Quiet Rain

It has been a while since I have been able to access the darker areas of my mind. The places that many people don't have or don't allow themselves to find.
I like the rain. It brings with it a cloudy calm and heavy drops outside my window. I stare out and think about how nice it is to sit in the dark. Just the movement of my fingers reminding me their is life. I stop for a second imagining blood red wine and little pink pills on the table next to me. Yes, I still wish for oblivion at times. More often lately then I should. I dont want to die. I just wish to be uninvolved. I'm in my own world and I wish people would leave me here.
The rain is slowing down.

Nightmare WC172

This is the last one, I promise myself as I open the door. A bathtub sits in the corner filled with lye and an unfortunate soul almost dissolved entirely. I rub my watering eyes…all of my other senses are immune to the stench. Chains descend from ceiling holding an unrecognizable shape... it had only been six days since the last time. Dropping the spent body to the floor I roll up the tarp.
How easily they are charmed online, so naive and willing. Trusting my flattering words they deliver themselves into my sadistic hands.
With each one, I take my time. My beauties beg and promise anything as terror takes hold. My refection in their eyes is such a thrill. Knowing with every scream they are completely mine. Only with the jagged edge of a saw will they think of nothing else. I am everything. I am their God!
The lovely one on the floor is stirring. My pulse quickens as I drag her inside. I know she won't be the last.

Getting High on Air

Alexander has this behavior that absolutely drives me crazy! He Breathes in and out really fast until he hyperventilates and sees stars. Sometimes he falls down and sometimes he just makes strange faces... but he does it like 25 times an hour. It basically seems like all the time! He has also recently broken his volume dial.. every thing is a yell... happy, sad or any kind of communication is done in a yell. Mostly so loud that in public he makes people jump if they are close by. Its really bad in the middle of the night when he gets in bed with me and starts up. Let me tell you even someone that sleeps soundly is awakened by these noises. I beg him to stop, but it only causes more. Then he gets up and turns on all the lights in the house. At 3 am this is not fun. But there is no way to stop this behavior. Believe me when I say we have tried everything! Having an 8 yr old that doesnt sleep through the night is a real pain in the ass.. So enough complaining. Its labor day weekend and hubby has 4 days off.. We painted Alexanders room a green color.. it said it was grass cloth green, but looks more like asparagus soup green to me. Its not bad though. I'm thinking of putting leaves around the ceiling and making it like the Room in Where The Wild Things Are... That very night in Max's room a forest grew and grew until the ceiling hung with vines and the walls became the world all around. It should be really cool! Well thats about all

Quality Time

Im so frustrated. I havent gotten to watch a movie or do anything with my husband when the kids go to bed in forever. Im always to tired and so I go to bed when they do. Last night I told him if I fall asleep to wake me up. He didnt. I would really like to spend some time with him, but it doesnt seem mutual. If he doesnt want to spend time with me then I can spend time doing what I enjoy instead of just sitting around. God thats irritating.
My last post was ridiculous.. I almost think I was manic the way I was obsessing over the topic...
and most of it didnt make any sense.

Galbledy-Goop

Ok.. I just had the most fabulous talk over coffee with my mother...
I love thinking and opening up your mind and trying to understand new ideas. I'm not saying they havent been thought of before or mulled over during late nights of alcoholic brillance, but still they are new to me and I love to disprove anything. Everything can be disproved you jsut need enough information to do it. Eventually someone comes along that is smarter and shows you the missing link.
So we were talking about prime numbers and their importance in the universe. Where do they end and begin, because "in my mind" (now this is where the stupid italian goes to france, she either has to find someone that speeks both languages and can translate or learn the language. I chose to draw pictures until they teach me the words) once you find that end and beginning you would then have a pattern no matter what that pattern is.
So I was driving on the way home, using .01% of my brain to steer the car and the other 4.9% to explore this mathimatical idea of primes. Here is what I got excited over.. hahha
If there is no relationship between prime numbers and no clear pattern then it is the language of Chaos because there is no ryhme nor reason to their existance except they are based on nothing but themselves... (Now Im sure a million people have thought of this). A metophor for this would be languages. Words in modern language are built off of words from previous languages. There is no ryhyme or reason why these new made up words arnt based in another language. Or at least part of the word is derived from another language. Such are prime numbers... why are there numbers that arent made up of other numbers. How can things be more complex without being based on something simpler.. evolving in a way. 2 evolves to 4 and then becomes 6 and so on. 3 and two are base one 1 which would be the single molecule that relates 2 and 3. They do have something in common.. All prime numbers evolved from 1. 2, 3, 5, 7 evolved from one. What makes a single celled creature become more? How does it decide what it will be? and when does it start to evolve. Can we predict the end of evolution? When will things cease to change. Once every cell has mutated to its fullest ability what will happen? These are all questions that are related to finding a formula for Prime Numbers. Once the evolution of that new cell begins it can then become more complex such as 3. 1 becomes 3, 6, 9 and so on. Ever complex number is based on a prime number. 1 is the building block of evolution and everyother prime is another spin off from one. Each new prime number is an entirely new entity and until that time it does not exist nothing else could determain that this number or entity was possible by taking anything but the first cell of evolution. Why would their be a pattern to creation. To know that pattern you would have to know what formed 1. What made the first thing. The first thing is the beginning of the universe. People speculate the size of the universe. Some people think that the universe goes on forever, and others believe that it folds in on itself creating a loop. That the end is the beginning. Therefore in the end you would always start with 1. The one constant that we can relate to everything in our demention is that it exists. It takes up time no matter how short or long. If we were ever to find a pattern in the occurance of prime numbers then they would cease to be prime because in order to be prime they can't exist anywhere else. When there is a pattern there is repition of some kind, and there would cease to be another prime number

I am a Free Woman

I am a Free Woman!!!!
I made it through the entire summer and the children are back in school! Now all I have to do is make it through the birthdays in September and I am home free! Wooo hoo!
This week is my relaxation week.. Do nothing! Today I plan on watching two girlie movies while the boys are at school and pampering myself.
I have so many plans for this school year: Take advantage of my gym membership, Get creative, join an art group that meets on Wednesdays from 9 till 3, therapy with a wonderful woman who looks like a hippy and really seems to be in tune with what she does (we are going to work on relaxation techniques) Alexanders speech and communication board, being part of his school almost like a room mother and planning special activities for the class. I am sure there is more. Im quite stoked about it!
I have really been doing some interesting entries in my Guerrilla Journal. Working on really covering the pages and trying different techniques that I have read about. My camera battery died so I havent been able to take some pictures to up-load.
My head dr gave me prescriptions for 3 months. That means I am doing really well. I am determined for it to stay that way!
I absolutely love reading the artistic blogs by the multi media artists. Wonderful and Positive!

