pictures of you

My new profile pic was taken at Roller Derby on the 18th of June. I made some streamers from crepe paper for my team The Bloody Sundaes (who won by one point - yay!).

This is a picture of me and my sweetie taken in Melbourne earlier this year.

Happy Belated US Father's Day. Our Father's Day is celebrated in September, I have no idea why! Here are Neil and Charly sharing a kiss (-:

Just felt like sharing those with you all. In other news, my mood is still low. This morning I did not want to go to work, was dreading it, and all the way here on the bus and train I was thinking about getting off, going to a bottle shop (off-licence) and buying a litre bottle of vodka and then lying down in a park or cemetery somewhere. My bus passes a nice cemetery. It's lush and green and has lots of those very old headstones with the worn-off writing. It looks peaceful in there.

I have two reasons for NOT adding Lamogitrine/Lamictal to my medicinal regime. One, I know it's expensive as it's not on the PBS except if you need it for epilepsy. Recently I found out Sairs from This Lunatic Express is stopping taking it because it's so expensive. SO frustrating when medicine we need is not subsidised by the government. My second reason is that I want to keep Lamictal "up my sleeve" for the next time Cymbalta poops out and stops working. If I start Lamictal now, then what will happen to me in six, twelve months time when I need extra meds??

But I am wondering if the extra Cymbalta is making much difference. I feel perhaps 20% better some of the time. Maybe I just need to give it more time. It's been what...two weeks? Three? I think I need to keep going with it for at least six weeks in order to get the full benefit of the increase. I need to work harder with my thought processes to calm myself and control my impulses.

A good thing that happened last week was my birthday presents from my bestie H arrived from Melbourne. They are awesome!! She sent me this hilarious book called The Action Heroine's handbook, which shows you how to wrestle a man with your bare legs, jump out of a moving train, make molotov cocktails and lots more action heroine stuff. It's great. Another book she sent me is a travel guide for Bangkok as Neil and I are planning a trip to Thailand next November. The parcel included a Hello Kitty furry beanie, Barbie stationery, Bio Oil, a Buddha and heaps more. She is definitely my favourite gift giver! H recently started a blog, by the way, called For The Good, The Bad & The Fugly. Her blogger name is Rainbow B and you should check it out. She's not quite as mental as me and probably will swear more because I try not to in blogland (even though I am a potty mouth in real life).

I went out to the movies last night with my ex-housemate and another one of my BFFs (I have three), Michelle. We saw Bridesmaids and cacked ourselves laughing. It was really funny, and a little crass, and had an adorably cute guy in it. Which always helps! I am incredibly lucky to have my three real-life besties. I thank the universe for them every day. Especially H and Michelle, who both know what it's like to suffer from depression and anxiety. I also adore my blogworld friends, who get me and know me just as well but in different ways. H and I are real-life friends now, but we met in blog world through a Dr Phil website in 2005. So you never know where our awesome blog friendships will end up! I am hoping some day to get to the US/Canada and UK to meet some of my blog pals. And over to the eastern states of Australia to meet up with Sairs and Bec and Miz PRN!

back on the chain gang

First day back at work after a month away. It's so much harder than I imagined...coming back. At least everyone was off, as the place closed its doors for four weeks, so there's not the usual paranoia of returning to work wondering who said what about me when and why. But there is the concern that I've forgotten HOW. How to do my job, how to smile and nod and chatter politely. What did you do on your holidays Lil? No stories of travel, of exotic parties, of outings and such. A lot of sleep, brought on by boredom, inertia and the ever-present vague pulse of panic that was easier to avoid by nodding off. The good thing about Being Back is that I have some time very morning to blog and visit blogs, which is harder at home using Michelle's laptop.

