Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Day 16 on Prozac – why can’t we be BF maybe not forever but at least for now?

I’m sick of it, I really am, because feeling bad for no god damn good reason just sucks.

I’m acing it at work. I have a new boss who’s nice to me and doesn’t have as much as a hint of a chip on his shoulder.

The contradiction that has become is not something I can figure out. I feel more at ease with me than I ever had and yet I have separation anxiety and I feel sad and anxious most of the time. I mean WTF brain! What gives?

The problem as I see it when you go on a new medication is that you don’t know for sure if it’s going to work so you have to wait and see and it’s going to take time. If I lobbed up to my MD today she would tell me to keep taking the Prozac, maybe even up the dose, and then if it’s still not working in a month’s time we’ll try something else.

These meds mess with your head.

These meds change you as a person, at least they do me, but then isn’t that also the whole idea? They’re supposed to change you from being a sad sack and set you straight again. But, oh but, they do other things to you too and sometime you feel like you’re trying to get to know someone new again. I suffer from social anxiety. I’m afraid of getting to know new people. Can you see how confusing this is for me?!

I just want to get better. I just want to feel less bad ALL the time. It’s not much to ask for. This person I am now I don’t know who she is but I don’t like how she feels.

The question that I keep asking myself is: What do I have to do to feel good again?

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Forgive me Interwebs, it’s been almost a week since my last confession

Last week was travelled on a rocky road somewhere in the backwaters of Outer Mongolia. When I say road I use the term loosely because by Western standards it was hardly a road but if one applies Mongolian standards it was no doubt a modern highway.

While Mirtazapine was evil while I was on it, it also proves to be a bit of a bastard to go off especially if you have to do it quickly.

If last week was travelling on a rocky road somewhere in the backwaters of Outer Mongolia, this week is a rest in a yurt at the end of that road. The weather doesn’t permit me to make any forecasts as to how the next leg of the journey will be like but there’s hope that it will be a lot smoother from now on, that the roads are going to prove easier and more comfortable to travel.

Maybe Prozac is the drug for me. I feel better than I have in a long time.

It’s a weird thing that happens when depression starts losing its grip on you. You don’t start noticing that you feel good; you start noticing that you feel less bad and then you have periods when you almost don’t feel bad at all. You start to hope but you’re afraid to cling to it because it seems too fragile and delicate. It’s like a spider web covered in droplets of morning dew being made to sparkle as the sun starts its lazy journey across the sky in the morning. You’re in awe of it but you’re afraid to get too close should you accidently break it.

I don’t ask questions of what I see as the beginning of better times.

I will try to talk to you again Interwebs but maybe I will just spend a little time in this better place for a little longer on my own. I think I deserve to enjoy this state of mind.

Thursday, February 16, 2012


Far be it for me to cast dispersion on people and question the way they make their living, sometimes you pretty much have to do it any which way you can, but I can't help having feeling a certain way about this whole shaman business.

Once upon a time when I was feeling very confused about myself and the direction my life had taken I decided that it would be a good idea to try to take my power back. I had dabbled in Wicca and I couldn't really embrace it. Maybe it was all the fluff bunny Wiccans I couldn't quite come to terms with. Maybe it's the way Wiccans claim that it's the Olde Religion when there's not a single record to be found to support that claim. Maybe it's just too wishy washy while still being too much of an organized religion. It was kind of like a nice pair of calf leather gloves that didn't fit properly so I just couldn't quite feel at home with it.

I decided to study shamanism and in true shaman tradition, and if you know anything about shamanism you know that it's just about as well defined as Wicca, I pointed a desperate finger at the clear blue sky one day and asked, no I demanded, a shaman teacher would come my way. A shaman teacher that  didn't charge $4000 and the rights to your firstborn, and that for a weekend retreat somewhere among mosquitoes and snakes including a stint in a dodgy sweat lodge.

A shaman did come my way. She asked for a very modest sum in return for teaching online and unlimited counseling for years to come. I decided I could afford it and that I had nothing to lose.

