and myself walked end to end while mom and sf waited in the car to watch the fish jump. Why this had to happen I do not know, but finally it was time to go. On the way out of own, they saw people they knew walking down the street, so we had to drive around the block and park so that we could say hi and have more unnecessary awkward conversing. We drove back the their town, and stopped for milk and cereal. Only my mom went into the store, so we got to listen to sf talk about "Crazy Tony" who brings in the fucking carts. Mom took 20 minutes, because she saw someone she knew in the store and had to talk to them.
This ordeal took hours. Hours of my life I would have wasted, sure, but hours I can never get back. Biff and I are very anti social and have little tolerance for the bullshit games that others feel the need to play, and this is almost unbearable for us. This type of experience happens to us every single fucking time we go there, though, and it never gets any better. The visits only go smoothly if we just agree with everything they say and pretend to be people we are not. My sf is homophobic, racist, and likes to complain about the guy across the street who must be dealing drugs because of the traffic through there...though they also have heavy visitor traffic, but they would never make this connection. I am a pot head, who uses marijuana frequently to help my moods and settle my thoughts. They love to talk about the "crazy" person they know who is Bi Polar and wanted to be a cop but couldn't because of his illness, yet only 2 years ago I sat at their kitchen table and told them that I am Bi Polar and what it meant and how it related to me, but its like it never happened. My best friend had dinner there, and they have known her for years. The are very well aware that she is a lesbian and I have explained to them that this isn't something chose - this is who she is. Still, sf just had to tell her that she would make some guy a really good wife. Sometimes I chew up my tongue and just nod and go along with whatever uneducated garbage they spew. They are opinionated about everything but are frighteningly out of touch with the real world that I live in.
They know so many friends, acquaintances, and relatives its impossible to keep track. If the phone rings they will both run to get the phone and always talk to the person together. I know I can't call my mom without having sf on the other end, too. Sometimes they will thrust the phone at me or Biff and say "Its Vern!" (Or Bob or Horace or Chester- always some old guy we don't know very well) and we'll be forced to exchange lame and stilted words for absolutely no reason.
On Saturday, after going through the ordeal which makes up breakfast and spending time with my son, I laid down to take a little nap. I woke up really groggy, walked through the house, went downstairs and was confronted by 2 barking tiny little dogs, people talking in the furnace room and when I looked into the rec room I saw a little blond girl laying on the floor colouring. Overwhelmed and swearing under my breath, I grabbed a can of coke, went back upstairs, and walked outside to drink it on the deck while I figured out what the fuck was going on. I opened the door and ran smack into a 6 ft. tall mildly retarded man (who was grinning at me in that semi-sweet mildly retarded way) whom I've never seen before in my life, my sf sitting on the deck steps, and my older quadriplegic cousin in his wheelchair. Seriously...you just can't even make this shit up.
I went to the far away corner of the large deck, sat in a chair and had a cancer stick while drinking my coke and feeling really confused. Turns out Quads came to see his wife, who was helping my mom pack things in the furnace room, and the dogs and little girl were hers. The retarded man remains a mystery. According to my sf, he is a thief but doesn't steal from his friends, and he doesn't steal from his dads' friends. I have no clue what this means.
As I mentioned before, they are moving. On Sunday my cousin came to help them clean out the garage. All this moving traffic, and I didn't pack one box. Neither did Biff. But no one asked and the purpose of this visit was to visit my son, so we didn't offer. Biff and I can't help but wonder if they tell people "Cousin took time off from his 4 jobs and drove allll the way down here to help us pack, but they didn't lift one finger...". They don't know the stresses we have been under. They don't know about the significant lack of money, the stresses with my daughter, or my mental health issues. We can't tell them, and I don't really think they care. They also have no clue about how visiting them takes every last bit of energy the two of us has and how their every day way of life threatens both of our already unstable mental status'.
The only good thing about all of this is that both my children will be with their father the next time (in two weeks) to attend a wedding, so it will be four weeks before this happens again. This has been going on every other weekend for the last 3+ years, and I can't stand it anymore.
However, my mom is 70. He is 75. Massive strokes have killed two of her sisters already, and like I said, she is a chain smoking stress case and he has one foot in the grave already. When they pass away, I will pretend that I am sufficiently sad and be the dutiful daughter and see their pre arranged funerals through to the end. In my secret heart of hearts, I will remember the few good times we have shared and be utterly relieved that they are gone.
I can't wait.