My date on Wednesday last was perfectly charming. We had a lot of fun, he beat me at bowling, he bought me lunch, we talked and laughed a lot. He has an interest in someone else, someone who was just a couple of days ahead of me in the internet matching stakes, so it seems we will remain in that Just Friends zone. There's no JUST about it, according to me, because I need friends more than I need random lovers. So I am thrilled to have made it onto his friends' roster and already feel my life is richer through knowing him. Whether I have the nerve to do it again, the whole meeting and greeting thing, with another boy, remains to be seen. It takes it out of me, even in a friendship scenario... esp. as I am currently languishing a little in the doldrums. Probably just a matter of waiting until the upswing.

almost didn't notice the roses

It seems like 2010 is shaping up to be a strange and wonderful year. Bring it on, I say! Christmas was a bit of a challenge, mostly because of my grandmother staying with us. She went into care at a nursing home a month ago and came out for a couple of days over Christmas. Although the place we chose for her is top-notch in many ways, with million dollar views over the city and river and the highest patient-staff ratio in the city, she continually complains about being unhappy. I'm not sure what she expects from us, we cared for her as well as we could, for as long as we could (five years) and now her health has deteriorated to the point where she needs professional care. But she seems to think we moved her into care for our own amusement, or from spite. And perhaps believes if she complains and snivels enough we will move her back home. None of these things are true. In the end, I am ashamed to admit I was pleased to come back here to my own new home, and drop her off at hers, and lalalala try to pretend none of it was happening. Being back at my parents' place was okay, but overall it made me happy I am here in my rockin' duplex with Michelle.

Michelle is a joy, she's literally one of the funniest people I have ever met and we entertain ourselves for hours making up songs, shouting random witticisms at each other, and contemplating life. We're planning on having a kick-ass year, including a massive costume bash for my 40th birthday in June. The other day we bought Singstar for PS2 on ebay and plan to harrass our neighbours with our tuneless fun hahaha.

Another area of life that's surprising me is my social uprising. I decided that I wanted to put myself out there a bit, and perhaps meet some new friends, so I signed up to an internet dating site - yikes!! It's a good site, and more detailed and meaningful in its profiles, so I'm seeing some high quality matches, which is nice. I hold out much hope for 2010! At the very least I am going to have some new friends to invite to my party :D

I am still on a month's vacation from work, so am borrowing Michelle's laptop to access the internet - so if it seems I am not around the blogosphere so much, then that's the reason. I am still trying to keep up with everyone, even if I don't get the chance to comment!

Previous blog title is from an Iron & Wine song, today's courtesy of Taylor Swift's Our Song

between fight and flight is the blind man's sight

Herewith a brief update on the Life of Lil.

My grandmother is home from hospital, and much better. The infection has cleared up, and with its passing has come the welcome passing of the dementia (apart from her normal 91- year-old befuddledness). The Aged Care Assessment Team have recommended, though, that she be placed in permanent care now her health is deteriorating, unless one of us can be home with her at all times. That's just not financially possible as we aren't entitled to any carer's allowances from the government, and both my parents are still working. Usually Nanna is only home one or two days a week on her own, but that's too much now. So we've started the process of finding a decent nursing home for her. She's quite happy about the idea, as she gets lonely here on her own and while she was in hospital she told us she enjoyed having other people around all the time. There are a few places locally, and we'll try to get her in to somewhere nicer and newer with a good reputation. Aged care seems to be one of those areas that there is a major difference between the top and bottom "levels" even though it's supposed to be regulated and checked by the government.

In the midst of all this, Michelle and I finally heard on Friday that we got our house! We're signing the lease on Monday, and I have started the daunting task of packing. So far, there are 11 boxes OF BOOKS ALONE! We have a study nook/office area at the new place which Michelle has suggested I set up as a reading room - which is a great idea and such a relief as I wouldn't know where to put all the darn books otherwise. I can't part with them, though, they have been my best friends through the years. What is weird, given my bizarre childhood and tenuous relations with family, is that it seems strange and scary to be moving away from my mom. We've only become close in the last few years, partly through living together and sharing the care of nanna. Especially in the last 12 months, during my breakdown, we've actually connected on an adult and non-angry level. I hope that doesn't change once I'm gone from here. She's been supportive and positive about the move, which is awesome. For the first time in 12 years I'm going to be living solo, albeit with a roomie!

Mostly, I am thrilled about the opportunity to form my own independent life again and to live with Michelle will be a lot of fun. We have a lot in common and are more like sisters (she's 13 years younger than me). I can't wait to be closer to the city, and to my workplace, and to be released from the watching nanna, cooking, cleaning regime. Obviously my own place will need cleaning, and my own meals need cooking, but not in the same institutional way! I bought a new washing machine and a vacuum cleaner as well as some of the boring domestic supplies. The big moving day is Saturday 21st November. Wish me luck!!