Appointments & Guilt

I havent written anything in awhile so I felt like I needed to sit down and put some thoughts on "paper". Actually I havent been doing much of anything. I did clean the house yesterday. I try to get that done every monday because the weekends tend to make the house look like the tasmanian devil came through. Creatively I have let myself slip.
This week is very busy with Alexanders appointments. One everyday this week starting with today, Speech and Ot. He sreams the entire time he is in the back and most of the other parents coming in make comments along these lines, "sounds like they are killing a child back there." I smile and tell them its my son to make sure that there are no derogatory remarks that follow. I dont care if they say something when I cant hear it. I just dont want to be privy them. I was called into the back by the speech therapist. She is using a picture communication system with him and if he has any hope of being able to communicate with him he needs the same system at home. I've known this for a while and the guilt of not making it happen is huge. Ill I have to do is go around and make pictures of everything in his life. Sounds simple enough. In fact the creative person in me should relish such a project. I don't. It seems so daunting. They also want me to take Brynmor out of school to bring him to speech and I have to say up front .. that's not happening. No no no No!
After speech we went to Toys R Us. Osric purchased a power miner lego with his allowance (I got suckered into paying the tax). I bought Alexander a Mr. Potato Head. I think we can do some great activities with him. Not to mention its always fun to have his arm sticking out of his ear and his hat in his mouth! Then off to Sams for Pizza. Alexander was "all done" as soon as we got there. We did manage to get him to eat some of his pizza but he really wasn't interested and Osric and I ended up having to devour ours on the fly. He screamed all the way home because we didn't go to the "ta-da" which means book store.
My head has been in a state of confusion. I try to focus on one thing and it jumps to another. Never landing on anything long enough to complete it. I cant read. I read the same paragraph over and over trying to absorb it and just end up getting frustrated. Normally this means that there is something wrong with the mood stabilizer.
When Alexanders helper gets here I hope to do something productive. I'm at a loss for what I could accomplish even though the list is long.

Excited and Inspired

I am so excited! I bought a new book about extreme journaling online and it is coming today! Yehhhh! I just finished reading one called Journal Revolution. It is interesting to see someone else's style and know that yours is completely different. Obviously there is no bad journaling. Capturing life in the moment, but there is a difference between journaling and scrapbooking. This book tried to blur the lines and it felt like they lost a lot of emotion in the process. I did learn some really cool techniques though! Photo booth pictures created with regular cameras, Now this was cool! They also suggested taking your camera everywhere. Something that I used to do but have long since replaced it with to do lists and money. I want to get back to finding entertainment within myself instead of using cash. Everyday moments that inspire me. When I look for them I see them in so many places. Architecture of different houses is really grabbing me right now. The houses in downtown are so wonderful. Built with charm and character. Anything built before 1950. My house is functional. Meets the needs I have. Open I can see the children in every direction. Perfect for this moment in my life.. but it doesn't speak to me. Trying to make it more of a representation of me.
Going downtown allows me to dream.

Madness takes Shape

I really love this journal entry. I had a lot of pent up anger and anxiety and I just let it flow onto the page. The day had been especially long with the children and I needed to escape. This is the first time I have used this method to release myself. It was wonderful! The red and yellow discribe the burning feeling in my chest and the duct tape is so perfect. It repersents the feeling of being bound. The black lines are trapping the madness in the book. I let it go and emerged from my personal hell. A fresh soul ~ purged!

Room Without A View

Eight pills in the morning, three pills at night and still I'm on the edge of a cliff. I drive down Scenic highway and think how easy it would be to just fly through the bushes and into the air off the cliff.. suspended in time until I either crash into the bay or on the jagged rocks below. This is a thought that has plagued me for some time. It was the idea that came to mind a year ago. So easy to just not make the turn. It's a long way down.
I'm sitting here at the computer my head in my hands wondering why I have to feel such overwhelming hurt. Ten Pills and I am a basket case. The psychiatrist never called my husband back.
I'm still able to take care of the kids for the most part. The house is a disaster because I have been spending the time cleaning out all of the nooks and crannies. I hate clutter. I hate nick knacks and things that aren't in a place for a reason. I've been throwing everything in the garage. At this point we can barely walk through there. I honestly don't even care what is out there. Sell it throw it away, but get it the fuck out of here! I feel like if i can rid the house of unnecessary items it will clear my mind of chaos.
I enjoyed my time with my mother yesterday. She was actually refreshing. I talked to her about the Dog and why it bothered me. She understood finally and told me she would never let anyone bring over an animal that terrorized him. So we just closed the door to the room and he couldn't stare under the bed at them.
Alexander's helper and I talked about using the extra hours that we have for him, so that we don't lose them. There could always be a time in the future when we need all 36 hours a week.
I keep thinking about the next house we are going to build and at the moment we are stuck in this one. Because of the housing market the damn thing has depreciated 40k since we bought it two yrs ago. Very frustrating considering there are so many things I would change. My husband refuses to spend any money creating a studio in the backyard for me. I do have a room in the house, but it is so dark in there. One window and the sun never hits it. Still I do have the room. I'm actually quite sure we could build something that could be moved to our next house, as long as it isn't built on a concrete foundation. I want windows and windows.
WJC is offering a few art classes that I would really enjoy this fall. Photography, Sewing and a collage class that I am interested in just to meet other like minded people in the area. I would also like to take a psychology class. A bit of an odd combination, but I have so much to offer in the mental health field and the only way to share it is a degree in social work, or a masters in Psychology. I think the only aspect about psychology that would be new would be the physiology of the diseases. Studying the physical mind. I'm not sure they do to much of this either.
Dreams, ideas and goals that keep me going. Keep me focused that there is another side to life. To be able to share with people who are in pain the aspect of art and the therapy it provides. A positive outlet that so many people need. Something I was actually thinking about the other day is one of the biggest problems for people with mental illness is cutting. Hurting themselves to feel that they are alive. I thought of an activity that would deter that need. Permanent markers to draw and write the way you are feeling, but instead of on paper using your skin as a pallet. Express the feelings in a physical way. Deface your body allowing yourself to write whatever you are feeling. I don't know if this would work, but if you can't wash it right off it is there when you get that feeling again. humm.. the idea needs work, but I have many ideas that I could use in a mental institution setting that would be cathartic. I have theses ideas because I have been there. Art Therapy!!!

Unfounded Anger

I want to cry but there are no tears. I am hurting inside. I want to disappear.

The helper comes, but she lets Alexander do things that upset me. She wont take him to the book store and Im not sure why.. its in her job discription. She is supposed to do everything. Personal care, playtime, and outings. Why the hell does she think she comes.... to sit around and then talk to me about what is going on in her business. I dont think so. But how can you be rude to the person that is watching your kid. Not a smart thing to do.

On top of that my mother is going to take Osric bowling, but then she asked if she could bring her dog. Wth is that about. I get time to myself, but I have to watch her dog. The stupid dog terrorizes my cats. Its very uncool. I know if I brought a great dane to her house that chased her dog all over the place and made him upset she would discourage it. But she will bring the dog and I will try not to act pissed.