Now don't get me wrong, I just know you're feeling that this is leading up to me giving the shaman a negative rap, I learned a lot about myself doing that ten week course with her. I also did the follow up course, which was twelve weeks, and I got all this for the princely sum of $270. I didn't consider it wasted money.

I love Google. When all else fail I google. Before all else fail I google. You can google pretty much anything and you're rarely disappointed but when I googled a passage from the course material I had been sent I found the whole course sitting on a Wiccan website where it was presented as a course for Wiccans, a course about shamanic techniques. I e-mailed my shaman teacher and told her that her course had maybe been ripped off.

I received an e-mail back containing what I thought sounded like some cockamamie story about how she had worked with this male Wiccan witch trying to save the planet and people as she still was doing when he suddenly got all possessive and challenged her by claiming his powers to be stronger than hers. Basically he wanted a psychic power duel and he spent weeks trying to break her with his constant psychic attacks but she was too powerful for him. She told me that rather than causing a fuzz she was allowing him to still have her course on his site because it wasn't the written material that was important, it was her teachings.

Now my shaman isn't a half bad counselor but I'm always a little weary when it comes to people who claim to have special powers and being able to heal. When the shaman started setting up a healing community asking for donations to purchase land and such I got a little more weary. When she sent an e-mail to all her students telling us that we were working against her with our doubt,  and that even if we didn't donate money the least we could do was to think positive thoughts about the project, well then I started thinking that the stress was getting to her. I slowly backed away and found something else to occupy my mind with.

When I e-mailed her again the other day it wasn't so much desperation that was the catalyst, I was curious to see what she would say about my problem. As I told you I was told that I'm addicted to feeling worthless. I was also asked if I could admit it to myself and and that I should do that this week then trail off to my counselor and tell her because it's easy to cure.

I'm sorry, and I apologize for the profanity about to come, but what the fuck kind of healer are you if you tell me that? It just struck me as a little bit more than weird.

So why am I getting my knickers in a knot so many years after I really stopped being on contact with this woman. Well it's my own fault for e-mailing her but I don't think it's appropriate to tell someone who you deem to be suicidal (which I'm not) that they're like a cutter, you know people who cut themselves, because maybe that's just going to give them ideas you know. If you are dealing with someone you think are suicidal you have a responsibility to tell them to get help immediately.

The main issue I've always had with people who offer healing of the more unconventional kind is that there seems to be a lot of mumbo jumbo going on. There are people out there who are in genuine deep doggie do and they should not be going to these people for help. I think that you have to be very careful with what you promise people and I say that even though I'm not supposedly myself a shaman who is qualified to heal people. I've even been encouraged to perform a soul retrieval (google it! *grin*).

I'm still fascinated by shamanism as a subject but when it comes to this particular brand of shamanism I think I have to recommend people stay away. People like this woman is probably more interested in building themselves a financial future and a cult following. I really should have stayed away but sometimes curiosity gets the better of me you know.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

I'm an addict (and who hasn't used that as a post title to pull people in?!)

Hi, I'm Spilling Ink and I'm an addict. I'm addicted to feeling worthless.

Or so I'm told.

Sunday I felt like crap, with it being the day after the psychosis and all, and feeling a little more helpless than usual I e-mailed my old shaman teacher because she claims to be able to do just about anything. Like healing and stuff. Like curing people and stuff..

I shouldn't make fun of her because she'll probably know because a shaman is a tricky person and you just never know if they actually have all the powers they claim to have or not. It's a bit like God, you just have to hedge your bets just in case because as far as actual proof goes there is none.

Anyway, feeling seriously desperate I e-mailed this woman who I studied shamanism with some years ago to ask her if she would counsel me. I offered to pay but she didn't want any money (but she did send me a link that offers her making a medicine bag for $29.95 for me). I told her what the issues are and she diagnosed me as being addicted to feeling worthless.