Health-wise, I am still thriving on the current med combination and am managing to sleep well. I have my neurologist appointment tomorrow to find out more about the Borderline Chiari Malformation that showed up on my MRI. The headaches are still there, but I'm dealing with them, so if nothing comes from the specialist then it's no big deal. I'd rather avoid the "removing part of my skull" operation if at all possible LOL.

heaven in my hurricane

This is a photograph of my brain. No cabbages, no obvious lesions, but as I have just the scans and no report, we'll have to wait and see. I have an appointment with Dr A on Monday, and the radiology clinic have faxed the report to him. During the MRI there were no audible screams of horror, or ironic chuckling, but due to my muffler-headphones and the extreme noise of the blasted machine I would probably not have heard them anyway. Nobody told me that the MRI machine would sound like putting your head in a washer/dryer. If I hadn't had a headache for the previous 3 months I would definitely have come out with one lol. It was also the most claustrophobic, anxiety-inducing experience I've had in some time... I think it's similar to my opinion of childbirth -- no-one tells you quite how horrifying it is because then no-one would ever go through it!

One of the reasons I found it so difficult was the choice of location. Seven years ago Mr Ex and I endured 6 months of stressful, painful, embarrassing, intrusive and ultimately unsuccessful fertility treatment in that very same hospital. Before yesterday's scan I had coffee in the same coffee shop where Mr Ex and I sometimes sat after various tests, phrases like "hostile mucus" and "deceased sperm" running through our heads. After my scan I used the same bathroom I sat and cried in after one or another sad meeting in which our treatment nurse Janet, or an offsider, shared the inevitable bad news of another failure. It brought back so many memories I thought I'd forgotten, or driven away with my determination to be sexily un-child-ed. But the soul doesn't forget, and the cellular memory pushed me hard in the back towards the edge yesterday...

Glad it's over. I'm not surprised my brain showed a lack of obviously-fatal tumour-shaped objects. I should be so lucky. I told my friend Michelle that I was possibly one of the few patients they had in the clinic who would have been disappointed to be NOT dying. Having a terminal illness would just put an end to all this irritating and exhausting business of living and trying and working on being well. I know, I know, I know. It's not funny. We've all lost people we love, good and special people, to tumours, cancers, lesions...But I'd be lying if I denied that a sick and twisted part of me has always hoped that there would be a denouement to my life that would render me worthwhile and purposeful.

Sadly, unless the report tells me something I couldn't find by comparing my MRI scans to Google Images of "brain lesions", it seems I must continue to find purpose in living rather than dignity in dying.

I spent some time with my oldest friend Samantha today, and her baby daughter Sierra (whom I call my niece). Here she is in all her cuddlesome glory:

Even jaded old me had to admit that life seemed to have more oomph to it when she was nearby, even though I'm sadly not the slightest bit clucky or maternal. I really have made peace with being child-free (I refuse to say child-less as if I am less of a person, less of a woman because my body won't work in certain ways). I'm thrilled and blessed to consider Sam's three kids as my nephews and niece, and perhaps one day my perennial bachelor brother will settle down and make me a genuine blood aunty! Sometimes I wonder if being a mother would have made a difference, would have somehow filled part of the gaping hole in my heart. Being back in that hospital this week certainly made me wonder at the paths we take in life, and those that we're forced down through circumstance. In the end, though, I guess where we end up is where we're supposed to be. How would Jon Kabat-Zinn describe it - "Wherever you go, there you are?" Yep, ain't that the kicker.

(NB: Today's title from P!nk "The One That Got Away")

in a bullet proof vest with the windows all closed

In the last couple of weeks my grandmother (who regular readers will know lives with me and my parents) has suffered from deteriorating health. She's approaching 91, and has been lucky to not have any life-threatening or serious illness; because of that she almost seems to be oblivious to her (statistically speaking) approaching death! She had a minor stroke about five years ago, and came to live with us, and has been in good health since then. Last week she had a couple of dizzy spells, and possibly had one or more TIAs (like mini strokes), and consequently we've needed to keep a closer eye on her (and help her to shower, walk to the bathroom, etc).

