bipolar

Don’t Panic! / Not Again!


June 12, 2021 :: 10:35 AM

And so, Don’t Panic - the most recent BotF winner - heads into the finals

I should have posted this AGES ago, but the last Battle of the Fandoms team I was on was Hitchhiker’s themed. It’s a bit of an odd book, one I don’t read often enough, but it was transformative when it came into my life. I can’t read it without thinking of the ex who forced it on me (and who I almost stole it from.) We are still friendly and I’m glad… he was such a huge part of my life.

I digress.

Right now, I’m running for another Hitchhiker’s team in the ‘season finale’. This team will most definitely lose. (There are a LOT of miles between us and first place. Possible, but highly unlikely. I mean, ANYTHING is possible during Racery.)

Normally, I let it bother me… but after a bunch of low milage Racery events, I’m done.

D.O.N.E.

Done.

I’ve gotten to the point where work is almost manageable. I’ve been working half weekends instead of full ones, so that’s progress.

I ran my first miles for Not Again last night. A 10K. The first long run in a while.

And…

Fuck me.

It felt good.

Running hasn’t felt that good in ages. Probably since COVID shut the world down.

Bipolar is a random bitch… some days I’m on top of the world and some days, the Ick is so bad, I want to dig a hole and hide.

Not going to lie, self-care hasn’t been high on my priority list. Surviving has been. Which includes getting the disaster that is the accounting department under control. (It’s been a year-long process…)

My new AR person is finding five figure mistakes - invoices there weren’t collected in a timely fashion. We still haven’t collected all the receivables from Hurricane Laura. That was 9 months ago. Most of that is the fault of the insurance company we worked for, but still. Then there’s the two guys who owed $20K+ - she never followed up on either, even though all the insurance proceeds went to the homeowner. Her replacement hunted one of them down - turns out the homeowner opened a claim, but the job contact was the tenant. We went after both of them until they finally paid us in full. In MAY.

Then, there’s still the small matter that I can’t get the books cleaned up. Every time I try, I seem to fail. Still haven’t closed January 2021.

Or the fact that I’m trying to squeeze HR and IT into already overflowing days.

I’m on my second AP person in a month and so far I think it’s love.

Better than the first one, at least.

So, yeah. I’m back to running. Back to training for Dopey, even though runDisney has been radio silent regarding the future. I’m not even sure I want to run Dopey any more, but I think that’s the depression talking.

I’ve signed up for ALL the Boston races since they’re offering all of them as virtual. No time requirements. I’ve already run the 5K. The 10K is at the end of this month, the half is in mid-September, and the marathon is in October.

This means that I will have my first marathon under my belt in 5 months. FIVE MONTHS.

That also means that I could upgrade my entry into the Palm Beach Marathon to the Marathon. It also means that I might run Miami, too.

I don’t know.

I have motivation again.

SERIOUS motivation.

OH! I almost forgot! We were watching some documentary on BBCAmerica and there is a fucking festival for people who like to watch cat videos on the internet.

Let that sink in for a moment.

The talking head said that people who watch cat videos find their anxiety lessening, they seem to be less depressed…

I HAVE FOUND THE PERFECT CURE FOR MY DEPRESSION AND IT IS NOT MEDS.

IT IS FUCKING CAT VIDEOS ON YOUTUBE.

My shrinky-dink is going to fucking love that. Especially since I can’t take anti-depressants.

It might also explain my desire to own a cat again.

Of course, we can’t because the dog hates them.

He just turned ten and knowing him, he has another full decade or two before he leaves us. So, there might not be a cat in our house for a long time.

But that’s OK. I have YouTube to get me though the dark days.

 

- - - - - - - - - -

The Battle Fish is improbable, yellow, prone to winning, and definitely the oddest thing in the universe. It feeds on the miles logged by other teams and transforms that energy into miles for Don’t Panic. It absorbs all unconscious mental frequencies from each member of the team. It then excretes into the minds of every runner a telepathic matrix formed by combining the conscious thought frequencies with an insatiable desire to win. The practical upshot of all of this is that if you stick a battle fish into your Racery team you can win Battle of the Fandoms. The miles you log are fed into the Racery application and designate the Don’t Panic team as the Season Two, Episode Three victors.  Possible side effects may include extreme giddiness, a desire to compete in all Racery events, the overwhelming need to translate English hashtags into German, fatigue, and some blisters.