I felt she was being a bit harsh and I suspect I felt that was because she is probably right. There's a lot of truth in what she said. I suppose I was looking more for a solution and less for a diagnosis but you can't have it all especially not if you're not actually forking out any money for it. I suppose the cure takes time. First I have to admit that I'm sick and what the illness is.

So OK, I'm addicted to feeling worthless and I have been sober for 0 days so no little badge thingy for me and I flatly refuse to apologize to any of you should I have even accidentally have hurt you. I'm sorry. Shit! No, I'm not!

My mind is what it is and it wants to know the way out of feeling worthless and right now I'm none the wiser but who knows, perhaps one day I will. In the mean time I can report that at this particular point I'm not feeling too shabby.

I discovered the most amazing thing today and that is that just feeling almost normal, i.e. almost neutral, feels fucking amazing. I'm sorry but I had to swear there to emphasize the fact that it feels AMAZING. I'm not anywhere near euphoric or happy, I even still feel a tiny bit sad, but it feels so amazing. Yay for me!

I'll keep you posted on what my shaman comes up with especially if I get any weird conditions because I kind of was a bit disrespectful, and if it works I'm happy to refer you. :P

Sweet thoughts, my lovelies.

P.S. I didn't get red roses for Valentines Day, I got a sunshiny yellow bouquet because we've had so much rain and grey skies lately apparently I needed some sunshiny yellow. :)

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Antidepressants - my experience so far

We have to talk about antidepressants and such. We have to. This is the stuff they give you when they want you to feel better because you're suddenly, or perhaps not so suddenly, suffer from some sort of brain fail or what is generally referred to as mental health issue.

Last year I started out on Endep after the breakdown (in March) and while it helped me sleep it also gave me the most vicious headaches. My doctor who is a lovely lady was very understanding but was a little perplexed because as I'm a migraine sufferer she thought she was killing two birds with one stone since antidepressants are often prescribed for migraine sufferers as a means of preventing migraines.

I was put on Mirtazapine. It worked well although I did have some side effects like my vision got a lot worse and I had a tendency not to "see" things. I would see things but it was as if the brain didn't register them. This proved to be a little dangerous when crossing streets etc.

I eased of Mirtazapine over six weeks in October and November and thought that was the last of it but then I had problems with my manager's behavior towards me, got all hopeless and depressed and went back on Mirtazapine.

Not good.

I ended up with all the common side-effects plus all the not so common and all the rare. Suddenly I was in hell. Sure the deep desperate hopelessness that depression brings was broken into shorter bouts of sadness, and it was such a relief because when the black dog really decides to accompany you it's like your essence has been drained out of you. But the side-effects!

I took the 45mg at first and the side-effects hit after about two weeks so I cut down to 30mg. I was better, cruising along and then two weeks later the side-effects hit. I cut down to 22.5mg which is where I was at when I had very bad day on Saturday.

Saturday morning I woke up and I could barely move. It was like I was coming out of anesthesia and I couldn't even lift my arms. I had two cups of coffee before I could really move and ask a friend to go with me to the doctor.

Somewhere in the middle of getting to the doctor I experienced a severe panic attack with visual distortions, cramping, heart palpitations and a range of other rather unpleasant things. I couldn't even get the Xanax out of my bag because suddenly my bag was a complete mystery to me. I didn't see the zipper, then I did see the zipper but couldn't work out how it works and then I just burst out in tears. You get the picture. The Xanax kicked in, we got on the bus and we headed for the doctor. Severely "xanaxed" I was still unable to get off the bus because I couldn't understand if I could fir through the door or not even though I have done that hundreds of times. I lost all sense of myself in relation to the world around me.

The doctor was worried, of course, and so it was decided that I go off Mirtazapine as soon as possible. I'm doing a really quick dose down over four days and it's bound to have a bad effect but probably not as bad as if I'm continuing to take this medication. The trade off for all this is that I have to start taking Prozac instead.