My husband called the damn Psychiatrist to tell him I am feeling bad.. so what does the lady do.. she says he has an open appointment at 1:30. What is the point in calling him if I am just told to come in. It doesnt make any sense. Can he not do anything over the phone. I swear they dont help. So I cant make it cause I have to take Alexander to speech

Guerrilla Journaling

In the trenches... My mind is overflowing with thoughts of how to take myself to the next level of self-awareness. Colors flashing in my mind: full bodied red, extreme pink, luscious green, lazy blue all flowing onto my pallet of meditative brilliance. Bumpy paint chips as the base, tearing and adhering an envelope sent from an old friend, the page from a trashy novel, paint, paint pens, glue and stencils fly around the pages taking the form of an intimate moment of time. And then the words, pen endlessly dancing across the collage of life filling in the gaps. My future, dreams of things to come, pain from what has occurred and the poignant now. Words that can not be discerned once they are on the page. Thoughts that I don't share with the world covered by creativity. A private sanctuary where I escape to purge my mind of everything negative, explore the future in detail with lists and images and to make sense of the here and now. Lightening the load that I carry through the peaks and valleys. Filling myself with positivity that only comes from understanding the world around me. The how and whys of life. Finding meaning in the stuff that gets my hands dirty. Recognizing how important the little things are. A safe place where I can do no wrong. This is guerrilla journaling.

Word of the Day ~ July 23, 2009

Pother (noun) - 1. A state of nervous activity; a fuss. 2. To make confused; trouble; worry. 3. To be overly concerned with trifles; fuss.

And We're Off...

Its 6am. We've been up since 4:30. He is crying because I wont put a different movie in the dvd. He has gotten really bad about wanting to change his movies every 2 to 3 mins. I have to put my foot down and he has to get his feelings hurt to understand. Warm coffee in my hands with 5 splenda's and two creams. It's a very large cup that says, "Dad-- the local branch of the money tree," I love it! I'm not supposed to indulge in caffeine. I swear all of the good things are bad for you! I'm not going to give up coffee unless it kills me. It does make my heart race and sometimes causes panic attacks, but other then those two things and bad breath, its a gift from the gods!
My house looks like the carnival came to visit. Popcorn everywhere and stuff thrown about like we've been on the highlander. The ride that spins around really fast throwing you to one side of the car and then going backwards throwing you to the other side. You always lose something on those rides, scarf, shoe, hat, or worse. The worse was cleaned up immediately, but the other things are waiting until right before we have house guests.
We have a long day today. That always frightens me and makes me ill at ease. Alexander's helper is not coming this afternoon. We have a speech evaluation and I have to pick up some head meds. That means going to the store with the maniac. It could be an uneventful trip, but most likely we will have a bit of yelling, stomping and if we are lucky he might even throw a fit on the floor. He isn't a brat. He just doesn't understand anything like we do. I'm not sure he understands everything we say. Such as; you have that CD in the car, or that book at home. Stand up Alexander! Holding his hand, head forward with a smile on my face as he distracts every patron in the store. What's interesting is that people think he is just a regular child throwing a fit. I don't think it looks like anything a regular child would do. Especially when Osric is standing there the pentacle of well behaved children and Alexander is screaming on the floor. I must say does it look like you should come up to me and give me parenting advice? Most of the time I take it well. Say he is Autistic and overstimulated. They say, "I'm so sorry," head down tail between their legs. But then there are other times when I just can't take it. Ive been pushed as far as I can go. I'm frustrated with the situation and the people staring are easy targets. "What the hell are you looking at? Haven't you ever seen an Autistic child before?" when I say that it just makes me feel worse and the people don't learn anymore compassion because they have just been chastised and insulted. That is definitely not the way to make people more compassionate or aware of Autism. They make t-shirts that say wonderful things: "If you think my hands are full, you should see my heart." "What, Is my autism showing." "I have autism, Whats your excuse?" "I don't need parenting advice unless you have a child with autism." and so many more that are great. They even have cards you can hand out to people that are staring or confronting you. Integration for special needs kids is so important. Its their world to. They just don't understand all of it.
It's time for me to clean the child's room, 6:30 am and my day is in full swing.

Doldrums

I feel like shit this morning. I want to cry. My chest is tight. I want to go to my room, close the curtains and crawl back into bed. I want to be in the dark. Quiet and alone and not responsible for anyone. I hate this pendulum. Swinging from one side to the other. Feeling crazy all of the time. Knowing people think I'm crazy. Wanting more from life and knowing there may never come a time when I can have it. I'm not sure where I am. What I can do to get past this. Leaving the house could help.
**********************************
It didn't help. I took Alexander to Books-a-million and Sam's for pizza and I feel even worse. That feeling of tired helplessness. I don't understand the rapid cycling. Why go from manic to depressed in a matter of hours. How does that happen. Chemicals in your brain? Why do I understand what is going on. Wouldn't it be better if I was oblivious. Not able to comprehend what is going on? Ignorance is bliss is it not. At least when i became cognoscente again I would have no memory of this emotional destruction. The question then is. Would I be gone forever. Lost in my own mind.
Alexanders helper comes at one today. Its noon. Osric is at camp. I will sleep for an hour see if that helps. Maybe I will wake up in better sorts.
I hate cooking dinner. I hate eating dinner. I hate having designated times to eat. With a family there is no choice though. I feed them too many sandwiches and crappy fast food as it is. Even when I cook I feel like a failure. I don't cook veggies, no one eats them. They don't like salad either and I have lost interest in it myself. I would never make meat if I could get away with it. Then I am told I don't buy enough groceries. That there is nothing good in the house to eat. When I ask what I need to buy. There is no answer. Seriously! We have chips, cookies, tuna fish, meat in the freezer, rice, pasta and couscous. Sometimes we run out of something, but its not like we can't run to the store and pick it up. We have a grocery store less than 5 minutes away. Doesn't he know how bad it makes me feel when he says "I don't know what you've been doing with your money, but it sure isn't buying groceries." Or he says, "When are you going shopping we have nothing in the house." When I suggest that he take the money and grocery shop so there will be specific things in the house. He doesn't want to. I tell him how bad it makes me feel. He apologizes and then does it again the next week. For awhile I was spending $325 on groceries a week just so I didn't have to hear it. Does that make sense at all? That's $1400 on food a month. Most people spend $25 a person per week. That comes to $400 a month for a family of 4. It makes me sick.
Don't get me wrong... I know how wonderful my husband is. I know he puts up with a banshee. That he is understanding and compassionate. He has stood by me when no other man would have. I am so blessed. He just forgets how badly little thing can mess me up.
I woke up in the middle of the night last week having a panic attack. Alexander had gotten me up and it just triggered something. I couldn't calm down. It felt like the world was closing in on me and I couldn't stop it. Everything was wrong. I was shaking, my breathing was shallow and rapid. He got Alexander back in bed and came back. He rubbed my back and stroked my head until I felt better. He understood.
So here I am. Being absolutely ridiculous about stuff that really isn't that important. Letting the guilt saturate me when all it does is make me so tired. I need to crawl into bed. My eyes are droopy. I must wait until Alexanders helper gets here. I always feel bad when I go off to bed in the middle of the day. The doctor says I shouldn't feel bad. That I am doing everything I am supposed to do. Its not hurting anything. It just seems so lazy. There is one of the major problems with depression. From the outside looking in. It looks like the person is just a lazy no good slob of a person, laundry piles up, the house is a wreak, there is no dinner on the table, and I'm still in pajamas at 4 in the afternoon. People don't even understand once they find out you are Bipolar. It doesn't register. They say, "Get your mind off of your troubles. Don't just lay there and wallow get up and move. Take a walk, mop the floor.. blah blah blah." They don't understand that its overwhelming. It feels like a mountain that is the size of Everest.