The reason I mention this is that I decided I would offer to move out of my master bedroom with ensuite bathroom so my nanna can move in. Mr Ex and I had the master bedroom when we first moved in, and when he left I got to keep it. I am fairly obsessive about germs, particularly when it comes to bathrooms, and sharing a bathroom is very very low on my "to do" list. It seemed like it was important, though, and also I thought it might prepare me for next year when I plan to move out of here. Previously, my nanna has inhabited the two back bedrooms of the house and shared a bathroom with my parents. But there was a dining room, bathroom, laundry, and another bedroom between her room and my parents', so at night we were concerned she might call out and no-one would hear. The master bedroom is opposite the formal lounge room that my parents use as their bedroom, so nanna will be closer to them, and also having her own bathroom adjacent to her bed will be easier. Naturally, in the way of narcissists, she managed to be both ungrateful for my sacrifice and irritated that she got to sit in the family room relaxing while the rest of us schlepped her many china cabinets, chairs and occasional tables up to her new quarters.

In terms of square feet of space, I think the two smaller rooms are about equal to the master bedroom. All of my stuff has fitted in to them, and each has a built-in closet which combined are almost the same as the walk-in closet I had in my other room. I have one room set up for sleeping and one with a couch and desk and book shelves. The main drawback is sharing the bathroom...but I will adjust. I do think it will prepare me to live in shared accommodation, in case I can't afford my own place next year. I also think being "less comfortable" is a good thing, as it will encourage me to live outside these four walls.

I am in agony today, after shifting all the furniture. But it has been fun to put my things away in new places and to throw some old junk away. I've discovered a few hobbies and interests that I'd let drop, which I may take up again. And I know that health-wise it's better to have my PC in a room where I don't sleep. I miss my sparkling, scrubbed, fragrantly-deodorized, my-germs-only bathroom! In the way of things, I am trying to make the best of what I know is the "right" choice.

In other news, I'm thrilled to welcome Procrastination and Her One-Eyed Dog to my life. My virtual-world friend Kate has gifted her to me, and I'm happy to have such a quirky, beautiful, clever gift in my life (describes the girl AND the stitching lol).

(title of today's post comes from my favourite Coldplay song "See You Soon")

we are all made of stars

A terribly sad few days here in the Lil household, as we said goodbye to Possum. My mom has had Possum and her brother Tigger for 10 years, half of that time they've lived with me, and as kittehs are part of the family, her death has hit us all hard. She had an embolism or heart attack (not sure which) and although she was clearly no longer "all there", she was not in pain, so we brought her home to spend her last hours in front of the log fire as we said mantras for her rebirth and laid her under a pillow case blessed by His Holiness the Dalai Lama. As Buddhists, it's really really really a difficult decision to euthanaise and we were thankful she wasn't suffering and could just pass peacefully. It happened early Saturday morning and we're adjusting to a house with just three kittehs. Her brother has been calling for her, and wandering around a bit lost. She was tiny, and quiet, and not the most robust of kittehs, but she had the sweetest personality. We will all miss her.

this is the last day of our acquaintance

Something that I didn't anticipate when I joined this cracked bunch of mental health bloggers is how darn FOND I would become of y'all. Consequently, I've been majorly bummed out lately to find a few of my blogging friends have either deleted their blogs or abandoned them. I also clicked some of the blogrolls of my regular visited sites and found a fair few of their links also led me to the ubiquitous "site not found" message. In my research, I've discovered there's an actual term for it - "blog abandonment".

I know it happens. People move on, get lives, get committed (ha!), find other outlets. I read somewhere that 60-80% of blogs are abandoned within the first month, and that the average lifespan of the 20-40% that survive is seven months. In my other blog-life, (2 years as part of the weight loss surgery community) people regularly come and go from my comments and followers pages. But somehow, it doesn't feel as sad. I think the way in which I connect to, and support, mental health bloggers is much more real to me. Which no doubt says more about ME than about anything else lol. Did I ever mention my pathological fear of abandonment??

I miss you, my lost bloggers - especially Belinda, Kate and John. If you're still lurking about and reading, you know who you are and know that I wish you well. I hope that the things that took you away from the blogs I loved are good, healthy, happy, positive things. I hope you are thriving, or at least surviving.

(*today's post title is from the awesome Sinead O'Connor song of the same name)

til you lost me there in the open road*

Mr Ex came over yesterday, to have his weekly custody visit with The Dog. I'd planned to bring up the D.I.V.O.R.C.E. last week, but he played the Deadbeat Dad and didn't show for the visit. I knew Dr A would chew me out if I saw him this week having still not broached the D-subject with Mr Ex so I bit the bullet and said, ever-so-casually "So, I've been finding out about how to start divorce proceedings".