I'm not putting too much hope in Prozac as being the all saving solution but I don't fear it half as much as I fear Mirtazapine. I can't possibly be as bad. The other good thing with Prozac is that it reduces appetite and that's nice since Mirtazapine does the opposite (and is used to treat anorexia and I certainly don't have that unless I have the fat version of it) so perhaps it will do some good at least.

I'm over being depressed. It's a horrible condition. It ruins everything. It can't be reasoned with. It's like having your candy taking away from you being told you can never ever have candy again.

Drugs that change your brain chemistry are not to be taken lightly. I think there needs to be much better monitoring of people who take them and much better support. We're just not doing enough.

Please note these are my experiences and mine alone. There seems to be a lot of variation and what works for some doesn't work for others.

One things I am sure of is that support is so important when you're depressed. If you are living with a depressed person and you wonder what you can do for them any random act of kindness is good. Take care of you though too, it's taxing to be around depressed people.

Monday, February 13, 2012

Today I being you advice

The one thing about being a blogger having your own blog is that you can say what you want. You can get to be as snarky and horrible as you like about people and things, and there’s not a damned thing anyone can do about, except for not reading your blog of course.

However, it seems that people choose to stay and comment in a snarky and horrible way when they don’t like what you write, so it’s really a good way of getting some attention if you’re that way inclined. Blogging is a win-win situation if you feel like you have something to say and you want a forum to say it in.

Spilling Ink.

I make the rules and I’m usually opinionated. Not so much when I’m depressed perhaps but certainly normally. It’s a blessing for me to be able to blog because I do get to say what I want when I want to. It’s just nice. It makes me feel like I’m heard especially when you guys decide to comment and add to the discussion (*hint* *hint*).

It’s easy to get into the mindset then and begin to think that you have something valuable to say because if you blog for a while you attract likeminded people and you start to develop confidence in your thoughts and ideas. It’s good for you. It’s really good for you. You realize that you’re not so odd or alone after all. It’s one of the blessings of the internet.

But, there always has to be a but, when you start thinking that because you are writing blogs where people follow you, discuss with you and support you, that it would somehow mean that you’re OK to the rest of society you’re kind of making a mistake. You take that attitude to work and your boss is bound to look at you like you’re having some sort delusional episode. Your boss doesn’t read your blog and he doesn’t support your ideas, in fact he finds your ideas to be a pain in the arse because they challenge his status quo. He looks at you like your dad did when you told him that you were going to be an astronaut one day. At best. More than likely he will just be dismissive.

So as you go out there today to interact with the rest of the world remember that the blogosphere loves you but your boss doesn’t even know what blogging is so in his, or her, mind you are just the same challenged individual you were before you started blogging. That’s why you should listen to your blog followers and take what your boss is telling you that you are with a huge pinch of salt.

I’m just saying.


On Whitney Houston’s death.

I forgot about Whitney a long time ago. I arrived in Australia wanting to dance with somebody, wanting to feel the heat with somebody, somebody who loves me, and in many ways it was the anthem of my early days in Australia. I remember that. The other Whitney was too sad to keep track of unfortunately. R.I.P. nonetheless Whitney!

I blame the completely retarded title of this post on the psychotic episode I had last Saturday brought to me by Mirtazapine. If your doctor wants to prescribe you Mirtazapine ask him or her why he hates you so much. It's not a nice drug. If you're a doctor who likes to prescribe Mirtazapine to your patients you need to stop hating them so much. And don't tell my I should say things like that, I had a psychotic episode for Christ's sake. Don't argue with the crazy woman. I'm just saying.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

My life as it stands today

My life. I don't know. Where do I start? Here and now or in the beginning? Or in the middle perhaps when I left Sweden and moved to Australia.

Everything I thought I had has crumbled.

Once upon a time I relied on my work to keep my together. Last year it injured me and I'm now at the point where I no longer really care about it. It's not that important to me and I have come to realize that the best option for me is to change jobs. Maybe then I have I good about going to work again.