I Didn't Sign Up For This

I never realized there would be a point at which you can get used to poop. The repugnant smell and the grewling task of removing it from porus surfaces just seems impossible to embrace. Ive been wrong about so many things in this life. So many times I have been forced to deal with things that I didnt sign up for. There should be a natural law against ones ability to produce such messes, and yet there isnt! Stain and Odor remover, dishrags and carpet cleaners are a part of my everyday life and not because I get paid to clean.

Word of the Day ~ July 20, 2009

Pastiche (noun) - A hodgepodge; an incongruous combination of different styles and ingredients.

Head Doctor

I'm not sure if I am manic or just feeling good? Its always so worrisome to feel this way. I start enjoying life. Being happy about what is going on. I want to think it is going to last. I am needing less sleep though and I am pretty obsessed with being creative. I jump from writing to painting, journaling and thinking about all the other things that I could jump into. I lie awake at night thinking about all of the projects that I want to. I think about my cottage and the idea of going back to school to get my masters in Psychology. I have ideas about the grand future that is ahead if I can just stick to my plans. If I don't fall back into the doldrums of depression. Its scary. Or I could go full blown manic. I get irritable and start hating everyone around me. Noises get to loud and lights get to bright and I retreat to a dark corner my anxiety becomes overwhelming and I cant venture out of the house. I cant communicate with anyone. I lose touch with the world with my friends and family. They think that I am being selfish and that I don't want to talk to them... I think of everyone often, but the idea of having to engage in social activities scares the hell out of me.
My head Dr. appointment is today. Ive got to tell him Ive changed the dose on my Lexapro without consulting with him. This is what doctors call non compliance and it drives them crazy. They think you should check with them on everything. They are truly idiots. They don't know any more than I do about what the med will do to me. They are only guessing except they have the degree to back it up. Well Ive got the illness and the brain it is attached to. I know when something is working. When the anxiety lets up and when I feeling a bit normal. The more SSRI I take the better I feel. So much better that I start cleaning the house. The laundry gets done. I leave the house. Then I start to shop. Reasonably at first. Next I'm obsessing about buying books or art supplies. I get coupons and have to use them. $100 at Michael's, $150 on clothes, $80 on books. I have to start dipping into the checking account because I am exceeding my allotted weekly "allowance". I can't stop. I think of other things I need. I have to have.
Right now I am not quite at that point. I can still control myself. I have obsessive thoughts but still have a grip on myself. I know what I am doing. Reality hasn't completely altered. I did lay in bed last night until midnight. The less sleep I get the more likely I am to go manic. But this feels so good. The staying up feels good... the longer I stay up the more energy I have. The more I am able to accomplish. Thoughts going. I am so creative, so brilliant. Everyone loves me. I am the life of the party. Writing it makes it sound so ridiculous.
But what do I tell the Dr. Do I tell him I'm feeling good. Will he let me keep taking my extra Lexapro? I worry.
Control is so important. Knowing your limitations. But what happens when you start to go overboard. Thinking you are amazing. That you can do anything. Getting up in the middle of the night to paint, to journal, to write.
I cut my hair again. I was so frustrated and felt so bad. I was standing in front of the mirror and I looked at the summer growth from last year. I haven't been out in the sun, so it was dark from the winter growth. I brought in my scissors. Looked at where the two colors met and started snipping. Taking off about 10 inches at a time. Again it made me feel better, lighter, happier. I cut and cut until I had taken all of the really blond hair off. I put it in a gallon bag and it filled it up. I couldn't throw it away. Is the same as cutting. As watching the blood spill out of my body I am altering myself in a fit of anger and it is relieving the feeling. This is bad! Very Bad. I don't have much hair left so what will I do next. Pull a Britney Spears and shave it bald? Piercing body parts or my face. Or something as extreme as using my exacto knife to relieve the pressure in my chest that is from uncontrollable sadness, anger or anxiety. Hopefully I wont become that blind to my illness. Irrational. I worry. I wonder how I will know I am getting that crazy.
I sit and write and think and write. I don't know where I am in my head. What do I tell the doctor? Its important that I share this before I make a big mistake.

My Party

"Hey do you have a sec?"
"I would like to invite you to my pity party."
"I am being serious."
"You would like to know what you should bring? How about baggage from the love of your life that dumped you, or the weight of your parents ruining your life, or maybe something that just eats you up inside everyday.
"Oh come on now you've got to come up with something worse than that!"
"Yes it will be fun. There will be streamers and balloons. Hell we can even play pin the tale on the jackass, and of course I'll have snacks."
"Absolutely, those little pigs in a blanket. Just show up and wallow in your shortcomings and the awful things that life has thrown at you. Hey, one other thing, bring something you can burn."
"No you can't burn your ex-husband, but maybe you still have something of his? Bring something you want to let go of.
"Yes I know how dangerous fires can be, but you can brave the danger for one evening, for me. Anyway, when you throw your thing in the fire and you will be free from the magic it has over you."
"So what if I read this in 'Witchcraft for Dummies' its a legitimate book. Remember I saw you reading.. well anyway we both know what you were reading. So you'll come?
"Oh, Its on Saturday."
"Yes I know that is my birthday. We are killing two birds with one stone."
"Maybe killing wasn't the right word to use, but you know what I mean. Just show up at six."
"Okay, I look forward to seeing you ."
"Fruitloop?! I told you to stop calling me that."
"I love you too."
"Bye"
Oh fuck this shit, who the hell am I kidding. A Pity Party. That is for people who don't really have problems. People with choices. For me...Give me a bottle of cheap wine and a few xanax that will make it all better! Its the only thing that takes away the pain, anxiety, the impending doom. Wait, I'm not allowed to take xanax or indulge in adult beverages.
I wallow. Soaking myself in the horror of my life. The endless supply of bodily fluids. Constant screaming that reaches up to my skull and shakes my brain. Crying, whining, pulling, smacking. Cleaning Cleaning Cleaning. Going out in public and having people stare in annoyance. This is my whole life "people" fucking get over it. Who are they kidding "integration". The general population believes in infanticide they just don't admit it to themselves or at least to others. In their world all imperfections can be eliminated. Their motto, "Survival of the fittest." Screw you, you overweight, undereducated, opinionated pig. I live it. I am the beginning and the end. The rest of my life will be dictated through the irrational stances of politicians who pick side just so they can get into office. Cure? Not in our lifetime. There is too much money to be made in patching the problem. Fixing it would be less profitable. Do you know how many people would be out of business, doctors, pharmaceutical companies, therapists, government agency's. Money is power. The people with the money have the power. The people with the power elect more people to make them money. No way someone is going to fuck with the hand that feeds him.
I had dreams and plans. What about them? I may be filled with hate and loathing, but it cant diminish how much I love. him. I will give everything up for him. I don't have to like it and I might fight to still live a dream. I can have pity parties that involve wallowing in the pig sty of life. But in the end, he will come to me and I will look into his deep blue eyes and see his unconditional love he holds inside, his trust. That sparkle of innocence that I will never allow to be taken away from him. He belongs to me and regardless of the way things turn out my real goal in life is to never let him down!