I am very different from my mom, and she likes to create drama. She truly believes she has the biggest cross to bear in the world and no one else has any problems. She also "has no time for anything", "has so much work to do" and chain smokes. She is the most stressed out and worryful person I've ever met. My sf is a seriously obese 75 year old with insulin dependant diabetes. He is also on dialysis, had a quadruple bipass last summer, almost had his pancreas explode, has a fake eye, and every last thing wrong could have been prevented through a proper diet. He drowns everything in gravy, eats only high fats and sugars, and is in complete denial about his health issues. His idea of managing his diabetes is to use extra insulin after eating half a box of doughnuts.
Saturday evening involved going for a van ride with my mom, step father, boyfriend and son to a town about 20 km away. We went to a diner that mom and sf frequents and ate burgers that Steve makes really well (or so we were told about 10 times), during which they had to say hi to several other older people who also have made this diner their second home. After dinner, I went outside for a smoke and was forced into conversation with several other old people. I listened to mom talk to some guy who thinks that poor people are garbage, and a weird man who felt it necessary to go on endlessly about the length of my sons' hair.
Finally we got into the van to go. Sf wanted to drive down to the pier, so we went. Biff, my son and myself walked end to end while mom and sf waited in the car to watch the fish jump. Why this had to happen I do not know, but finally it was time to go. On the way out of own, they saw people they knew walking down the street, so we had to drive around the block and park so that we could say hi and have more unnecessary awkward conversing. We drove back the their town, and stopped for milk and cereal. Only my mom went into the store, so we got to listen to sf talk about "Crazy Tony" who brings in the fucking carts. Mom took 20 minutes, because she saw someone she knew in the store and had to talk to them.
This ordeal took hours. Hours of my life I would have wasted, sure, but hours I can never get back. Biff and I are very anti social and have little tolerance for the bullshit games that others feel the need to play, and this is almost unbearable for us. This type of experience happens to us every single fucking time we go there, though, and it never gets any better. The visits only go smoothly if we just agree with everything they say and pretend to be people we are not. My sf is homophobic, racist, and likes to complain about the guy across the street who must be dealing drugs because of the traffic through there...though they also have heavy visitor traffic, but they would never make this connection. I am a pot head, who uses marijuana frequently to help my moods and settle my thoughts. They love to talk about the "crazy" person they know who is Bi Polar and wanted to be a cop but couldn't because of his illness, yet only 2 years ago I sat at their kitchen table and told them that I am Bi Polar and what it meant and how it related to me, but its like it never happened. My best friend had dinner there, and they have known her for years. The are very well aware that she is a lesbian and I have explained to them that this isn't something chose - this is who she is. Still, sf just had to tell her that she would make some guy a really good wife. Sometimes I chew up my tongue and just nod and go along with whatever uneducated garbage they spew. They are opinionated about everything but are frighteningly out of touch with the real world that I live in.
They know so many friends, acquaintances, and relatives its impossible to keep track. If the phone rings they will both run to get the phone and always talk to the person together. I know I can't call my mom without having sf on the other end, too. Sometimes they will thrust the phone at me or Biff and say "Its Vern!" (Or Bob or Horace or Chester- always some old guy we don't know very well) and we'll be forced to exchange lame and stilted words for absolutely no reason.
On Saturday, after going through the ordeal which makes up breakfast and spending time with my son, I laid down to take a little nap. I woke up really groggy, walked through the house, went downstairs and was confronted by 2 barking tiny little dogs, people talking in the furnace room and when I looked into the rec room I saw a little blond girl laying on the floor colouring. Overwhelmed and swearing under my breath, I grabbed a can of coke, went back upstairs, and walked outside to drink it on the deck while I figured out what the fuck was going on. I opened the door and ran smack into a 6 ft. tall mildly retarded man (who was grinning at me in that semi-sweet mildly retarded way) whom I've never seen before in my life, my sf sitting on the deck steps, and my older quadriplegic cousin in his wheelchair. Seriously...you just can't even make this shit up.
I went to the far away corner of the large deck, sat in a chair and had a cancer stick while drinking my coke and feeling really confused. Turns out Quads came to see his wife, who was helping my mom pack things in the furnace room, and the dogs and little girl were hers. The retarded man remains a mystery. According to my sf, he is a thief but doesn't steal from his friends, and he doesn't steal from his dads' friends. I have no clue what this means.