I began a relationship with a person I knew was different. I thought I could make it work. It brought me a good friend but there was always something lacking with "the rest". I don't feel lonely now but I feel like I'm missing out. I feel like I need to find that place in life where I can finally feel like I'm in my grove.

It's absolutely sickening to me to blog month after month about how bad I feel. There has to be a light at the end of the tunnel and there isn't. There simply is no end in sight that I can plan for or foresee. The only way this is going to get solved is by some sheer fluke and that includes finally getting my medication right.

Yesterday I had a mild psychotic episode. The episode resulted in my going back to my doctor early and seeing her. I changed my medication. I have to go off the mirtazapine which has proved itself to be a rather horrible drug. I need to get it out of my system. I don't know how it all will pan out but I hope Prozac will be my friend. If nothing else it apparently suppresses appetite unlike mirtazapine which just makes you want to eat. Maybe I will be skinny after all because maybe Prozac contains the will power I have lacked when it comes to really controlling what I put in my mouth and swallow.

The knowing that I'm broken, possibly not so much from the breakdown anymore but from the medication is hard to take. All I really want at this stage is to be happy again and I'm not sure how that can even be achieved. I have a very vague idea of what my future hold and as much as I can see the advantage of that I really feel that right now I could use a plan.

The failure of my relationship is devastating. Not that I feel completely hurt and heartbroken but because I, again, choose not to see the signs and I choose to believe that I could make it work. There are relationships that are not meant to be and there are people who are not compatible. Being able to be great friends and being able to be in a loving relationship are not the same thing. A loving relationship includes being friends but if you're not willing to work on the relationship all you have is a friendship that's not going to work either. I know. I tried all that.

I wish I had it all figured out by now but I don't and it appears it doesn't get better with age. For some reason it just keeps going and the problems just get more complex. I wish it was the other way around.

As I sit here today I realize that I push people at times because I really need to bring about a solution as quickly as possible and I do it because I'm no longer happy with the status quo. I can no longer sit back and go along for the ride. I need to release myself of everything that is making me feel bad. I need freedom to move as a whole person finally.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

I'm sorry but I have to say this!

I know a young woman who used to work for me. We keep in contact sort of because since she left the company I work for and since I'm no longer her boss I'm no longer as useful as I once was. You see, I would say that before we were friends.

I don't think it's as simple as to say that I'm no longer as useful as I once was to her but I'm also not gay enough. You see, my young friend is a lesbian, or really, she is to be precise bisexual.

I'm all for equality and could honestly not give a hoot about who people sleep with, fall in love with or are attracted to generally. I kind of knew when I hired her that she was going to be a little militant about gay rights. She made sure she mentioned her girlfriend in the interview and I could tell she was watching my response closely. Least of my worries when I interview people is who people sleep with, fall in love with or are attracted to generally.

Once upon a time gays and lesbian had it really tough and they still do in some places. Not in Sydney, Australia though. They're no more discriminated against than your average immigrant, woman, man or handicapped person, of whoever else for that matter. I can honestly say I have never seen anyone being discriminated because of homosexuality but I have seen "the rest". That's not to say that it doesn't happen. Of course. The world is full of homophobes and religious fanatics.

My point is though that today in Sydney you don't have to ram gay rights down your friends' throats every opportunity you get be it on Facebook or anywhere else. You get tired of it. You kind of start to feel that as a heterosexual you're not special enough. You feel you need to get yourself some gay if that's possible which I don't think it is.

I know I've said it before here. I used to be friends with a lady who counseled AIDS victims back in the mid 90s. AIDS in the gay community was a real threat back then and the majority of the people she counseled were gay men in the late stages of dying from AIDS.

Most of them had been disowned from their families and had only the gay community and people like this lady for support. I spent a few Christmas Days in the company of some of these men and I never saw one of the more than once. It was probably some of the most genuine Christmases I have ever celebrated. I feel fortunate to have experienced this because it taught me a lot about people and I don't fear dying as a result.