Sterile Reality

"Where am I, Dr. Peabody?"
"You mean you don't know?" His soft voice trying to calm the panic inside of me.
My eyes dart around the room. The white sterile walls; I vaguely remember being hurried into a room and my husband was there. They made me get undressed and wrap this odd piece of clothing around my body.
My eyes start to tear up. I look back at Mr. Peabody, "Have I been here before?" my voice quivers.
"You are on the 3rd floor of Wonderland Hospital. You can't keep doing this Alice. You're going to kill yourself sooner rather than later."
"Isn't that the point."
My psychiatrist stared at me with a look of horror. He had been my doctor for five years now and it wasn't until recently that I became unstable.
"What day is it?"
"It's September 15, 2008. You were out for two days this time."
This is the fourth time he has met me at the hospital. Apparently its one time too many because I hear him telling me that he is turning me over to another doctor. He feels like I do not respect him anymore and therefor I have stopped trusting him as a doctor. He sounds hurt. "I thought we had a better dr./patient relationship Alice. I wish you would have told me when you started to feel like you needed to take matters into your own hands."
"Dr. Peabody, I'm so tired of trying this medicine and that medicine. I just want something to work. I want to be able to go through an entire day without feeling like something horrible is going to happen. I'm in a constant state of impending doom. Its exhausting! I'm just so tired."

Sunday

Pulled Through

Mark Twain

Desolate Outcry

“Depression”

Desperation is pulling me into despair
My lungs feel as though all the air is leaving them
I am in Pain
My head is hurting for no reason
Grasping at ideas I pull at the air
Gasping for a breath
My heart is contracting ~ aching, tearing apart
My brain is begging to be full of life… And yet
I scream at thoughts running through but not stopping long enough to take hold
This is Depression
Positive thinking is a joke at this moment
Give me music, dancing or happy thoughts
I can not move to react to any
And so I write
Desperate for these words to pull me out
Fill me back up
Bring me back.



“The Shell”

My Head in the Thunder Clouds
Lightening hit’s the Weather Vane of my brain
Short Circuiting the Normal Thoughts
Depression like Rain floods Through
Drawing me into an Empty Shell of Existence
No flowering Creation
Sunny laughter
Just a land Barron and Saturated with Sadness
I sit Alone rocking and stare into the nothing
just wishing
A Penny for your Thoughts
The Lighting cuts through my Heart Breaking with self pity
Thunder in the distance Reminds me the Rain is never far away.

Obscure Moments

Fingernails black with dirt I have finally pulled myself out of the grave after 3months. The grave I promptly dug on January 3rd

At West Florida Community Care Center
Oh No... the Devil, Cheshire cat and his Pom Pom girls.... the thousand cries of men from hell. Chains, straps, needles with thorzine, and drool in too many patients to help! So you close your eyes, and you eat the flat meat of the victim that had no relatives.

The Devil’s Cheerleaders (Sunday April 6th)
Three monstrous heads bob in front of me shaking their black and white pom poms in my face again. It’s the "Treatment Team" and the Devils Cheerleaders are ready for another face off chanting tenebrous cheers. The Cheshire cat smiles from his perch in the tree. His Name is Dr. C

Out of the Asylum (Monday April 7th)
I am home for the second night in almost 3 months of being cared for by people that really didn’t care. I feel awful and I want to go back. I know that this feeling is supposed to pass. Everyone feels strange when they first come out of the looney bin.

Walking a neverending tightrope of barbed wire.

To be free … Not afraid of the unknown
Ties that don’t bind… Allow you to Roam
For something that is set free and comes back
is truly meant to be

In the Beginning

It’s not as if I was suddenly suicidal or sick It happened over a longtime. Like walking a never ending tightrope of barbed wire my mind was metaphysically cut and bleeding from trying to live a life I couldn’t keep up with.
The first thoughts of suicide emerged when I was selling highline cars. I was in charge of 100k Mercedes and BMW’s. I had to know everything about them from the way that they drove down to what the torque and horsepower was on each model. I loved the job! Especially the thrill of the test drive. Taking the person out in the car and giving the roller coaster effect. Having their stomach come up into their throat. Acceleration like they had never felt before, cornering at high speeds then showing them that the car can stop on a dime. It was thrilling for me and them of course.
But the job was so high pressure on me to make the sales; I had a quota to make, and our economy was going into a recession. I had been promised a job in finance. However; I hadn’t been hitting my sales numbers, and when the position came open they put an older salesman in the position. I was devastated. At that point I lost it. I felt like a complete failure. I hadn’t been pulling my weight with the bills at home because I hadn’t been making the money that I had previously been making. I had expected that to change when I took on the finance position but now that I knew I wasn’t getting that I felt like all was lost.
I started thinking of ways I could make my death look like an accident so that my family could collect my life insurance money. There was one thing I kept thinking over and over. There was a bridge that I thought I could drive over and if I didn’t get out of the car it would look like I passed out and drowned after the accident. I would close my eyes and imagine the force of the accident catapulting me into the water. Hearing the splash as I hit the salty liquid, the truck bouncing on the surface at first before it started to sink and then the water around my ankles at first then slowly engulfing my body until the bubbles escape my lungs and I need to breath. Then thinking I must stay below the surface in the truck as it sinks further and further. It would have to have been at night when no one else was around to play the hero. Everything seemed great about that plan except how to get over the wall of the bridge. I had a truck, but there was a chance it might not go over the side. Every plan that I had was flawed.
I spent so much time at work. Most of the time I worked sixty-five to seventy hours a week and had been doing that for two and a half years. I figured if I wasn’t going to get anywhere for working my ass off then I should reassess my goals in life. I was starting to really break down. My psychiatrist knew that the high pressure atmosphere was what I thrived on and he didn’t want to see me quit, but I was so burned from the loss of the finance position that I couldn’t go on anymore. I was spending a lot of time in the bathroom at work, and taking a lot of Xanax trying to calm my anxiety, but it was seeping through no matter what I tried. I took my 2 week paid vacation to spend time with the family and see if I wanted to do something else. I walked in and resigned the day after the end of my vacation. There was no way I could spend another day in that place.