It’s because of these drugs I do


May 06, 2021 :: 11:53 PM

wikipedia: creeping me out since 2001

Watching Netflix’s “Crime Scene: The Vanishing at the Cecil Hotel” and checking out Wikipedia.As you do when you’re home alone.

We all know the story of Elisa Lam - and if you don’t, where the fuck were you back in 2013 when the security camera footage went viral? But, there’s always more to the story than the creepy elevator video or the random way she died…

Like she was bipolar.

Buckle up, kids. Shit’s about to get real.

I’ve watched the video more times than I care to admit and I always thought she was fucked up on… something.

It never once occurred to me that she might have been out of her mind due to mania.

Which, well, my history *might* suggest an occasion or two where, um, things that should have been in my head actually weren’t.

At this point, I need to post a disclaimer:

WHEN I WAS FIRST DIAGNOSED, MY MEDS WERE NOT BALANCED CORRECTLY AND THEY FUCKED ME UP MORE THAN I ALREADY WAS. I AM NOT PROUD OF - NOR DO I LIKE TO REMEMBER / DISCUSS - THIS ROUGH PERIOD OF MY LIFE.

You’ve been warned. OK?

So. Yeah.

That.

The list of prescription drugs she was taking caught my eye because I have taken all four of those. I’m currently taking two of them in combination.

But.

The Wellbutrin… holy mother of fucking FUCK.

I swear when I wasn’t tasting fucking COLOURS, I was bouncing back and forth between severe depressions and… well, Guinness record breaking manic phases.

I hit both extremes so quickly and so consistently over a few weeks that I couldn’t function.

I didn’t know which way was up half the time.

And have I mentioned?

I COULD TASTE COLOURS!

It took forever to figure out what was going on and it turned out that the Wellbutrin was making me manic. Except, when you’re already manic, shit goes sideways real fucking quick.

(As it turned out, I can’t take anything marketed as an “anti-depressant” because they trigger the mania. I can thank the Wellbutrin for pointing out that particular quirk in my biology.)

So… enough about me.

Watching the video and realising that she was bipolar was like reliving the Wellbutrin days.

I would never go as far as to call it a psychotic break, because I (thankfully) don’t know what something that severe is like, but I can tell you that there were points where I might have been hallucinating and I might have acted kind of, sort of, similar to the way she did.

Thankfully, my Wellbutrin days are far, far, far behind me and I’ve not had that particular experience again… but watching her… yeah. I can totally see the mania in her actions.

Although… the odd thing is that she seems to have stopped taking her meds, or at least was weaning herself off of them.

Which, yeah, if you’re fucked up enough and you stop taking the things that make you less fucked up then, that’s a totally valid reason for her behaviour as well.

Will we ever know what really happened? Probably not.

In all honesty, I’m not sure I want to know… because if it was mania induced, well… I don’t know how I could process that.

I need some music, I need some sleep


December 26, 2020 :: 11:38 PM

Spending Christmas with Matt

I’ve taken over the HR duties at work, and there was a conversation I can’t let go of:

We had a client sleep with several of our subcontractors. Apparently, there was a move on our Project Manager.

Question: if he had slept with her and something had happened, would he be eligible for workers comp?

Heart attack, sprained muscle, STD… anything is fair game.

If they were at her house (“job site”), would it count as being on the job? Even if it was after hours?

Sometimes, I think we should adjust my meds. My head is going to the weirdest places lately.

-  -  -  -  -

We decided to paint my office this month and the husband went after it with a vengeance.

I ended up going with a soft grey - the same grey from the reading nook - with the same roman blinds, but no curtains.

That room used to be so dark that I used fairy lights and desk lamps(s) to try and brighten it up. I replaced the ugly sconces. The gold nipple lamp in the entry got replaced with a flush mount LED that’s brighter than the fucking sun. I also added a new ceiling fan with a light. Also LED. Also bright as fuck.

On one of the walls, there was a floor to ceiling mirror. One of the very first things we did when we moved in was had it removed. I left up the frame and we painted the inside of it with a bright white. (If removing the frame wasn’t going to necessitate replacing all the drywall, I’d have taken it down. That adhesive is nasty.)

The reading nook and the office are one big room, half assed divided by an arch and I think they will compliment each other beautifully. The reading nook is dark and cosy, with a bright red wall dominating. The office is bright and airy, with a large white area. They’re divided by a white and red IKEA shelving unit and I’m SO HAPPY with the way it all came together.

-  -  -  -  -

After quitting running (temporarily) due to depression, I signed up for Fandom Running Club’s year long event.