As I mentioned before, they are moving. On Sunday my cousin came to help them clean out the garage. All this moving traffic, and I didn't pack one box. Neither did Biff. But no one asked and the purpose of this visit was to visit my son, so we didn't offer. Biff and I can't help but wonder if they tell people "Cousin took time off from his 4 jobs and drove allll the way down here to help us pack, but they didn't lift one finger...". They don't know the stresses we have been under. They don't know about the significant lack of money, the stresses with my daughter, or my mental health issues. We can't tell them, and I don't really think they care. They also have no clue about how visiting them takes every last bit of energy the two of us has and how their every day way of life threatens both of our already unstable mental status'.
The only good thing about all of this is that both my children will be with their father the next time (in two weeks) to attend a wedding, so it will be four weeks before this happens again. This has been going on every other weekend for the last 3+ years, and I can't stand it anymore.
However, my mom is 70. He is 75. Massive strokes have killed two of her sisters already, and like I said, she is a chain smoking stress case and he has one foot in the grave already. When they pass away, I will pretend that I am sufficiently sad and be the dutiful daughter and see their pre arranged funerals through to the end. In my secret heart of hearts, I will remember the few good times we have shared and be utterly relieved that they are gone.
I can't wait.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Random Thoughts At 2am
Nothing like having no readers (yet) to inspire honest writing. There really is no need for any of this; I can't sleep and am killing time while I wait for the Gravol I took to kick in. Then I'll get to have nowhere enough sleep just in time to travel for 4 hours to see my son who I miss a lot, and put up with my mother and step father for the weekend. Oh joy.
I've always found that writing is a double edged sword for me: it is therapeutic and helps me get my thoughts in order, but it also forces me to see the truth of things that I tend to conveniently ignore the rest of the time. I am better for it in the long run, but I suffer a great deal to do it. This is why I only seem capable of writing regularly when I am at the lowest points in my life, because I have nothing to say when things are tolerable. More times than not, I'll sit at the computer writing away and almost electrocuting myself with my own tears. How spectacularly artsy is that?! All I need is an emo haircut and an ironic t-shirt and I'll be set.
I just can't figure out how to shut my brain off to get enough sleep and this is better. Its funny how my tired mind switches from one thing to the next to the next, unearthing old issues that I thought were dead and buried, when I can't remember things that I've asked someone within 5 minutes. I even start thinking up all these weird senarios that wouldn't happen in a million years and get all upset over it. Stupid fucked up brain.
I have been thinking for over two months now that I need to get some help, but I'm terrified to do it. Despite all I know about Bi Polar-ness and myself, there is still a fairly large part of me that truly believes that if I try extra hard I will get through this darkness and come out on the other side. It has worked that way in the past ocassionally, but I don't think that is going to happen this time. Fuck.
My boyfriend, Biff (thats what I decided to call him here!) is in his own private unemployment hell of fighting for benefits he is entitled to from February until the present, and has his own depressive tendencies to deal with - the last fucking thing he needs is for me to lose my shit, but its happening. Why he is with me and loves me so is beyond my abilities to grasp.
So...my health card expired two years ago, and I need to get a new one. I have no family doctor. I barely know where the hospital is in my city, and the thought of going there, finding where to park, figuring out where to even get the money to park, sitting in a waiting room and then telling some snarky over tired nurse that I need help while I'm bawling like a cranky two year old (I inevitably burst into tears whenever I'm having to relay this shit to a stranger) is making me sick enough right now to make me nauseous.
I have no marijuana. I quit drinking January 1st, 2007 and I wish I was drinking right now. I thought I had that beat, and I did...till now. I would take anything just to dull the edge of this for 5 minutes.
On top of no income, watching the man I love get fucked over by the government, and my inability to deal with being alive, my daughter is now requiring more than I have in me to give. She is not yet in high school, and is exhibiting all the signs of being Bi Polar herself. She was seeing a shrink a year ago when she lived with her father, but her father wouldn't let her be medicated and she refused to go back. She admitted to me that she wants medication...and that she hates her life and wishes she was dead and that she wants to kill herself. I told her that life will get better as she gets older. She knew I was lying. We have been planning on moving this summer so I can attend school and hopefully find work and she is devastated by this. She is moving back in with her dad (her choice completely) so she can avoid making new friends, but she doesn't get along with her step mother and I can't see it being good for her, either. They really gave her a hard time before.