Word of the Day ~ July 11, 2009

Brain Bleach (noun)- modern slang for something one might use to erase a particularly nasty image or memory.

Liquid Life

Liquid Charcoal tastes sickeningly sweet.
When you overdose on pills they make you drink it. You don’t have a choice. The choice they do give you is whether you will corporate and take it on your own drinking the thick gritty black liquid through a straw or if they find that you resist or refuse to drink it they strap you down and shove a large tube down your esophagus down your nose into your stomach and force the charcoal down. This method makes it hard to swallow and leaves you feeling sore for days after the procedure. Because I had heard of this I opted to make it easier on everyone and to go ahead and attempt to drink the putrid sweet liquid on my own.
My nurse held a tube of what looked like an over sized family tube of toothpaste in her hand and she squeezed the first cup-full out and handed it too me. Being an avid drinker in my youth I was determined to drink this horrible concoction that was supposed to save my life with out gagging.
I put the straw to my mouth and began to drink it as if it was a horrible mixed drink. The first taste of the sweet grit hit my mouth and I swallowed gulping faster I knew I had to get it down. The taste is so powerful it is beyond words. Filling my mouth over and over it was impossible to “slam” it back. I could feel my stomach filling up. Finally the first cup was empty and I looked up at the nurse who just smiled at me. Obviously the first cup is the easiest. My lips were beginning to be stained the black of the charcoal and I could just imagine what the inside of my mouth looked like. The nurse squeezed out another cup-full and I closed my eyes as I held the straw once again to my lips. This time it wasn’t going to be easy. By the end of the second cup I was gagging. Although I have an amazing sold hold on my gag reflex this liquid charcoal was getting the better of me. Never in my life had something so sweet tasted so repulsive. My entire mouth was dyed black.
“Only a little more. ” The nurse sympathized this time as she squeezed out the finally bit of charcoal into the cup.
Holding up the last forth of a cup she said, “It’s really important that you drink all of this.” I could tell she was just touting the line, so I took the cup from her this final time. I had earned this fate when I dumped a half empty bottle of fast acting super strength Tylenol into my hand and consumed about fifty pills in one swallow. A very effective death sentence for my liver and me if I didn’t reverse the effects of the drug fast. I took a deep breath and gagged as I drank the last bit of liquid charcoal. Then came the bad news.
“Honey, I know that was bad, but this is nothing to the stuff you are going to have to start taking.” at that the nurse smiled at me, turned and left the room with a nice little swagger of her hips.
Nothing we do comes without a price And this idiotic yet every effective attempt at Suicide. The payback was just beginning.
I say idiotic because every self respective bipolar person knows that Tylenol is Not the way to go! Why you may think to yourself. Let me tell you this.. Just so no one else make my mistake! Acetaminophen is the active ingredient in over the counter Tylenol and it is extremely toxic to the liver in large quantities, therefore very effective in killing your liver cells. No one can live without a liver. It can take up to 2 days for your liver to completely cease functioning and your body to start suffering the effects. Then you can go as long as a week where you suffer without your liver detoxifying your blood and you die. So, were you to actually follow through with your suicide in this manner. you would be in excruciating pain one can not even begin to imagine. But back to me…. I am not willing to die in pain! So I thought for a second afterward and said to my husband, “I just took lots of Tylenol. You can either write me a note and I will go to the emergency room or go to bed.” I was not in my right frame of mind hoping he would go to bed and I could pillage our medicine cabinet that had everything from prescription sleeping pills to Xanax, my anti- anxiety medicine all of which would have made a beautiful and calm night-time Suicide success! Most people who commit suicide are not in their right mind, and as you can see. I was not in mine. Asking my husband??? So of course as soon as I told him I had swallowed pills he wanted me to vomit them up only to find out from the poison control hotline that you only vomit up ten percent of your stomach contents and the only rectification was a trip to the hospital… He reluctantly wrote the note and I reluctantly accepted it looking longingly at the medicine cabinet as I walked out the front door to drive myself to the emergency room. This was my first trip into Hell!

When the Doorbell Rings

Yesterday morning at 3:56 am I woke up to someone ringing my doorbell. Someone comes every morning to help me with my autistic son, Alexander. The only problem here is that she comes at 6:15 am, however she rings the doorbell the exact same way. Rings once and then waits a minute and rings it again.
Yall I completely FREAKED out. I jumped out of bed and looked for the nearest weapon ... bedside lamp... haha like that would save me and the boys. As yall probably know my husband lives out of town on the week days, so we were alone. I grabbed my phone and called him (like he could do anything 160 miles away). I told him how freaked out I was and he proceeded to tell me it was just a dream... bad words ensue..lol He said... Well, you did just change your meds... and wellbutrin can make you have very vivid dreams.
At this point I was shaking all over with fear. I was sure at any moment someone was going to start breaking the glass or kicking the door down. I started thinking horror movie things.. Scary Movie things... some one walking around the house looking for the best way to get in. Someone with their head pressed up against a window holding a butcher knife... you get my drift. I was terrified.
I crepted around the house turning on every light outside and in. When I came around the corner and looked towrds the front door my guard cat was sitting in front of it... ears perked up and staring at the door... More Bad words!!! At that point I totally lost it....Dream my butt!!
I proceeded to think even more outlandish things about the doorbell ringing.. Yes yall would think I had lost it at this point. I have heard that bipolar people have very vivid imaginations, or a sixth sense. So Im thinking.. omg which one is it.. am I just working myself up.. or do I just KNOW that someone is out there right now.
Now here is the kicker!!!!!! Ready! I had left the key Alexander's helper uses UNDER THE FRONT DOOR MATT! AHHHHH.
I called my father-in-law frantic! They live less than a mile away and there was nooo way I was going to walk outside and get that key, but at the same time there was no way in hades that I was going to leave it out there for the psycho killer to get. I tell him he has to come over and get the key for me. My mother-in-law says she will come over. Apparently I was way more freaked out then anyone else... Hello people ... your doorbell doesnt ring at 4am unless someone wants you to let them in so they can kill you. Doesnt anyone understand this besides me.
All of this happened with in a 5 min period of time.. and yet it felt like an eternity!
She came over and got the key and proceeded to explain all of the reasons that someone could have have accidentaly rang my doorbell that early in the morning. Someone of course coming to the wrong house. I've got a great mother-in-law.. She stayed with me until Alexander's helper got here and the sun was up (And... at least there were no dishes in the sink and the bathroom was clean!!! Thank god for small miracles...lol).
So of course I am sitting here writing this and in the end nothing happend.
I'm mulling this over in my head: 1. Was the doorbell ringing just a dream (remember the cat)?? 2. Was it some killer ringing the doorbell in hopes that a unsuspecting and half asleep woman would come to the door and open it? OR 3. Was it an accident, someone at the wrong house?
Crazy In The Head..

