Punk and Weird

This is one of the glorious excerpts from my fourth grade creative writing journal.  We were given a topic each day to write about and boy oh boy!  There are some HILARIOUS gems in this thing.  My mom recently found a box of my old stuff at the old house and it is very insightful into the person I grew to became.  Haha.

tcbpb (takin' care of bipolar business)

So I've been catching up on season 3 of Homeland and I have to say, Claire Danes does a super realistic portrayal of bipolar mania.  I'm really rooting for the fictional character Carrie to comply and stay on her meds, but then the realistic me knows exactly what she means when she says she 'misses things.' 

Oh, the meds.  So I am trying a new med combo starting tonight, and I'm scared because med changes are AWFUL.  There are withdrawal symptoms, sleepless nights and extreme agitation.  I usually increase therapy appointments and hide out from the world as best I can.  Maybe I just have psychological turmoil from the anticipation of a new side effect or two or three as I have done this routine several times now.  Or more.  I now have resorted to saying a little prayer to the universe when I swallow a new med that *THIS* will be the magic cure with minimal side effects.

I'm trying to use essential oils in conjunction with these changes and continuously with the meds, but I don't know if they really help.  But at this point, I'll try anything.

I just wish the day would come when I wouldn't even have to fuss over this stuff and my life can resume to normal.  Or at least as normal as possible.

Trazadone, Risperdal, Zoloft, Klonopin, Abilify, Lamictal, Geodon, Seroquel, Propanoprol, Ativan, Latuda, Saphris, about three others I can't even remember the names of now, and now back to Trazadone.  Over the course of about 17 years I have been or am on these psych drugs.  Is that my contribution to society?  That I've lived to tell the tale of living on psychiatric medications?  ugh!  I hope there's more to life than all this.

Mental Health Marathon Mania Spree

As this Awareness Month starts to wind down, I hope I can keep on truckin' along and get through this really shitty illness.  It's totally shitty.  I hate it.  I'm reaching out to support groups to try and find some freaky friends.  It's nice to have someone to talk to about all the side effects of these medications.  It's also nice to have someone to laugh with about all the crazy manic moments of our pasts and all those things we saw that weren't really there.  There are loads of people fighting this thing everyday, and I'm determined to connect with them.  I'll continue going dancin' at the club when I can with my fellow maniac friends I'm slowly making on the dancefloor.


I can't predict what the future holds.  I've got this weird sort of intuitive psychic thing at times, but I'm not always in touch with it.  It comes and goes, and it seems to be tied to my 'mania.'  I can't explain it.  And I certainly know now to keep my mouth shut about it in the presence of certain Mental Health Professionals.  The mind is a CRAZY POWERFUL thing, so full of mystery, kinda scary at times yet so full of potential.

 I often joke with my staff that I feel like I hold a sort of honorary degree in social psychology having worked in customer service for over twenty years now.  One time I helped a certain someone with a particular song he was looking for at my old book&musicstore job.  He said to me, with an omniscient sort of incredulous demeanor filled with lots of disbelieving shakes of the head:

"I bet you get all kinds of crazy questions asked of you all the time."

And I was like, yes, my friend, nobody would ever believe me in a million years.  He was a cool dude.  I hope our paths cross again someday down the road.  I think he might 'get' me a little bit more than the Mental Health Professionals might.

Who's A Pill?

I was wildly entertained by assorted books and music today on yet another Polar-Vortex-Shining-Typewriter-Trapped-In-The-House kind of a day.

I drank coffee all morning and afternoon and read the second half of Morrissey's autobiography.  I skimmed a majority of the courtroom dramarama pages, as money-ownership-art topics are far from what I want to read about.  But I absolutely loved his clever word choices and rambling insecurities and OVERSHARING of all the delightfully overbearing personalities who have colored the pages of his life thus far.  Except that ending.  MAN!  Did that FREAK me OUT!

And then I watched some television:

http://youtu.be/kzj_NG90V40

shake your body down to the ground

I try to unwind and decompress when and if at all possible.  Music uplifts, talking to certain close friends provides solace, and creative surges kind of take me to a different place where stress and financial worries don't bog me down. 