I swear, he was surprised.

We've lived apart for well over a year, and except for a handful of social gatherings the only time we've spent together is when he picks up or drops off The Dog. He's never mentioned reconciling, apart from immediately after I told him to move out, and has made no effort to win me back in any traditional (or, indeed, visible) ways. But he seemed shocked that I would actually download and print out paperwork to officially end this thing. Weird. Although, having said that, I became hollow and teary after he left. Even though I don't want to be in any kind of relationship with anyone, and certainly think it's best for me & Mr Ex to not be married, I was struck by the inevitable wave of sorrow that true endings bring. For a long, long time our marriage was good, and for almost all the eleven years we've been together our relationship/friendship has been rock solid. We just aren't meant to be married.

This has been a truly tough week. My friend Michelle, my only regular-contact friend, has decided she doesn't want to continue bowling in our team, and as bowling is my only social outlet/hobby, it's kind of devastating. I'm trying to decide whether to find another team, but given that I have only ever bowled with Michelle, I think most of my enjoyment in bowling has been in spending time with her. I understand her reasons, and most of the time I manage to not take it personally, but it's just one more hit in a week when the hits just keep coming. Dr A rang me just now to reschedule today's appointment to Wednesday, and had I told him even one of the things I've dealt with over the last 2 weeks he would not have rescheduled. I told him everything was fine, showed some High-Functionin' Flair, and now have to struggle along. I knew he would only ask me to reschedule if someone was in a major crisis, so how could I be petty? There are a great many folk worse off than me, even if I am having a tough week lol. I think I am going to have a bath, make a cup of tea and read my new book. It's not a permanent replacement for therapy, but it's okay by me.

(*today's post title is from Tori Amos' A Sorta Fairytale)

All The More A Pair Of Underwater Pearls

I'm continuing my recent trend of using favourite song lyrics for my blog titles, so forgive any obscurity! This last week has been perplexing and a challenge (not the least because I'm now 39 and feeling I am approaching that gray area known as "middle age", but I digress...). I spent the weekend at a fantastic seminar by a man called Ian Gawler, who survived a terminal cancer diagnosis over 30 years ago and now teaches meditation, healing and general wellbeing. The two day workshop was one of my birthday presents, from my parents (who both attended as well), and although it was exhausting to be out of the house and listening/concentrating for two full days, it was definitely worth the effort. The Saturday was completely devoted to meditation techniques and sessions - generally I only get around to meditating once or twice a week, but I'm determined to make it a daily practice. That's the way to get the most benefit, especially for someone in therapy and managing a mental illness. One of the things that struck me the most about the weekend was Ian saying that the idea of meditation can become a source of stress and anxiety (ie: "I really have to meditate, why can't I meditate better, why can't I concentrate", etc, etc). He suggests to find a method that works and do it in a comfortable way for just a short period of time until it becomes second nature, then increasing time spent in meditation and the style of meditation. I've always been particularly successful at guided meditation, and I found out that is probably due to my learning style (Auditory). My mum, on the other hand, finds she needs a visual focus otherwise she is distracted from the guiding voice by pictures appearing in her mind. Interesting stuff. I can't deny that meditation and relaxation techniques have helped with my recovery.

One of the weird things about my birthday is that I received a text message, and presents, from someone I mentioned in an earlier post. I hadn't heard from this friend for about 8 months, since I spent thousands of dollars on visiting her for her 30th birthday, so I had kind of assumed we were no longer sympatico. Of course, I hadn't had the chance or opportunity or desire to share with her the details of my breakdown in Dec-Jan. In my cracked BPD way I had assumed she hated me, and didn't care that I was crumbling, when in fact it seems she was imagining I was just busy and having a great life (and was therefore out of touch with her). It did my head in somewhat...to have this person and these feelings pop back into my life when it sometimes seems like that was a totally different Lil. The presents, the contact...they struck me as slightly "off", like they belonged to someone I used to be. There's no question that I have changed mightily, and necessarily. I am probably less fun, less apt to smile and indulge in banter. But I think I am a more whole person now, if that makes sense. I finally feel like I am working towards "real", after a lifetime of experiencing that horrifying Borderline "who the fuck am I?" emptiness. I hope that writing to my friend H, and updating her on all the ways in which the last 8 months have in fact been the antithesis of happy and busy, will enable us to move our friendship to a new level. It's worth a try, because as strange as it was to have her contact me, it also feels like the right thing. Now I've got used to the idea!

