The Earth Starts to Curve

Deb McGrath, Colin Mochrie's wife, co-writes a blog with her friend Barb. (Barbs are special people.) Deb's contribution this week, to WAY oversimplify things, is about empathy for those suffering/dealing with mental illness. Let's touch the greatest nerve of all, shall we? I responded with the following:      

 Deb, I offer my sympathies on the loss of your friends. I haven't lost anyone to suicide, and actually can't imagine what you are feeling.      

When I read the first few lines of this, I felt like I had been punched in the gut. NOT because it bothered me that much, but because SOMEONE CARES. Holy S**t, someone else cares!!       

I've suffered from what appeared to be MAJOR depression since I was about 14. I've lost track of how many times I've attempted suicide over the years. The feelings of LOST and DESPAIR and EMPTY are so overwhelming that all I want is for it to STOP, and the only way I see to get it to STOP is to end it myself. There are NO other options. And this thought is just about the ONLY thought I had, the ONLY feeling I had. That I "had straight A's, so how could I be miserable?" didn't matter. "Just cheer up!" didn't help. (Cheer up? Really? Damn, I wish I'd thought of that!) My daughter would be better off without me, so she wasn't honestly a factor. People can judge all they want. That isolates a depressed person even more. I feel bad enough, I don't need you to throw more wood on the fire by telling me what ELSE I'm doing wrong.      

Deb, I need to tell you that Colin has literally been a life-saver for me. As I went through this personal hell in high school, my best friend told me that, if I killed myself, she would not mourn my death. MY BEST FRIEND. And here's Colin, giving a shit, about a complete stranger? Words will NEVER describe... Let's just say I can't emphasize enough how grateful I am to him for caring. And God bless him for his patience.      

I finally admitted to a suicide attempt 6 years ago. (After so many years of failure, it was time to look at other options.) I've been through a LOT of treatments since, all guess-work, mind you, because it's not an exact science. There's no way to monitor whether the drug, if it's the right one, is at the correct dosage... no blood test to check levels. (Except lithium. I don't know anything about that one, though.) When I see "my meds guy," who I really like and feel comfortable with, the best he can ask is "What's been going on" and "How are you feeling?" How much more subjective can you get?       

I had ECT treatments, and there's no feeling like going to sign your name and for the briefest second not remembering what it IS. I lost my job of 15 years due to the side effects. The "fun" part is that it turns out I'm Bi-Polar, not "just" depressed. The treatments are different. The meds are different. ECT is NOT recommended. Great. Just freakin' great.      

On the POSITIVE side, I might actually be close to the right balance of meds. The depths aren't nearly as low. The feelings of hopelessness don't last nearly as long. I do miss the highs, but the trade-off is I don't have the lows.      

Then there's therapy, for LIFE. (Being on the meds for life doesn't bother me. I have diabetes, so this just adds a few more things to the "pill-a-day" container.) I also trust my therapist, which is VITAL when you're digging deep to not only find answers, but FACE them. People think it's just talk, but I tell ya, it's harder work than I have ever experienced before.      

Damn, I didn't realize how many worms were in this can!       

I could go on forever about this. I probably could have skipped a lot of this, because Karen wrote a lot of my experiences already. What this boils down to is THANK you. THANK you for WANTING to know. For WANTING to understand.      

For CARING. Which is a bigger help than you may ever know. Dawn xo" The response was this:

          "

Deb said...

     Dawn, like so many of the comments today, I don't know what to say. When the comments started to come in, Colin asked me if I had heard from you, so yes, he is thinking of you and hoping things are good."      

There are times I wonder how much the meds can help, how much I still have to work through, and how much of these feelings are permanent, just ingrained in me. Intellectually, I know people remember me. I KNOW that there are people who DO care, and I can name some of them and be confident that I got the right people. Emotionally, however, my mind is SURE that "out of sight, out of mind" rules the day, and that there's NO way I matter. My mind is a flat-earther, SURE that there are no other options.      

Then I read this response and the flat-earther was like, "NO. FUCKING. WAY." But hey, flat-man, that there is honest-to-goodness PROOF. PROOF, damn you! You DO exist outside the fandom. YOU ARE A PERSON. HE DOES CARE.      