I went out dancing last night and slept in late today since I didn't have work to go to.  I made friends with one of the regulars, Ricardo the spiritual-release maniac dancer, and he couldn't be a lovelier person.  He gets off work late, throws his backpack in the corner, and does a unique series of dances which look like intense, rhythmic sun and god salutations.  Eyes closed, concentration thick.  People stare and laugh and gawk at his expressions, but he doesn't care.  He found me on the dance floor and we smiled, introduced ourselves, shook hands and gave each other a hug.  He is giving up dancing for Lent this year, he said, so I may not see him much til after Easter.  As my dancing companion friend said, "I don't know if I can believe in a God who would want Ricardo to give up dancing."

I had to cancel my plans to meet up with an old friend in my hometown tomorrow.  She's teaching one of those essential oils classes which she has trying to get me on board with, but I just don't have the train traveling money nor the beaucoup bucks to spend on herbal plant essence remedies at this time.  She swears it will help me with my anxiety and depression.  I'm willing to try anything at this point, but I've sadly already put myself in small debt trying to figure out a 'cure' already...

2014, a space odd.....oh it's another new year

I'm not going to be like everyone else and make a long sappy list of New Years Resolutions.  But I do have some.  I always have them.  And I always work on them.

Ah, but it's another year in review.  2013.
1.  For the first time ever, I was laid off from a job.  Thankfully things fell into place quickly for me and I didn't even have to go on unemployment.   And I got a nice severance package which allowed me to have a little extra money for a few months.  That was nice.  I probably should have saved it and stashed it, but I ate a few nice meals, went to a few shows, and bought myself some new clothes.  I think that's allowed.
2.  I traveled around Texas with one of my brothers and my mom.  I came home with 20 new CDs because when I'm with my big brother, record stores are our priorities on the road.  Thanks Cactus Records in Houston and Waterloo in Austin.  Music makes me happy.
3.  I turned a part-time sales associate job into a full time Store Manager position in an awesome new neighborhood.  Just completed a hectic holiday season with little disruption.  And the owners gave me some new free clothes to wear.
4.  I started reducing my dosage of Seroquel and was given access to my own files by my psychiatrist.  He has given me the 'bipolar, in FULL REMISSION' status and has approved my slow tapering of all medication.  I'm still working on the dosage lowering, however, and it will probably take all of 2014 to be done.
5.  I kicked myself free of Ativan.  That was insanely hard.  You don't even want to know what that felt like.
6.  I became a member of REI and have made the outdoors my free gym membership.  I bought a book of 60 hikes within 60 miles of Chicago.  Of course my husband will have to drive me to each destination, but I have carefully instilled a Nikki's Urban Hikes training program into my exercise regime.
7.  As a result of number 6, my calves have grown even more Incredible Hulk-like.
8.  I saw The Replacements at Riot Fest.
9.  I started going out dancing late late late nights and early into the morning once a month.
10.  I did all that, but I'm still not one step closer to figuring out the big mystery of my life.

Will 2014 be any different?  Possibly, if I make it so.  How?  I dunno.  But I'm going to try.  First I need to make a pot of coffee and start this new day of this new year right.

Bonne Année, mes amis.

Creepy Captcha

So I was curious about tickets for an upcoming musician's show in a few months and decided to see what seats were available.  When the Captcha test box popped up to determine if I was a computer bot or not, guess what CREEPY words popped up for me to type?

Manslaughter CSOOpera

WTF?  I ain't going to that creepy show now!

Am I paranoid?  Perhaps.  But I have a right to be.  This particular musician has a really fucking creepy little "world" surrounding him.

I am just going to laugh about it for the time being.

one day at a time

As I adjust to new dosages and the elimination of certain medications, I find a bit of fear and anxiety about relapsing again.  I have the care of a regular therapist and have good communication with my new psychiatrist, but when I have those sleepless nights and odd lucid dreams...I feel that sensation of deja-vu all over again.  The minutes and hours when my sleep is disturbed is when the 'sensation' starts all over again.  No sleep = relapse.  Mania.  Psychosis.  Anxiety.  Fear.  And it's damn scary.

I want to participate in life again.  Try another art piece and maybe even try showing it to people again.  Write something and read it aloud to a group of others.  I need the exchange to occur, so that I am reminded that I am no longer alone in this big bad world.  I will get there one day.  When that might be, I have no clue.

I need to find my funny bone again.  I used to be damn funny and was always able to laugh at myself.  Even had the ability to laugh at my mental health journeys.  I would think those things would come back again as I get older and become more comfortable in my own skin again.  But it's another freakin' journey.  Journey after journey after journey.  So many journeys yet why do I still feel like I need another vacation?  Are we there yet?