At this point I feel like she is destined to be unhappy regardless of her home situation, though we get along pretty good - better than she does with her dad and herbitch faced succubus stepmother. They have money, a pool, a nice rec room, and her old friends all live close by, and she is adding a lot of unnecessary stress to my life, so I think it might be best if she just goes. She can be unhappy there just as easy as here (but with more attention and unlimited food for her bottomless stomach). I don't know what else to do for her (clearly, as I don't know what to do for me, either). I don't know what to tell her when she tells me that she wishes I didn't care about her because she knows she'll just fuck me over.
I don't know I don't know I don't know.
Anything.
I should sleep. I feel all groggy now, and I need my rest so I can pretend nothing is wrong for the next two days.
I've always found that writing is a double edged sword for me: it is therapeutic and helps me get my thoughts in order, but it also forces me to see the truth of things that I tend to conveniently ignore the rest of the time. I am better for it in the long run, but I suffer a great deal to do it. This is why I only seem capable of writing regularly when I am at the lowest points in my life, because I have nothing to say when things are tolerable. More times than not, I'll sit at the computer writing away and almost electrocuting myself with my own tears. How spectacularly artsy is that?! All I need is an emo haircut and an ironic t-shirt and I'll be set.
I just can't figure out how to shut my brain off to get enough sleep and this is better. Its funny how my tired mind switches from one thing to the next to the next, unearthing old issues that I thought were dead and buried, when I can't remember things that I've asked someone within 5 minutes. I even start thinking up all these weird senarios that wouldn't happen in a million years and get all upset over it. Stupid fucked up brain.
I have been thinking for over two months now that I need to get some help, but I'm terrified to do it. Despite all I know about Bi Polar-ness and myself, there is still a fairly large part of me that truly believes that if I try extra hard I will get through this darkness and come out on the other side. It has worked that way in the past ocassionally, but I don't think that is going to happen this time. Fuck.
My boyfriend, Biff (thats what I decided to call him here!) is in his own private unemployment hell of fighting for benefits he is entitled to from February until the present, and has his own depressive tendencies to deal with - the last fucking thing he needs is for me to lose my shit, but its happening. Why he is with me and loves me so is beyond my abilities to grasp.
So...my health card expired two years ago, and I need to get a new one. I have no family doctor. I barely know where the hospital is in my city, and the thought of going there, finding where to park, figuring out where to even get the money to park, sitting in a waiting room and then telling some snarky over tired nurse that I need help while I'm bawling like a cranky two year old (I inevitably burst into tears whenever I'm having to relay this shit to a stranger) is making me sick enough right now to make me nauseous.
I have no marijuana. I quit drinking January 1st, 2007 and I wish I was drinking right now. I thought I had that beat, and I did...till now. I would take anything just to dull the edge of this for 5 minutes.
On top of no income, watching the man I love get fucked over by the government, and my inability to deal with being alive, my daughter is now requiring more than I have in me to give. She is not yet in high school, and is exhibiting all the signs of being Bi Polar herself. She was seeing a shrink a year ago when she lived with her father, but her father wouldn't let her be medicated and she refused to go back. She admitted to me that she wants medication...and that she hates her life and wishes she was dead and that she wants to kill herself. I told her that life will get better as she gets older. She knew I was lying. We have been planning on moving this summer so I can attend school and hopefully find work and she is devastated by this. She is moving back in with her dad (her choice completely) so she can avoid making new friends, but she doesn't get along with her step mother and I can't see it being good for her, either. They really gave her a hard time before.
At this point I feel like she is destined to be unhappy regardless of her home situation, though we get along pretty good - better than she does with her dad and her
I don't know I don't know I don't know.
Anything.
I should sleep. I feel all groggy now, and I need my rest so I can pretend nothing is wrong for the next two days.
Being Bi Polar Sucks
Apparently, 20% of people diagnosed as being depressed are actually Bi Polar. I am no exception to this rule, having been misdiagnosed for many years. I have been on many different medications over the years for depression, and although many of these drugs were helpful at the beginning, they all ceased to be effective, at which point I usually gave up treatment and medications altogether...until eventually I became so focused on suicide that I had no other option than to seek help.
The last time this happened to me was about 2.5 years ago. I saw a very good doctor in an emergency room who immediately picked up on it and sent me to see a psychiatrist who finally diagnosed me as being a sufferer of Bi Polar Depression. I was stunned. I spent so many years in deep depressions that were attributed to, well, plain old depression. He put me on a medication I had never been on before and it worked very very well.
Sadly, due to the complications of our health care system, I have no doctor. no family doctor, no psychiatrist, no medication. Now I am forced to self medicate (when I can afford to do so), which seems to help, but it is not as good as the legally prescribed medication was. Not to mention how difficult it can be to get when you are in a city where you don't know anybody. Ideally, I would self medicate during more difficult phases and be on the prescribed meds all the time.