Flat earth is literally blown away, and is still rather speechless about the whole thing. 

"Hhhhow? Why? WHY??"      

  

It IS. You don't need "why."

Not harsh, just New England

I wrote this because this is how it affected most of the eastern shores of New England. In other words, it didn't. The inner lands and people have my sympathies and thoughts.

"THERE you are!!! It's windy here. That's it. Buncha weather losers. It's New England. I'm surprised the sun isn't out by now. I bought water yesterday because I always buy bottled water. The rest of the world went cuckoo. We did have a serious downpour yesterday for about half an hour. Just enough to flood the same streets that always flood in those storms. Yet another mountain out of a molehill. Wimps."

As far as our area is concerned, I think that the weather panics and "chicken little" weathermen's dire predictions of famine (Oh no! Get all the bread and water NOW!) and pestilence (HIDE) will slow down significantly, if not stop all together when those who went through the Blizzard of '78 retire. 

I hate the particular weather, sometimes. But I live in New England, now by choice, and it's where I experience life--Mother Nature at her worst, her best, and everything in between.

"Bailey" or "Don't Insult the Rocks"

The other cat to move with me into my parents' house is Bailey, Georgie's brother. They are from the same litter, and they are both black and white, but there the similarities end. Where Georgie is a bit timid around strangers, Bailey comes up to them, to you, to anyone, knowing full well you're there to see him. Where Georgie purrs only under specific circumstances, you could probably hear Bailey from wherever you are right now, if the wind were not blowing so hard. And, where Georgie has taught me his basic language, Bailey doesn't have one. His brain cells can be counted, optimistically, on both hands. Here's where they're used:

#1) PURR. So much of his energy is used up in this process, it gets its own cell. He purrs so strongly, his body vibrates. The cat was built to purr. Car engines everywhere should be jealous. 

#2) BE. Basic body functions, including breathing. Why waste brain cells here when there are so many other important things they need to do?

#3) EAT. This particular brain cell is often overworked. When we were in my apartment, the cats ate 2x a day, plus crunchies as snacks if they were in the mood. We have moved into Nana's now, and what grandmother doesn't spoil their grandkids? Here, they get three meals a day, plus crunchies, and enough food goes down each meal time to feed 5 hungry cats, or, two and a half pigs, as the case may be.
Only three cats ever show up: Georgie (to make sure I've personally put crunchies in his dish), Fig (the amazing eating machine), and Bailey. This brain cell makes up the whole of Bailey's vocabulary, easily translated as EAT. Not "hungry," mind you. I find it impossible to believe "hungry" ever has existed in any of the brain cells, even ones that have long since died off. Food appears. Cell awakes -- no, cell goes from "Pause" to "EAT NOW." (I still wonder about the "NOW" part. I'll give the cell the benefit of the doubt, but it's a damn thin benefit.) (It certainly has NOT lead to a thin cat.)
The cat is propelled toward the dish. Let's yield half a cell to motion, because it's getting him to the dish. Then it shuts off and the EATING begins.
Bailey has visibly gained weight since we moved here 3 years ago. I've tried to alter this pattern, but grandma wins out. "We don't want them to be hungry." Trust me, ma, they're not.
I lose that argument.
Brain cell #3 is pleased.

#4) OUTSIDE. This cell has an important characteristic differentiating from all other Bailey brain cells: It has evolved. OUT has had a cell devoted to it almost since the beginning. The evolution to OUTSIDE happened at our second apartment, where we lived on the first floor and the door led to the actual outside, instead of just a hallway. He made it OUTSIDE with the help of a harness and leash. "Hey, Bay, look what we have! You wanna go out?" turns into "bleah ehablea ablehea" *twist* *turn* *wriggle* OUTOUTOUTOUTOUT
This is also one of the brain cells that shuts off when not in use, like when it's raining, snowing, or when it's just too inconvenient to go OUT.

So, those are his "active" brain cells. Yeah, I chuckle at the use of "active," too. Then there are the other cells, and their... functions? Uses? Reasons to take up space? Eh, close enough.