At work, things are going well. My boss took me aside last week (on my birthday actually) and asked if I was interested in more hours. It happens to me every time. I intend to work part-time, and then get sucked into the love-to-show-off, flattery vortex of being needed and agree to more hours, get more money, and then get tired and depressed and strung out. Not this time. I told her I would consider working every second Monday, which is a compromise that suited us both. Also, she tells me I will be getting a payrise next month because they think I am far-exceeding their expectations and in general doing a kick-ass job. Yay for me! I was relieved, because you just never know what people are thinking. I felt good about my standard of work, but it's nice that the boss confirmed it. I still love going there, and am gradually getting to be friends with one of the girls and am opening up a little to the other staff. It's an effort sometimes to be New Lil, though, because the quasi-comfortable craziness of Borderline Lil is still close to the surface.

This is a long and winding post. I have been tired and overwhelmed by life and learning and have been too long away from my dearheart bloggers. My apologies! I am slowly catching up on all the goings-on in blogworld over the last week.

Xenophobe

I really don't play well with others.

I love y'all here in the virtual world, you don't require anything from me apart from occasional touching base and a modicum of honesty when I do so. As part of the online mental health community, I know that my friends understand how hard it is to form sentences and make sensible comments when in the grip of madness. In the real world, it's SO damn hard to fit in and feel comfortable. The way I have coped with this past year, with psychosis and diagnosis, is to stop being part of the "real world" in anything but a token way. Leading up to my breakdown I was permanently "on"- hyperattaching, falling in love, falling out, imagining enemies, experiencing vendettas. It exhausts me to even think about it now. No wonder I am spent... strung out and tired of the nuances and negotiations. These days, I prefer my own company and can barely make the effort to hang on to the couple of friendships that have survived the post-BPD-mania fallout.

At work, everyone gathers at noon to have lunch together. I can't tell you how irritating this is. I'm using all my coping skills to just stay focused and be productive, and then I have to sit and make chitchat with the nice ladies? Oy. They are the friendliest group of people I've ever worked with, and I know that compassion is something they have in spades, but for obvious reasons I don't feel inclined to share the whole "crying/slashing/screaming/blackness" that was the first half of 2009. I've been really strong, and followed Dr A's advice in not over-sharing or being trusting with people until I make real connections with them. In the past, my MO has been to throw myself headfirst into social situations, showing off and sharing all my gory details in an attempt to impress people and "make friends". I'm not interested in being that person any more, truthfully, I cringe at the memory of it.

I'm embarrassed at the so-called bonds I imagined I had with people.

I'm hopeful I'll never leave myself open to manipulation and ridicule like that ever again.

Even if it means living a solitary life, I need to stay away from that kind of behaviour and its consequences. Since I've retreated into my own world, things have been undeniably smoother and calmer. Away from the drama and potential fuck-over that is "Other People", I'm making some headway and feeling like I may actually live to see 40. It's not reality, and some day Dr A is probably gonna expect more from me than "getting to know myself". I really think, though, that I might be someone who needs to live a life somewhat removed from others. The big areas of catastrophe in my life have been those involving connections to other people (both men and women, platonic as well as sexual).

Meanwhile, I am finding myself "finishing up" at my desk for ten or fifteen mins after lunch has started. Then, I take a while to make my lunch. So that hopefully I only have to face the conversational firing squad for twenty minutes maximum. I try not to, but I feel guilty for being so "antisocial". These are kind, sweet ladies, who just want to get to know me. How can I start to explain the grocery list of reasons why they really DON'T want to know me??

This One's For Coyote and Juno

I made the top LOLCAT from a photo of my cat Sami - I heard Wandering Coyote might be in need of a new therapist and most of us agree cats make the best doctors. Then the second LOLCAT is one I saw today at www.icanhascheezburger.com and I instantly thought of the beautiful and voluptuous Juno and her BLFD.

Wandering Coyote's blog was the first one I found, back in Jan/Feb when I was struggling with my psychotic breakdown and eventual diagnosis with Borderline Personality Disorder. I googled "California Rocket Fuel", the medication combo I was on (Effexor and Mirtazapine), and lo and behold I found a kindred spirit. Coyote found herself a stalker hahahahaha. Jokes. No, really! Through Coyote I found my other blogging friends, all of whom have helped me navigate my way to semi-sanity. I just wanted to say thanks, and to reassure her that even on days when she feels like shit she means the world to me (to us, yeah?).