Most of the time I hold up well. The problem is that I appear to be functional, so no one ever cuts me any slack when I am having a hard time. Sometimes I wish I was a more typical Bi Polar sufferer! My moods range only from mildly depressed to suicidal. After paying attention to these things for so long, I can identify when I am in a "manic" phase, but it is really mild: I tend to talk too much and I start having hopes for the future. Then it goes away, leaving me depressed again. I wish I could have a real manic phase! I get all the low moods: depression, despair, self loathing, hopelessness, fatigue, lethargy, guilt, and memory problems, yet none of the benefits like being energetic and temporarily euphoric. Sometimes I feel ripped off.
Sometimes I wish I knew how to let it show how dysfunctional I really am. For example: I would show up to my terrible job to be abused by customers for 12 hours and be taken advantage of by my boss way beyond the limits of acceptability day after day after day, working in a mental fog and doing it all by rote even when anyone else in my shoes would be next door to institutionalized. When I tried to talk to the boss about it, she told me that people who are mentally ill are weak, and I wasn't like that - I was a diligent worker and her "right hand man" - I was just exaggerating. End of conversation. Just because I am intelligent, hard working and very good at my job did not mean that I wasn't having significant issues, but she was unable to see that. I was able to hang on to my multitudes of job duties by my fingernails, and when I reached the point that I had zero internal resources left to cope and had to quit, I was (and still am) treated like I made some kind of irrational decision. Like I decided on a whim to send us spiralling into financial ruin.
So here I am: a very capable Administrative Assistant/Receptionist with stellar references, a strong work history and a desire to better myself all set to go on fucking welfare next week. And I can't even tell anyone. Thanks to this recession I can't find a job I'm qualified for, and I am over qualified for everything else and no one will hire me. I'll have to come up with some lie to tell people when they ask about where the hell the money is coming from because they don't understand anything about my type of disease and will just say it is because I am lazy or unmotivated. "Why did you quit a perfectly good job? You should go and beg them for you job back" is what my mother said.
I really don't know what to do about any of this.
If I was totally healthy, none of this would be an issue. If I was sicker, I could get help. But I'm me, and that isn't enough. I have lofty aspirations that I am committed to achieving, but I wonder if its unrealistic to expect anything from myself. Or maybe I'm just being crazy.
The last time this happened to me was about 2.5 years ago. I saw a very good doctor in an emergency room who immediately picked up on it and sent me to see a psychiatrist who finally diagnosed me as being a sufferer of Bi Polar Depression. I was stunned. I spent so many years in deep depressions that were attributed to, well, plain old depression. He put me on a medication I had never been on before and it worked very very well.
Sadly, due to the complications of our health care system, I have no doctor. no family doctor, no psychiatrist, no medication. Now I am forced to self medicate (when I can afford to do so), which seems to help, but it is not as good as the legally prescribed medication was. Not to mention how difficult it can be to get when you are in a city where you don't know anybody. Ideally, I would self medicate during more difficult phases and be on the prescribed meds all the time.
Most of the time I hold up well. The problem is that I appear to be functional, so no one ever cuts me any slack when I am having a hard time. Sometimes I wish I was a more typical Bi Polar sufferer! My moods range only from mildly depressed to suicidal. After paying attention to these things for so long, I can identify when I am in a "manic" phase, but it is really mild: I tend to talk too much and I start having hopes for the future. Then it goes away, leaving me depressed again. I wish I could have a real manic phase! I get all the low moods: depression, despair, self loathing, hopelessness, fatigue, lethargy, guilt, and memory problems, yet none of the benefits like being energetic and temporarily euphoric. Sometimes I feel ripped off.
Sometimes I wish I knew how to let it show how dysfunctional I really am. For example: I would show up to my terrible job to be abused by customers for 12 hours and be taken advantage of by my boss way beyond the limits of acceptability day after day after day, working in a mental fog and doing it all by rote even when anyone else in my shoes would be next door to institutionalized. When I tried to talk to the boss about it, she told me that people who are mentally ill are weak, and I wasn't like that - I was a diligent worker and her "right hand man" - I was just exaggerating. End of conversation. Just because I am intelligent, hard working and very good at my job did not mean that I wasn't having significant issues, but she was unable to see that. I was able to hang on to my multitudes of job duties by my fingernails, and when I reached the point that I had zero internal resources left to cope and had to quit, I was (and still am) treated like I made some kind of irrational decision. Like I decided on a whim to send us spiralling into financial ruin.