#5) STARE. I'm not talking about CAT-staring, like "let's have a staring contest with the cat" staring. I'm talking about, "Oh, look, shiny thing!" staring. A tiny bug walks across the floor? STARE. Up the wall? STARE. A spot on the wall? STARE. Our front door has a window made of beveled glass. The sunrise comes directly through it and reflects off the wall on the stairway. The sparkle it creates is pretty. For Bailey, it is alive. STARE-ing at this one space alone can take up a LOT of time. And let's not even get into the shadow on the front of the washing machine. MY shadow. Walking back and forth past the machine amuses me and fascinates good old #5 for a few minutes. He runs back and forth, jumping at the shadow on occasion, activating a SECOND cell, #2, who is nothing short of SHOCKED. Really wears a cat out, which, of course, leads to...

#6) SLEEP. I don't even know if an entire brain cell NEEDS to be devoted to this. It is not only "lack of consciousness," it is basically "lack of cat."  Stopped. Closed shop. Brain has checked out.

Oops. One problem there. "Brain" has checked out? We're talking about 6 cells here. This cat is dumb as a box of rocks. Beautiful, lovable, but -- oh, look at that. We did need the second hand to count them, after all.

 

Yahoo

I get a lot of my news from Yahoo, simply because my email is in there somewhere. It has some regular news, and it has some "odd" news.

By the by, Greg Proops does a 4-minute or so video thing commenting on the odd news stories every week. Pretty damn funny, to no one's surprise.

After most of the articles, there's room to comment on the stories. This cheers me up and pisses me right the hell off at the same time. It demonstrates the ignorance of people in such a way that it makes me want to either cry, or beat the hell out of our nation. It scares me to know that these people are allowed to VOTE. I'm not of a political mind, by and large, but there are a few issues I believe in strongly: capital punishment (Kill 'em so I don't have to support them), gay marriage (Why make LOVE illegal, especially in this day and age), and abortion (If I don't believe in them, I won't have one. But I don't want to support unwanted children.) Love me or hate me, these are my stances on issues.

Thing is, though, is that this page right here is about the only place you'll hear me talk about these issues. I don't want to force my views on others and try to defend them, any more than I want other people to force their beliefs on me. And politics?? Zeus help me. It turns the Yahoo messageboards into one big Monty Python sketch. (Yes, he did. No, he didn't. Yes, it is. No, it isn't. It's black, no it isn't.)

There's an option to click either "Thumbs up" or "thumbs down," and that's usually where I file my opinion. Occasionally, I do speak up. My innate scientific mind thinks logically, so that's where my answers/comments come from. I try to make sense of the senseless (god DAMN, is that hard sometimes!), but, more often, I try to refocus the group on what the article is actually about, what it is SAYING.
"It's a cat." There. That's your article. Comments range from "No shit" to "What kind of cat?" to "It's Obama's/Democrats/Republican's fault it is a cat." Or the ever popular "It's Obama's/Democrats/Republicans fault it's not a dog."

I will say, "Hey kids, it's not about right and wrong. It's a cat. That's ALL." I know this sounds oversimplified, but, sadly, they're like this often as not. There are times, a LOT of them, when I wonder why I bother. Then I go into my email and there's a Yahoo message telling me people have acknowledged my comment. The feeling I experience when I find that 12 people have given my comments a "thumbs up" thrills me no end. I'm not oversimplifying when I say it gives me real hope that maybe, just maybe, there are enough non-idiots, non-ignorant people, to keep this country and planet turning in a positive direction, that not everyone is a complete jackass.

That's what makes me go Yahoo.

45 and Counting

Today is my parents' 45th wedding anniversary. There aren't many couples around anymore who can say that, at least, not many I know. Some have passed away, but more just haven't lasted that long, mine included.

My 1st marriage lasted just under 5 years. My second, well, technically we're still married, but we haven't been together for, yup, it's three years now. I should just get that over with, and really, it's just a matter of hauling my butt to the other side of the city (my city, not Boston), filling out paperwork (which I can even print out on-line), and handing over $215.  That I haven't isn't a matter of not wanting the divorce, or still being tied to it emotionally, or some such nonsense. I just haven't done it yet.