I think I have ONE real live race in 2021 so far… and I’m not sure I’ll be signing up for others.

Disney went virtual for Marathon Weekend and Rival Run and I’m not paying Disney dollars for a medal. That completely broke me. SHATTERED me.

So I’ve been licking my wounds and using a ridiculous backlog of work from the day job to distract myself.

But.

I miss running. Even if I only run on a treadmill and get bored after the first five minutes, I miss it.

I never finished my 2020 medal rerun, so I’m scrapping it. It doesn’t make sense to beat myself up for two shitty Racery events and not finishing all my medals. Let’s be honest, I’ve been in such a shit place that it takes EFFORT to get out of bed every morning, so… if that’s all I have spoons for, that’s all I have spoons for. I’m not going to sweat it.

I’ll be rerunning them all this year. Same rules apply: have to run entire medal distance in one go, intentional miles only, and the challenge medals are the same distance as all the year’s races. (The 2018 PHRC Phoenix Challenge only required that you ran all the races.)

-  -  -  -  -

I am not doing well.

That’s not a cry for attention. It’s a fact.

I’m exhausted.

I’m homesick.

I’m lonely.

It’s that last one that kills me… I’m not a people person by any means, but I miss being able to go out.

He was reared to give respect


June 10, 2020 :: 8:46 PM

one, two, ready, fence

“I am deeply sorry for the pain these comments have caused you. I really hope that you don’t entirely lose what was valuable in these stories to you. If these books taught you that love is the strongest force in the universe, capable of overcoming anything; if they taught you that strength is found in diversity, and that dogmatic ideas of pureness lead to the oppression of vulnerable groups; if you believe that a particular character is trans, nonbinary, or gender fluid, or that they are gay or bisexual; if you found anything in these stories that resonated with you and helped you at any time in your life — then that is between you and the book that you read, and it is sacred.” - Daniel Radcliffe

- - - - -

There once was a little girl who grew up desperately wanting to be a little boy.

It was “just a phase” when she took scissors to all the pink, feminine, clothing her mother used to buy.

It was “just a phase” when she decided she had to learn how to do boy things. Like pee standing up.

It was “just a phase” when she asked her father to call her Tom. (He thought it was short for tomboy. Yeah. no.)

It was “just a phase” when she got her period and felt suicidal.

It was “just a phase” when she realised that she preferred being a tomboy because it was as close as she could get to the real thing.

It was “just a phase” when she stopped buying women’s clothing.

It’s funny… out of all the things in the DSM-V that’ve I’ve been diagnosed with, gender dysphoria hasn’t been one of them.

My pronouns remain she/her.

My body remains as is.

My brain remains as is.

I’ve come to a kind of internal compromise in the war between my body and brain.

Had I known that being transgender was a real thing and not “in my head”, I might have pursued treatment and had my gender changed.

Now that I know that it’s OK to have my brain and body not match, I actually feel better. The dysphoria has actually lessened, just from knowing that I could actually get the penis I’ve always wanted. (Yeah, the one I was left in the Band Senior Wills, I think ‘96 or ‘97, doesn’t count.)

When I started fencing, I’d already studied gender reassignment and tossed around the “what ifs”...

And then I met Phil.

He had kids my age and we became fast friends. It was hard not to notice that he had longer nails, was growing out his hair, and spelled his name “Phyl”. He wore a female chest protector and had pronounced (but tiny) breasts. I kept my questions to myself. It was none of my business.

Until she made it mine.

She came out to me one night before we took the piste for a match.

I nodded, said “Cool”, shook her hand, and proceeded to win the match. When we were off to the side waiting for our next match, she told me she was surprised I was so calm about it. All I could say was that I knew. It was obvious to me. I was surprised she hadn’t said anything sooner.

Her wife had always known something was off, and it was’t until she died that he started to take how he felt into consideration. He realised that it was more than cross dressing, more than… well, just more.

She made me reconsider my options even more. Here was a biological male, 60 years old, and beginning to transition.

What a fucking inspiration.

Maybe, one day, I can be as brave as she is and finally live in the right body.

Христос Воскрес! (like bread dough)


April 12, 2020 :: 6:14 PM

station of the cross :: lviv, ukraine :: november 2016

So… in Ukraine, for Easter, you say “Христос Воскрес!” - literally, Christ is risen.

Ukraine is full of religious icons, absolutely gorgeous ones, all over the place. In public! Oh, I was so scandalised by that.