So here I am: a very capable Administrative Assistant/Receptionist with stellar references, a strong work history and a desire to better myself all set to go on fucking welfare next week. And I can't even tell anyone. Thanks to this recession I can't find a job I'm qualified for, and I am over qualified for everything else and no one will hire me. I'll have to come up with some lie to tell people when they ask about where the hell the money is coming from because they don't understand anything about my type of disease and will just say it is because I am lazy or unmotivated. "Why did you quit a perfectly good job? You should go and beg them for you job back" is what my mother said.
I really don't know what to do about any of this.
If I was totally healthy, none of this would be an issue. If I was sicker, I could get help. But I'm me, and that isn't enough. I have lofty aspirations that I am committed to achieving, but I wonder if its unrealistic to expect anything from myself. Or maybe I'm just being crazy.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Dreams
I don't remember exactly when I stopped having dreams for myself, but its been a really long time. I think it started slipping away in my early teens, and vanished completely by the time I got married. I always felt that goals and ambitions were something I didn't deserve to have, and that dreams were things that were for other people: people who were not as damaged as me, for people who deserved them.
Trying to change this type of thinking is a full time job, and although I'm not where I would like to be yet, I am so much closer than I've ever been. Its has been one hell of a transformation, actually. I always felt that nothing matters and that we are all ending up in the dirt regardless of what we do or don't accomplish, so why even bother. Now I think that we are all going to die and nothing we do will matter anyway, so why not at least try? This has been a huge step for me. Quite possibly it has been the most important realization of my life thus far.
But its hard. Its so hard. For the first time in my life, I am in a healthy relationship with someone who is unbelievably supportive, but he is the exception and not the rule. Everyone else in my life has all sorts of labels for me: crazy being the most popular choice, closely followed by irrational, rebellious, and irresponsible. The reasoning for this is something I plan to explore more thoughouly in the future, but at this point its easier to just let it go and chalk it up to their ignorance of my past and lack of education regarding mental illness.
After a great deal of thought, I decided (correction: WE decided) to follow the dreams I once had and to attempt to make them a reality. And once again, we have no support. In fact, we have had people try and talk us out of these goals. Apparently, the only things we are supposed to want are to be trapped in dead end jobs and to aquire possessions to keep us happy while we work these pointless jobs to pay for them. Telling people that we don't give a shit about money and that we want to do things with our lives that serve a purpose, give us fulfillment, and can leave this shitty world better than it was before is not a good idea.
So I'm telling you, mynon existent readers. I hope that in sharing the trials and tribulations of this journey will help keep me motivated to succeed. I've never succeeded at anything in my life, and I'm so tired of it. Opportunities never present themselves to me, I have had every possible disadvantage in life, and I refuse to play the stupid games that so many people play to get ahead. Its been tough.
Its time to change things, and the only one who can do that for me is me. Not very reassuring when you are a fuck up at life, but its a start.
Trying to change this type of thinking is a full time job, and although I'm not where I would like to be yet, I am so much closer than I've ever been. Its has been one hell of a transformation, actually. I always felt that nothing matters and that we are all ending up in the dirt regardless of what we do or don't accomplish, so why even bother. Now I think that we are all going to die and nothing we do will matter anyway, so why not at least try? This has been a huge step for me. Quite possibly it has been the most important realization of my life thus far.
But its hard. Its so hard. For the first time in my life, I am in a healthy relationship with someone who is unbelievably supportive, but he is the exception and not the rule. Everyone else in my life has all sorts of labels for me: crazy being the most popular choice, closely followed by irrational, rebellious, and irresponsible. The reasoning for this is something I plan to explore more thoughouly in the future, but at this point its easier to just let it go and chalk it up to their ignorance of my past and lack of education regarding mental illness.
After a great deal of thought, I decided (correction: WE decided) to follow the dreams I once had and to attempt to make them a reality. And once again, we have no support. In fact, we have had people try and talk us out of these goals. Apparently, the only things we are supposed to want are to be trapped in dead end jobs and to aquire possessions to keep us happy while we work these pointless jobs to pay for them. Telling people that we don't give a shit about money and that we want to do things with our lives that serve a purpose, give us fulfillment, and can leave this shitty world better than it was before is not a good idea.
So I'm telling you, my
Its time to change things, and the only one who can do that for me is me. Not very reassuring when you are a fuck up at life, but its a start.
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