Enough of that. I will collect my medal for being so kind and compassionate for spending my heterosexual time with these guys later....

I just think that as much as this young lady's problem is partially youthful exuberance it's probably also not having yet learned that there is a time and a place for protesting, informing and supporting a good cause. There can come that time when you cease realizing that those who are not all that into the same cause are not your enemy and they don't need to have things shoved in their faces all the time. They care, they just don't have the same burning passion for the subject as you have.

So, unfortunately I have grown weary of gay rights and I have had too much of it lately. Soon I will escape what little Facebook time I have and be free from having things shoved down my throat. I'm beginning to feel like I'm dealing with a religious zealot. I will also be free of a senseless little twit who likes to lecture people who don't need to be lectured.

Baby, I was out there in the company of dying men when you were too busy to care because you were popping zits and dealing with your own teen angst. I don't hold it against you. Now please shut up!

You know who you are. Not that you would read my blog. It's not gay enough.

Monday, February 6, 2012

It's time to start fighting the flab again

It's time to start fighting the flab again. It's ridiculous, I know, but I'm having another go at it. My current plan is not so much of a plan as it is a desperate attempt of making myself take up less room in this world and move onto wearing skinny jeans with Doc Martins. That's my goal. You can poo poo it if you like but that's my goal.

I'm eating konjak noodles. Konjak noodles are rubbery, tasteless and really rather unpleasant to eat. They one major plus though. A whole packet will set you back about 20 calories unless you're in America where they apparently, using the American system of counting calories, have no calories at all. I should go there and I would lose weight even faster.

Konjak noodles have another plus. The few carbohydrates, and therefor calories, that are in them are all fiber so you're going to give your tum tum a good workout too if you know what I mean. Because they are basically all fiber they also fill you up in a way no other food has ever done with me. You feel like you've been stomach stapled after eating a serving of these.

So, they taste like nothing which leaves you with the texture and the texture leaves a lot to be desired. They're rubbery and so they're very chewy. If you're going to eat these things you're going to have to find something to eat them with that's going to make it worth it and I guess that's the challenge. The low calories in the noodles leave you with some room to play though.

My easy and very low calorie favorite is the instant miso soup (40 calories) with added Tabasco sauce. I rarely down the all the miso soup so I probably end up taking in about 50 calories in the whole meal. It sounds ridiculously low, and it is, but if you can stand to eat this you can then afford to eat other things that taste better without cutting back too severely.

So far the plan is to substitute one meal a day with konjak noodles and miso and see how it goes. Hopefully it will have a positive effect and I will start seeing myself shrink before my very own eyes.

This is about health my friends. The other day I bumped into the grandfather of a boy who my daughter used to play with. He's in his early sixties and he was just diagnosed with diabetes and is now only allowed to eat "a lettuce leaf a day" according to what he told me. I suspect he's allowed a little more than that, like he's allowed to have a glass of water at least!, but it really hit home with me that prevention is better because there's no cure.

I'm allowing a huge space for failure, like a football field size space, because of my depression. If I succeed despite the depression it's great but we all know how Hitler went with fighting on two fronts and how the war ended. The depression takes priority.

Because it's a whiny attention seeking little arsehole and my weight can wait.

Or something like that.

I mean the weight is not going to run away leaving me missing out on the opportunity to fight it. It seems pretty much happy to stay where it is. On me. Waiting for me to fight it. It wants to fight. It's not going without one, that much is clear.

But once I have dropped a nuclear bomb in depression's pants and it's gone, like G O N E, then it's the weight's turn and it's going to burn, burn, burn! (Just letting it know who's the boss, is all.)

I'll let you know how I go with the konjak noodle thing. Six months of having konjak noodles for lunch may just be worth it you know. It will teach me to appreciate other foods more!