I tell people that my ex and I are playing 'divorce chicken.' Whoever needs it pays for it. The more I think about it, though, the more I realize I'm the loser in this game. I get to claim my daughter on my taxes every year, and "married, filing separately" makes me ineligible for a lot more deductions as "head of household, limited income credit," and a lot of other happy bullshit that I understand just enough to realize I'm not getting it.

I tend to talk to myself a LOT, and the most common phrase is, "I'm an idiot." What I've started to realize is that, instead of being an idiot, I was suffering from an undiagnosed case of bipolar disorder. For YEARS, I was depressed, and, as it was certainly the more prominent of the two, was diagnosed as such. Problem with that is each is treated with different medications, and/or different procedures. Now, as I look back, I wasn't an idiot, I was "just" sick. It was why my two marriages failed, and why I married in the first place. Had I been thinking with my head, instead of my emotions, I'd never have gotten married, to either man. My daughter is from my first marriage, so I can't say it was a complete waste of time, either, as at least she was the bonus.

Long story short? I'm not an idiot. I just marry them. :)

I'm 43 now. I'm just hoping to have some sanity back by 45. AND be divorced. I am not my parents' Oldsmobile. 

"Meow," or "Say something I can understand!"

I just got this page all set up, and knew exactly what I was going to write about, until this page actually appeared. Georgie’s in the room, so let’s talk about him instead.

Georgie is one of my cats. He’s about 10. Mostly black, with a white belly, white feet, and white nose except for one oddly-place black spot. He got his name rather randomly. After I discarded Oreo, because, in my mind, that’s a girl’s name, I just started throwing names at the cat. Fred, Ralph, Mike, George… Hmmmm…. Let’s try that one. If I remember it tomorrow, that’ll be his name. It stuck, and here he is. (By the way, his brother is Bailey, and “It’s A Wonderful Life” had nothing to do with this combination.)

Georgie’s nickname is “What???” I’m always saying that, because he’s a meow-er. He has about 5 different vocal "expressions," and, although I can distinguish them all, I don’t speak cat, so I’m forever saying “What??” I like to think I've figured some of them out, but he won't confirm or deny it. Here are my guesses:

1) “Put crunchies in the dish so I can see that YOU fed me. Even if the bowl is full and you put five crunchies in it, it’s the principal of the thing.”

2) “Get some water in that dish, it’s not all the way up to the top. However, I will drink it, so I’m not just trying to make a point. THIS time.”

3)”Clean out the damn litter box! There are five of us sharing these things, and MINE is dirty.” (He believes no one else should use “his,” so when it needs cleaning, it means someone ELSE went in it, and he gets insulted.)

4) “Pick me up. It may look like I’m struggling to wiggle away, but it’s only a token gesture, in case one of the other cats sees me and calls me a wuss or something. Also, I’m going to lounge on your RIGHT shoulder. I don’t care if you’re typing. Use the other hand and give me my shoulder already.”

There’s another one in there, and that’s where “What??” comes in. No matter how many times I ask, he still won’t explain it to me, or at least show me. It turns into an argument and it bothers me that he always seems to win. And I don’t even know what argument I lost!

There are a total of 5 cats in this house. Georgie and Bailey are mine, and, 3 years ago, the three of us moved into my parents’ house, where there were (are) already 3 cats:  Fluffy, Bingo, and Figaro/Fig/Moose. Not everyone gets along all the time, but we manage. I break up fights occasionally, and my mother tells them to stop and be nice to each other. (Yeah, ma, and after they do that, tell them the Red Sea needs parting again.)

This past Sunday, I found a couple more cats I’d love to adopt. One is blind, and I’d have to also take a second “seeing eye cat,” to help the blind one until he got the lay of the land. I told my dad about this, and he agreed with my logic, that he’d see one go by and just wonder which one THAT was. My mother would notice, but as soon as I pointed out the blindness, she’d deal. What’s one more litter box? The amount of Febreze, Lysol, and any number of air fresheners we buy also stimulates the economy. Win-win situation for everyone.

On the other hand, it would be more meows I'd have to interpret. So, maybe not.

PS I love commas.