The bookstore is a good place to work.  I've gathered loyal customers who have become friends.  We talk about books and films and music and all the art that gives us hope and solace and fantastic things to ponder.  And I couldn't ask for better conversations in a day's work.  For that I feel quite lucky.  Certainly there are the politics of a workplace which can become hard to endure on the difficult days, but the good outweigh the bad.  At least for now...

There is also the mess that comes with previous medical leaves and the bosses' lack of understanding of what is entailed in a 'mental health leave.'  But perhaps the more people talk about it and share and listen and understand, the further grasp we gain on what it means to RECOVER. Support is key.  Support all around.  Even at the workplace.

Especially at the workplace.

The season will be changing again soon, and with it, I will see the sun shine again.

Now if only someone had a good joke to share.  I need a good hearty laugh to get goin'....

back from the dead

Wow.  I haven't logged on in almost a year!  I bought one of those daily writing journals to try and habitually write at least a little each day.  But I can assure you there are many many MANY empty pages.  I also came up with the greatest first paragraph of my book I've wanted to write for over ten years now.  But I can't come up with the second paragraph.  Ho-Hum.

The year has been a rather uneventful one.  I'm still taking lots of pills and going to bed early.  I miss the energy I once had.  Seems it all ran out too soon.

I did two cartwheels at work yesterday. 

So I guess that's something...

ain't no cure for the summertime blues

Commute. Work. Commute. Veg out. Sleep.  Do over each day.

This weekend in Chicago hosts a myriad of events: Lollapalooza, various street festivals and parades, concerts, etc.  I shall be working and missing them.  C'est la vie.

Had a great visit with French relatives visiting my city a few weeks ago.  Always a pleasure being a tourist in one's own town.

Have put away the paints until the weather cools down a bit.  Have a hard time regulating the tempurature in my makeshift studio aka the Living Room during these humid months.  But I do plan to pick it back up come autumn.

Have been uninspired to write.  Also blame the humidity.

I could make excuse after excuse but my creative outlets will always slap me on the wrists.  Sometimes a little voice inside of me can really start beating me down to pick up the pen or paintbrush or guitar.  I try to listen to it, really I do.  But you know, those summertime blues.  Working all the time yet no money to take spare time and turn it into adventure.

The hospital and doctor bills have been weighing me down as well.  I have a pile of them sitting on the kitchen table and I pick them up every so often and pay a little on each one.  Major headaches and stress.


This, too, shall pass.  As they say.

Time for a song.

Maybe if I find some spectacular outfit, like, say, a cape, all the blues will go away.

Le Retour

it wasn't as glamourous as i imagined it would be.  my return to work, that is.  i had hoped for a triumphunt trumpet sound as i entered the building and a deluge of happy and promising thoughts from coworkers.

i was absolutely brain-dead today.  it was like walking in a haze, and not some majestic purple haze or anything of that nature.  it was more like a dulling, zombified glossiness of everything i came in contact with.  some coworkers offered support and praise, while others asked a million questions of 'Where Have You Been.'  I am always so careful to answer this question, while at the same time I find I want to educate people.

It's about building that filter.  There are those I can speak frankly too about goin' away to the crazy house and they can banter a few lines all their own back to me.  Then there are those who are still left in the dark.  The ones who ask question upon question and still not pick up on one's discomfort in reply.  But I shall manage this, just as I have managed two other hospitalizations and a total of FOUR 'breaks' now.

A break occurs in a strange fashion, almost like a panic attack but more intense than one could imagine.  it's as if life turns into Film Noir.  at least in my own personal experiences.  trust shifts, strangers are suspicious of me and I of them.

But this, too, shall pass.

And how could I possibly survive without these gems:

awakenings

in my overwhelmingly creative thought processes lately when i write in my journal or paint canvas after canvas turquoise and splashes of word-related things, i pray for a day when it will flow from me the way it is supposed to.

the way God intended it.  the quintessential story that i want to write.  i want to write a Jane Eyre, or a To Kill a Mockingbird, or perhaps a small poignant fable.  i would even write a children's book if i felt so inspired....  i know i have it in me, but....

.....WHY WON'T IT COME TO ME!?!?!

perhaps it's the pressure of having to move and create at a rapid pace so it can go through the big machine gun hands of 'getting it out there' and perhaps it just completely overwhelms and stresses me out.   i have tried many different approaches and discussed many things with people in my research i.e. living-my-life.  when i explained to an old coworker friend (whom i no longer talk to) about my plans to take my time and gain enough life knowledge to WRITE THAT BOOK THAT I HAVE IN ME, she said something that doesn't leave my mind and plagues me.  It was a big mumbo jumbo escapading conversation about living for the NOW and answering that call NOW.  Life is too short to wait for a perfect moment.