Word of the Day ~ July 10, 2009

Solicitude (noun)- an attitude expressing excessive attentiveness, anxiety or concern.

Q. Occupation? A. Insanity

My husband is the most annoying person on the face of this earth. It doesn't matter what kind of day I am having or what I am trying to do. It is never important enough for him to give me space or time unless of course I am cleaning the bathroom. Then he refrains from driving me up a wall. I want to take my fist and try putting it through his face. Lucky for him I haven't been that crazy since last April. But I wonder if he understands the kind of restraint it takes not to go ape shit on his ass. He just interrupted me and I tried to explain to him that I don't interrupt him at work, so he shouldn't interrupt the time I take to ease the crazy. I have to continually remind him I get paid to be crazy, or he gets paid because I am crazy. I have a right to five hours and forty-five minutes a day, seven days a week to devote to my mental instability. That's 180 hours of Alice time a month. Whatever I want to do: sleep, sit in a dark closet with the door closed, read a book, go to my happy place (book-a-million), scream at the top of my lungs, chat on the computer with people that deal with the same mental agony I experience, cry, eat ice cream, drowned in irrational sorrow or write whatever comes to the front of my mind. The government has given me carte blanche. They sympathized with my plight and determined that my "disability" got in the way from me being able to pursue a normal life filled with work and fulfilling activities that result in money. Why does my disability get in the way? I get "overstimulated" very easily. Panic, pain or thoughts start flooding my head.. I cant process the surroundings. The anxiety is overwhelming. I start to feel the acid in my stomach bubble and churn, my vision blurs, I get dizzy. I get nauseous. I cant think. Everything seems to be closing in on me. Sometimes leaving the house seems impossible. I cant handle the focus that it takes to drive the car, or I am paranoid that people with think that I am not fit to be in public. They think there is something wrong with me. They are whispering to each other about me. I tell myself that it doesn't make sense. I try to stop paying attention to I am overwhelmingly tired for no apparent reasons. Every sound is like taking a cheese grater and rubbing it up and down my spine. I close my eyes and hold my ears.
I'm panicked, nothing is wrong and yet I feel like impending doom is imminent.. My chest is tight and heavy. I'm telling myself breathe deep and stop thinking. Focus on what is going on right at this moment. I think to myself, "Is there any reason for me to be upset?" Craig has to mow the lawn later. That means I have to be alone with the children. The beds have to be made. Are the sheets out of the dryer? Did I even put them in the dryer? Oh no, at some point I have to come out and spend sometime with my husband and the boys. I'm overwhelmed, and yet out of all of these reasons there isn't anything that is bad or will hurt me. I hate feeling like this. I hate my life. No I don't hate my life. I have a great life. Its wonderful. I have time to be by myself. I don't work. I have money. I have everything I need. Again these thoughts are flowing to fast. Stop thinking about it. I am laying down and closing my eyes trying to stop the anxiety from taking over. I don't have an anxiety med.. that's my own damn fault, but it still makes it harder to control my anxiety. Eventually I will fall asleep.

Capturing the Crazy

Blogging is a perfect way to compile all of my writings and also encourage me to be involved writing everyday.
I am going by the name Alice Lewis to keep it anonymous. I am including what I have previously written and exploring my emotions I carry with me. Anonymous because I want to keep the people who are from the past and know nothing about my personal life (mental issues) from just looking me up on google and reading about the life I kept hidden from them.
When I tell someone I am bipolar it always changes the way that they look at me.
A neighbor who happened to know about my time in the hospital had the audacity to tell my friend, a woman I had just started hanging around with, that I was "bipolar and she should keep a close eye on her kids when they are around me." I had watched my friend's kids several times when she didn't have anyone else to help her out. I was appalled! Of course, my friend said she didn't worry that I would do anything to would jeopardize her children's safety.
The incident made me aware if something ever happened to a child while they were under my care, my medical record could further implicate my guilt. Society would assume whatever had happened to the child had been a result of my mental instability. God forbid if a child ever said I did something to them. If it went to court it would my word against the child. I have a hard time believing that a jury would see through my diagnosis long enough to explore the fact that I was innocent. Pretty scary stuff in my eyes. I have taken the safest route and no child that is not related to me is allowed in my house, Ever! Call me paranoid, but I feel like it is better to be safe then to be sorry.
Most of the time I don't want children around me anyway. I actually dislike the ones that aren't mine or are not closely related to me. I think people look at a woman and just assume they doesn't mind entertaining a child who wants to come over and talk, ask questions or be involved in the activity that is going on. I have no desire to placate other peoples monsters. I'm ok with my kids, my niece and my soon to be nephews.
Its been a goal of mine for awhile to write and be published. I have a hard time moving forward with anything that I have written. I seem to always go back re-read and edit it over and over. I need to write a rough draft far from perfect and have a minimum of 300 pages before I go about trying to make rhyme or reason of it.
It is very hard for me to go back to the torturous times I have experienced. When I put myself right back in the moment, I dredge up emotions that are painful or difficult to deal with. Describing a life of mental instability and the swings that come along with being manic-depressive is disturbing. Writing everyday will give me the opportunity to capture everything without having to remember. My life changes drastically from day to day. Thoughts can do a complete 360. One minute I can be going along my day feeling like there is nothing wrong and the next minute I feel full of dread and anxiety that has no origin or rationality.
There will never be a perfect time to move forward on this project. I do not have the ability to work outside of the home. I don't know if I will ever be able to again. I desperately desire to do something that is productive and creative with my time. I want to see the fruits of my efforts instead of cleaning the house and then watching it deteriorate over the course of a day. Alexander's habits of taking to big of a handful of pretzels and letting the excess drop to the kitchen floor and his evening popcorn that he eats in his sitting room crushed up all over the carpet immediately overshadows the progress I made. To me cleaning up after the kids is not a fulfilling life. Writing is something that can give me purpose and drive. Remind me that life isn't about everyone else, and the dark suffocating depression does not have its hold on me all of the time. My memory is horrible, short and long term. Writing everyday ensures that every emotion is exposed in its rawest form nothing to muddle the events and emotions.

Word of the Day ~ July 9, 2009 Thursday

Non Compos Mentis (Adj): not of sound mind, memory, or understanding; unsound mind; insane- afflicted with or characteristic of mental derangement; unbalanced.