Tomorrow is a new day

"I think, hope is like a little lantern in the heart. As long as you can keep the light on, even a slender beam, you can keep going. 
Tomorrow is a new day. "

I stole this from julochka's post today. It's so very, very relevant to me. She is wise woman. :)

Sunday, February 5, 2012


I live in a land far, far away from my family. I have to admit that I have chosen to do so for various reasons and most of the time I feel it was the right choice. I have never felt like I was truly part of my own family.

I'm talking about the close family, my parents and my older brother, and not the extended family. Two of my grandparents were great people.

My paternal grandfather was a giant of a man who used to let me sit on his lap while he told me stories of his childhood and times past. He took the time and he had such patience.

My maternal grandmother was an awesome woman who had a heart the size of Australia. Of that I'm convinced. She had so much love to give and she had so much compassion.

My mother was born out of wedlock.

One day in my mid teens we received a phone call, which I answered, and we were told that my mother had three half brothers. They shared the same father. Suddenly I had a lot more cousins and there was this other part of the family that we had never known existed. Correspondence and meetings ensued and inevitably I guess the time came for when the opportunity for my mother to meet her father was arranged by her brothers. He had agreed. My parents were in that neck of the woods and when my mum was told she wanted to go immediately.

My father put my mother in the car and they drove back to their caravan, went for a long walk in the woods and they returned to my uncles with my father telling them that my mother was in a too fragile emotional state to meet her father. The whole plan failed spectacularly and my mother and her father never met.

One of my uncles sent a letter to my grandmother, they were in contact and my grandmother had welcomed my new uncles into the family as though they were long lost children, asking her if she could explain what was going on. My grandmother must have told my mother, I think in an attempt to make my mother see that it would be a good thing for her to meet her father, and my mother told my father and all hell broke lose. My grandmother was forbidden to speak with any of my uncles ever again and they with her.

I think I posted about how my parents wouldn't do our traditional Christmas phone call this year and how much it disappointed me. I think I also posted about how I commented on an article in a Swedish newspaper and suddenly got inundated with Facebook requests from cousins from "that side". I also got an e-mail from one of my uncles.

Now I remember all that stuff with the planned meeting and the banning my grandmother from talking to "them" even though it's decades ago now. For decades these people have kept separate. For decades I have wondered what my grandfather looks like, if he's still alive and how they are, what they do and if they ever wonder about us.

Apparently they do.

I'm now the only one who's in contact with these people and I'm only in contact with one third plus on of the family. They are warm and friendly and they are keen to know what happened to us. The cousins are sweet and although we're only on Facebook they seem to keep track of me with some sort of genuine extended family love.

I'm the traitor. I'm the one who is striking up conversation with these people against my parents' will and I don't know if it's just this uncle in particular or all of them that were cut out of my mother's life suddenly. I have a faint memory of there being contact with one of the other uncles and me being on contact with the third one after I moved to Australia.

This is a mess.

My instinct tells me to get all this is to find out as much as I can from all parties involved and get it all out in the open for all to see. This is a wound that's festering and there's hurt all around. People have done the wrong thing perhaps not because they are evil or mean but because they thought they were protecting theirs or others' interests. I, as a person, would like to know more because I'm no longer a teenager who can be told to stop asking questions because I wouldn't understand. I'm adult and I know a thing or two now.

I think I have rights here. The man who fathered my mother is the reason I have such high cheekbones. There are people out there who genuinely want to know what happened to the rest their family because they're still family focused.  There's a man who would like nothing more than to have the sister he's known about for decades in his life because he misses her and he's hurt because he never really got the chance to get to know her.

I have no plan except maybe that I need to hatch one and to hatch one I need to know more, so much more. I don't want to hide away anymore and pretend all this didn't happened.

Maybe most of all I don't want to hide away and pretend that my father, who is now a lot more supportive of me than my mother, was not a controlling and demanding man. He is the reason I married the kind of men I did. I hold no malice towards him. I just understand now why I am the why I am.

Saturday, February 4, 2012

We can't always have it all, can we?

The worst thing about depression is that it makes you feel sad for no apparent reason and if you're like me you need a reason for everything.