And now I suffer from intense creative anxiety.

I am working on some short stories in the meantime to at least just practice the craft.  But I am not pleased at all with them.

Awaking from a big long dream can be quite torturous.

And the face of Mr. Rochester to my Jane Eyre is so clouded over with all the other bullshit that clanks from behind his high-speed out-of-control rabid horse-drawn carriage.  Seriously, my muse or destiny or love or WHATEVER THE HELL IT IS is just like Pigpen from Peanuts.

Maybe one day he'll clean up to be Charlie Brown.

My god, life is so strange.

Comedic Revival 2

Boy, I am really falling down on the job with this one. (See previous posting for the challenge to myself.) The public is wearing me out, man! I could re-inact the phone call I took from a man on his phone driving while accessing Google maps with his screaming 2-year-old in the back seat. "I'm sorry, sir, but we do not offer babysitting services at our bookstore location."

But I have a real hard time finding humor in parents-who-don't-really-wanna-be-parents.

Or I could detail the near-brawl that occured on my bus ride home tonight, when an elderly man got on and starting yelling at a guy speaking Spanish on his cell phone. But that wasn't really funny.

Except for the Latina sister.

"Sit your ass down! What are you doing arguing with an 80-year-old Archie Bunker? You ain't gonna get nothin done with this!"

Over shouting matches picking up steam, her voice echoed through, "You don't have to argue with a bigot. You don't have to argue with a bigot, He is Archie Bunker. He is Archie Bunker," over and over again, she kept repeating, as I positioned my bag onto my right side so as to cushion myself should a punch get thrown my way.

It was getting pretty heated for about five minutes there.

Even NOT funnier is that this is about the third time in a one year period on this bus route that I have witnessed these occurences.

So what can I say, humor is a gift. It's a very particular gift. Especially humor writing. I used to be really good at it. Then all this 'big bad life' stuff got in me way and hardened me into serious intensity when I expressively write. I suppose if I didn't do it here, talk the serious smack I mean, then my silly jokester persona with my co-workers would be sacrificed for, you know, something a lil too heavy for the workplace.

It's good to have a variety about oneself, but what happens when one flavor out-spices the rest? It's like that chicken dish I whipped up last month when the French girl was here....Poulet a trop d'epices.

After I finish this awesome ghostly book (an advance copy of Audrey Niffenegger's new otherwordly book due out in September), I am going to throw myself back into some David Sedaris. And I also picked up the literary essay "Everything I Needed to Know About Being A Girl I Learned From Judy Blume." My husband laughed at me last year for grabbing all my old Judy Blume books at my parents' place in Indiana and doing a Judy Blume reading-binge one summer....

Comedic Revival

One who knows life is full of pain, heartache, dolrums, fatigue and dead-ends has every capability of climbing to the funny side of life again. This is necessity. I will eventually revisit the other themes I've brought up in my brainstorms here i.e. visit from the French Cousine, Beautiful Girls/Boys of the Lost Time in a Mental Health Facility, 2005 Escapade to France, various short stories, and other shenanigans of life as they happen to me.

But to have these in any kind of organized artistic platform would be anything but me. As mentioned in the disclaimer, I shall discuss the "contemporary musing on people, the universe and all observations in between."

I operate in brainstorm-format. I sometime plop my head on that pillow at the end of each day and my brain will simply not turn off. This is both a blessing and a curse. I know millions around the world could easily commiserate on that notion. The trick is to join these commiserations into a manmade centrifugal force. And what a powerful centrifugal force humor and laughter is to a group of human beings.

In light of John Hughes' passing, and that unrivaled, intelligent comedy his work left behind, I want to revisit my own comedic energy. Many of us who have lived a little life, experienced a few experiences, traveled to different lands, fallen in and out of love, danced a polka and fallen down flat, stared up at the stars in wonderment...well, there is no better medicine than laughter.

For this week, August 9-15, 2009 I am going to challenge myself to write one comedic anecdote to have taken place on each day. Today is Sunday, our first day of the week, and I am busy in the air-conditioning in our first 97 degree day of the summer pulling together items for a friend's garage sale. Not sure what I will come up with today. But it is only just before 2pm, and I've got the rest of the day ahead of me.

Laughter Centre, activate!