Awards

Thank you, Anonymous Drifter, for this friendship award

And thanks to Just Be Real for this cute award

I first starting blogging a couple of years ago, when I started planning to have weight loss surgery. At the time, there were very few blogs by people who'd had the type of surgery I chose, and I knew I could provide info and support as well as keeping a record for myself. It's been a great experience, and a number of people have emailed me through that blog and have pursued surgery for themselves. The WLS community is quite supportive, and I am still happy to be a part of it.

I have to say, though, that the mental health bloggers I've met this year, since my latest breakdown and diagnosis, have far surpassed any other community in terms of support and friendship. I don't know what I would have done, literally, without your blogs and emails and comments. Never before has it been more important that I feel connected to people, and understood -- and it has made a huge difference.

Just though it was time to say that. I am (in general) tired, strung out and loopy so may not have the wherewithal to post anything of note. But being able to visit and read everyone's blogs makes the day pass a little better.

Blog Slut

My problems are multitudinous, my physique gelatinous. I'm also, I'm discovering, becoming quite the blogosphere tart. The trouble with visiting great blogs is that they link me to other great blogs, and so on and so forth until I have a Google Reader overflowing with daily updates on all the things most loved by me. Binge eating. Borderline Personality Disorder. Bipolar. Barbie. And those are just the Bs!! So much amazing writing, so many stories of great trouble and triumph. I really love the virtual community, not least because to participate in it I don't need to shower or put on lipstick. Also, in the last few months since my murky crackups gelled into a diagnosis-of-sorts, the blog world has reassured me that I am a) sane and b) not alone. Those two things were starting to be less and less "true" in my "real world". Thank you to all my blog friends, old and new, and keep fighting the good fight!

Weirdly, my weekend has been stable and...dare I say it...boring? Secretly, I long for the day when my next mood cycle hits, or some massive trigger kicks the stool out from under my dull ass and I go all rainbow-hued and mental again. I know this is SO stupid. It's counter-productive to WANT to relapse. But then I think of all the times Dr A has said to me that recovery needs to be tested over and over again, and I want to start TESTING some of the new techniques I'm learning with this CBT palaver. I was reading a biography today by an Australian Rugby player who has bipolar disorder, and he says after diagnosis and medication he used Ecstasy as a way to recapture the feeling he had during mania. Es have never been a part of my repertoire due to the SSRIs I was packing. But I can see the point... I really don't want to schiz out again and wander the streets believing I'm reading the minds of passing folk. I clearly don't miss hyperattachments to sundry stupids (mostly at work, just to give me a reason to go there!).

I don't even know why I'm bringing this up - it feels like an apology for the fact that I am doing okay. Which sucks. As mentioned, I read other blogs and a lot of us seem to need to reassure docs, workmates, families that contrary to outward appearances, WE ARE NOT OKAY.

Three reasons I am not okay, today:

1. This morning I found a drowned mouse in my dog's water bowl. He looked peaceful, but still.
2. While pruning my rose bushes I tripped over a sprinkler and gashed my leg, which bled all over my "good" socks and my New Balance trainers (sneakers). The blasted injury is killing me and prevented me from lolling in the bath all evening.
3. Twice this week I saw DK. Once driving past the bus stop and then yesterday when C and I drove past his house and he was mowing the lawn. I miss him "like my left arm that's been lost in a war" and although it's been nine months since we talked, in my head we are always always always talking, we tell each other everything as always and I still don't get, will never get, why we aren't friends any more when all I did was tell my Hopeless Husband that I wanted out, clearly a terrible unforgivable thing that made it impossible for DK and LK to continue speaking to me, to either of us, to continue allowing me to be godmother to their kids, sometimes I hate her for this, I know it's her and not his decision because when we see each other there's that moment when I FEEL his confusion and he seems to want to wave, to, smile, to speak, to acknowledge that I still exist and am still seen in thousands of photographs and videos that MUST still be in their house, and no wonder I tell people that this betrayal hurts me so much more than Mr Ex and his ambivalence.

For this, and legions more, I am not okay dammit.