Ukrainians - at least the ones I know - often have altars. My grandparents house had a Virgin Mary tucked in the corner. The relatives I met in Ukraine had one, too.

All that to say, I am not the least bit religious.

So, I find an inordinate amount of joy in the fact that wishing someone a Happy Easter in Ukrainian is basically a reference to a man I don’t believe ever existed, let alone rose from the dead.

I’ve been focused on what it means to be a Ukrainian more than usual lately… and it’s been weird.

Mostly because I wasn’t brought up as Ukrainian. My mother wasn’t having any of it, so I was only exposed when I was at my grandparents’ house. I have a lot of fuzzy memories… stuff that comes to the surface when it’s triggered by something: a news article, a blog post, a random word on a website. Sometimes, I remember things that surprise me and sometimes I wonder how I never put two and two together before.

Wow. I’m in a rambly mood tonight. Possibly, a wee bit manic. (Wanna know a secret? The tone of my writing changes. (I get very parenthetical.) I ramble.)

Back in 2013? 2014? I decided I needed to find myself. (The last time I think I said that in all seriousness was the time I’d told my father that I didn’t want a summer job… that I wanted to take the summer off to go find myself. We’d just thrown my mother into a hole in the ground and gotten served with a restraining order. I was trying to wrap my brain around all of it and being stuck working retail didn’t sound like a place I needed to be right then. Well, he grabbed a napkin and a pen. Drew a map of the house. Put a BIG FUCKING X in the kitchen and told me I was found. God, how I miss that man.)

So yeah. Finding myself.

Fun fact: There’s a book out there called “Losing Your Parents. Finding Yourself.” It was given to me as a gift after I was orphaned. I ended up setting it on fire in the backyard. ( Here’s why.)

Pyromania aside - the title, and the little bit I read before my mother’s ugliness was put out there for all the world to see, really resonated with me. If they hadn’t used my mother’s FUCKING WILL to prove a point, I might have read the rest of it. I might have found solace in it.

But… fire. Fire is good. Fire is cleansing.

Like a phoenix, I rose from the flames.

(Oh, shit, maybe I should take an Ativan and calm down a little bit. Nah, fuck it. If you can’t handle me now, you don’t deserve me later. Better living through science, amiright?)

Anyhoo… My father’s side of family appears to have sprung out of the ground in Nowhere, Maine. A town so small that it doesn’t even qualify for the Census. So that left the other side. HER side.

I’d shied away from everything and anything that reminded me of either my mother or my aunt, and then decided FUCK IT (and, oh, if you didn’t see that coming, I’m utterly disappointed in you.)

I decided to learn the language, re-learn the culture, discover myself.

I’d been a casual learner, Even when I went to Ukraine, I wasn’t anywhere near fluent despite all the lessons.

I’d kept up the lessons when we got back from Lviv, but then we moved to Florida and everything went arse over tits.

Now, at my temp job, I’m surrounded by Spanish speaking people. Instead of making me want to learn Spanish (God, I hate that language. I took Latin and French so I didn’t have to take Spanish.), I’ve been inspired to re-focus on Ukrainian.

And now, it’s fucking Easter.

The last time I spent Easter with a family member (Ukrainian or not), was the year we went to LL Bean to buy kayaks. A certain family member called me, yelled at me for not going to church like a good Ukie, and then asked me to come to Easter dinner. Blocking that phone number was one of the best things I ever did.

But, I digress.

Again.

A few months ago, I got a weird Facebook “call” from my youngest cousin. Shocked that she’d reach out to me, I assumed the worst. Nah. Nothing that exciting. But before I knew it I was FB friends with her, her sister, and my godfather’s daughter.

All of whom are the children of Ukrainians.

My cousins have been slaughtering the Ukrainian language lately in their excitement to celebrate the coming of the Easter Bunny. I fucking hate when Ukrainian is transliterated. I hate it more when it’s transliterated and spelt incorrectly. If you’re going to use the language, use it.

Fuck, half the time, they don’t even know they’re actually speaking fucking Polish.

Not that there’s anything wrong with Polish, mind. My grandparents spoke both interchangeably, but at least I can tell the difference between the two.

OK. Rant over. I’m going to go watch a stupid horror movie and continue reading this amazing Scorbus fan fic. It actually makes the events of Cursed Child almost acceptable. Like if this chick had written CC? Oh, it would have been a beautiful addition to the canon instead of the trainwreck the actual CC was…

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