E V E R Y T H I N G.

Cause and effect was invented by me and since I have an effect (depression) for which I can find no real cause I'm in a bad mood. Also, now I can worry about little things like do I have a brain tumor, am I really insane, is it chronic, will it kill me, why won't it kill me, why aren't people hating on me when I'm clearly so useless and why isn't there anything that will truly make me feel happy? Just questions, you know.

The other night I woke up in the middle of doing it, as in sleeping not the other it, and I woke up in a state of euphoria. Maybe I was doing it....

Anyway, I woke up feeling so euphoric that it was amazing. Suddenly I felt good for the first time in known memory (which is not very long these days all due to the medication - thank you medication) and it wasn't just good, it was GOOD.

I lay there smiling, no grinning from ear to ear, thinking to myself "Oh please, don't go to sleep again. Not yet. Lie here for a while and enjoy this. Promise me you won't go to sleep!"

It was amazing because it brought such hope that finally things were really turning around and I was healed. Hallelujah! Praise the Lord Jeebus.

Hmmmm, it was right about when I was praising the Lord Jeebus (and enjoying it immensely) that I realized just why I was feeling so damned euphoric. Two hours earlier I had tucked myself in with an icepack on my head having just swallowed a Tramadol (synthetic opioid analgesic used in treating severe pain) and a Xanax (calm in tablet form) so that I wouldn't end up screaming in pain and vomiting all over the place because of a migraine. 

My euphoric state wasn't a sign that I was suddenly healed from depression. It was a sign that the drugs, this time, had done precisely what they were meant to do, and with a bonus to boot, and I never got to the stage where I wanted the sky to fall on my head just to stop the pain in my head.

I was disappointed. I felt a little cheated. I enjoyed the remainder of euphoric consciousness I had before I drifted back to sleep again.

I guess you have to count your blessings and not be greedy. We can't always have it all, can we?

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Bow and Arrow and the hazards of living in Sydney

I don't mind living in Sydney (Australia) but I've always been a bit worried with regard to violence in the big city. But then I worried mostly about the motorcycle gangs that seem to think that it's fun to shoot at each other's houses and things like that. Sometimes they get the address wrong so I guess I have cause to worry even if I'm not the bikie gang kind.

Yesterday some poor schmuck was shot in the neck with an arrow when he was strolling down the street in the same suburb I work in! But what the?! He's the first guy to be shot with a bow and arrow since Custer and that whole trouble with the Sioux.

Hearing about this morning I began to worry about ithappening to me when I cycle to work. What would my boss say if I called and told him I couldn't come to work that day because I had been shot with and arrow? "Yeah, that's bad luck you had there but you know that kind of thing happens. Take it easy there and we'll see you in a few days, OK?" I don't think he would say that at all. I would be forced to lie and say that I had the flu or something but it will of course be difficult to explain the bandage. "I know right, I didn't know they give intravenous drip in your either!"

It would just be a little hard to deal with that.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Swedish humor

I've rediscovered Swedish humor, I mean for me Swedish humor is still synonymous with Hasse and Tage, but I kind of stumbled upon Magnus Bretner live when I was distracting myself at work with Youtube.  For some reason I can still write in English if I listen to Swedish...

After Magnus I found Bjorn Gustafsson in Parlementet and I laughed until I almost peed myself.

One of the drawbacks of listening to Swedish humor at work is that I start to speak Swedish with my colleagues if they come and interrupt my little fun time but I have realized how I can use it to my advantage.

If I speak Swedish to them by mistake and they say "Excuse me?" I say it in English again and look at them as they are completely stupid! It works really well as a form of therapy for my depression and I think my therapist will be hella proud of me now that I go around and laugh all day even if it's at the expense of others sometimes.

That's totally normal, right?

"Think positive" is where it's at, right?!

Oh yeah, I'm also doing another thing to keep myself occupied and that's making a list of things you can do while you wait for your hair to grow long again. On my list so far: Wait.

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