Famous Bipolar People

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_people_affected_by_bipolar_disorder

A Glimpse of Mindless Smut

It only took about five more minutes of walking for them to reach Runa’s house by the ocean. Runa was so relieved to finally be there. She was really happy to be in a familiar environment. She flopped down onto her sofa, leaned her head back and snuggled down into the pillows. She looked exhausted.
“Would you mind if I took a shower?”
“Of course not,” Storr didn’t mind his only regret was that he couldn’t take a shower with her.
Runa took her time in the bathroom enjoying the familiarity of her own shampoo and soap. She twisted a towel around her head, wrapped one around her body and stepped out into the hallway to check in on Storr. She didn’t have a T.V. and the only source of entertainment was the internet and her books. When she walked into the living room he made her acutely aware that she was only wearing a towel. It was obvious Storr was enjoying himself because of the grin on his face when she appeared. He gave the impression that he would like to be doing more than just looking at her.
“Well don’t you look lovely.” His eyes danced over her legs and across her body. He had really been missing out on how beautiful she was because she had been wearing his baggy clothes.
“I just wanted to check on you and make sure you were making yourself comfortable.” Runa shifted uncomfortably.
Storr was sitting in a chair next to her large bookcase that spanned over one entire wall.
“What are you reading?” She started to walk towards him, but stopped when she realized he wasn’t taking his eyes off of her.
“I picked up one of your history, I mean mythology books. I love reading these stories. It’s amazing how much erroneous information is added when they try to recount the past. I am sure they mean well.
“What do you mean ‘erroneous information’?”
“Well take for instance this book. It’s a book about the ‘fictional Norse gods’. For one thing the gods are not fictional. I happen to know some of them personally. One goddess I can think of is completely distorted in every book I’ve read about Norse mythology. “
“Who do you know?” Runa had studied the ancient gods in college and had a passion for the stories. She would love to meet one.
“The main goddess that historians seem to have gotten all wrong is Hela, the goddess of the afterlife. They describe her as a horrible old crone of a woman when in fact she is absolutely breathtaking. Also she isn’t evil at all. She has quite a bit of respect for the dead and dying.”
“What does she look like?” At this point Runa was sitting on the edge of the sofa arm. She was leaning forward her cleavage was in full view, but she didn’t seem to notice. Storr could tell that this was a subject she was really interested in and she wasn’t going to let him just make a passing comment about any of it. No wonder she has so many books on ancient mythology he thought to himself she seems enthralled on the topic.
“You are a very curious person aren’t you, Runa.” It was a rhetorical question and more of an observation. He was starting to expect her questions. “Like I said, Hela is breathtaking. She has long, wavy hair that is the color of spun gold. Her eyes are amber and seem translucent at times. She is very tall, and has a perfectly scrumptious body much like yours.” He winked at her. “Oh one other thing, she only wears white.”
“Why does she only wear white? That seems odd for the goddess of death.”
“A lot of people are surprised by her attire when they meet her. Do you know those people that say they’ve had near death experiences? They claim to have seen a bright white light at the end of a tunnel.”
“Yes, I always assumed it was something they imagined.” Runa had never been into the near-death stories people told.
“Well what they see is Hela standing at the end of the tunnel from our world to hers. She is the radiating the white light that they see. She is there to greet them no matter what type of life they lead in our world. She is there to take them where they will wait until they are reborn into our world again.”
“How do you know her?”
“She helps us out from time to time.” This discussion was starting to monopolize his time with her. He figured he would wrap it up before he started telling her to much. He suddenly interrupted their conversation, “Why don’t you start getting your things together so we can get going soon.”
“I hate it when you do that,” Runa frowned, but got up anyway, “right when the conversation starts to get interesting you change the subject.” She turned and walked out of the room and into the hall. It was only a few steps to her bedroom. The cottage was very small. There were only three bedrooms. She used one to sleep in, the second was her office and she never went into the third room. Her family used the small house as a vacation home when she was young. It was filled with so many memories and sometimes they were overwhelming. She pushed all of that out of her mind and focused on what she needed to do.
Runa gathered some clothes and packed up her toiletries and makeup. She wondered if she would ever be able to live here again. She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t realize that she had started crying until Storr walked up behind her.
“Runa, everything will work out fine, you have to trust me on this.” He turned her around and she buried her face in his chest. He held her tight and just let her cry. Storr opened his consciousness to read her thoughts and suddenly he understood how hard it was for her to leave this place. This was also the first time she had turned to him for comfort and he was grateful that she was starting to trust him.
“Is it about time we returned?” she asked him with a hint of regret in her voice.
“We can stay a bit longer if you need to.”
“Saying Good-bye is never going to get any easier, so we might as well head back.” Runa bowed her head and turned towards the door.

Liberation in madness

I have complete moments of insanity as I am sure everyone has them in their life. I spent the first four months of 2008 in a mental place for the incurable (I checked myself "against medical advisement), and the month of September in a mental hospital. Those examples are a bit more severe then my last act of unabashed mental instability.
To explain why this was an obvious act of insanity, I must impress upon you that my hair is my life. I cry every time I get a hair cut. Not because the haircut is necessarily bad. But because the anxiety is so great, and its such a traumatic experience. Its like someone is cutting off one of my body parts. I am that attached to my flaxen strands. Xanax was my friend each time the abominable act was taking place on my head. I haven't had a haircut since I stopped using benzo's. My hairdresser, Betty, would even ask me if i had taken my happy pill before she would start cutting. We would laugh knowing it wasn't funny. Even then when the xanax would wear off, I would freak out, start crying and call Betty and tell her I couldn't believe she had done such a horrible job. She got used to it thank god because my previous hairdressers stopped taking my appointments after a couple of times.
That being established. I have NEVER cut my own hair.. until last weekend. I was standing looking in the mirror after my shower, water dripping down my shoulders and wet hair clinging to my face. I was suddenly compelled to walk into my "room," and get the sharpest scissors I have. I thought "What the Hell," and I lifted a bit away from the rest and just cut... OMG it was liberating! I began snipping away in a frenzy. The more I cut, the better I felt. Anxiety just melting away. It was wonderful. Hair falling into the sink; covering the bottom, and as it filled the free-er I felt. At one point my husband walked in and said "Oh, you're cutting your hair," in a mater-of-fact voice that was amazingly calm under the circumstances. He has learned to take my behavior in stride and only get involved when it seems like I may take actions that will incur bodily harm.
After walking away I would come back and pick up the scissors and take off some here and there. I woke up in the morning and clipped a little more here and there leaving the scissors on the sink in case of sudden need to cut some more.
In the end, I ended up only cutting the front around my face and just a bit of the sides. Layered and kind of pointy I think it is symmetrical at least to the unknowing eye. I keep expecting to break down every time I look in the mirror, but so far I have been pleasantly surprised. This display of madness was quite exhilarating.
Ok, that's enough about the damn hair. As my mother would say with an exasperated tone, "It's just hair Alice."
I've been up since 4am with the "autistic child." Awakened by his screams of joy as he stared at the cover of his favorite DVD. I had to have it rushed one day delivery from Amazon because it suddenly vanished from the face of the earth. It didn't arrive until 6:30 the next evening and I thought he was going to have a coronary waiting for it.
At 7:50 the boy went screaming all the way from the front door to the bus that will take him to summer school, and now begrudgingly its time to start my day. To act like the consummate suburban house wife. That is the persona I display to the outside world as I go about my everyday chores: taking my husbands clothes to the cleaners, picking up Alexander's seizure medications from Target, scrubbing the toilets and changing the sheets.
Actually I might begin by taking a nap.