Buy a Gun, Enjoy My Self-Loathing or Move Along Citizen

Have you ever suffered from depression?

bi-polar hell

I mean the type diagnosed by a physician. Not a few weeks of sadness, or grief over a loss or death. Yes, these will all lead to depression but for the majority of people who suffer these or other tragedies it may mean several months or more of counseling, perhaps an anti-depressant for several months in order for a therapist to work with the depressed patient.

No, I’m talking long-term, 20+ years of clinically diagnosed depression including meds and therapy. Followed by an accurate diagnosis of Bi-Polar for at least five years. More meds. Different meds. New cocktails of meds. Sadly current medicine (forced by the insurance companies) no longer truly allow a psychiatrist anything more than prescribing medication. To conquer problems you also must see a therapist. Of which you cannot afford because they rarely accept Medicare and you’re no longer able to pay all of the co-pays if they did.

And if you’ve lost everything; a successful business –that you built up by working 14 hours a day, not being able to hire even one employee for the first two years, finally being featured in magazines, opening more stores, a huge e-commerce business as well, television coverage, and mentions all across the Internet.

Your retirement money, savings, home, vehicle all lost to the recession of the Bush years (and attorneys to divorce and restrain a psychotic ex-husband), and you are dependent on a Social Security Disability stipend of less than $1000.00 a month.
How the hell will you EVER feel better?

Add back surgery, which did not work –FAIL tag-  and the cost of co-pays to doctors and hospitals that you cannot possibly pay off.
Constant pain, inability to swim, hike, ski or even walk long distances. And another surgery being scheduled.
How the hell can you SEE a future?

Have you ever attempted suicide? More than once? More than twice?  And failed? –Insert FAIL tag- . Pro-Tip: pills are too easy to accidentally throw up, or change your mind. Plastic razors chew up your skin and you don’t bleed quickly enough. Use a gun for godssake.

Oh, and you’ll be 50 in another month. Wonderful. With no more close friends; they already know about your problems and seriously don’t want to hear anything else. Hell I wouldn’t. Family you don’t dare reveal your psychological pain with, nor an understanding boyfriend/girlfriend/wife/husband? Your fabulous fifty party –as if turning 50 is a fucking pleasure and isn’t deathly depressing in itself- will be at home.
The entree a can of tuna fish and a single piece of pie from Raley’s market for dessert. Okay maybe dinner out –my genius boyfriend suggested a casino buffet. I’m thinking the tuna far preferable. And safer.

A call from my daughter –the only reason the suicidal ideation backed off, with her 4.0 grades and beginning college-. A card and call from Mom.
Missing Dad since his death, so no call from him. His birthday is/was a week before mine.

So, I spend 16 out of every 20 hours awake weeping uncontrollably. No longer wanting to live, but not wishing to crush my daughter by blowing this neuro-scrambled brain on the walls.
The back pain never ceases, unless I drink too much. At which point I’ll pay for it in the morning and it’s goddamned fattening as well. Not even self-medicating is a viable option.

Enough self-loathing for today.  Am tired of being witty, enjoyable or even caustic.
I just want it all to end. There are no dreams left.
Some days are like this.

 

Sure to offend Everyone…except my family. For once.

Black Rock CityBurning Band

There’s a bad moon rising.
Oh alright it’s just ended for the month. It’s the image that counts dammit.

Back is getting worse not better. What the hell is up with that? Can’t get a refill on oxy -even though it’s a  Way low dose  for what I need. Isn’t there anything else??  God knows I don’t need another fucking addiction. Can’t believe I don’t have PICA.

Anyway, life seems worthless (check: x), daughter gone away to college and grown up (check: x) wondering what happened to my interesting lively life (check: x), depression on the wax (check: x) back pain getting worse (WTF check: x). Band officially broke up (check: x) OH, and best of all…. SSD reduced by over 1/3 since my daughter turned 18. As if I don’t have to support her in college (Go SF State heh) (check: x) meaning I have to live on under $900.00 a month (including daughter)…when I spent most of my life living on six figures (check: x).

Lost my houses, 401k.s IRA’s etc in the last divorce and then trying to live .Just to get away from Psycho-Fuck in Michigan (aka ex-hubby number two)

Waiting for Burning Man to cheer me. See my other family. Relax. Look at art. Play in the Burning Band -even if I have to buy a new uniform shirt because after 5 years it doesn’t seem as though all of the wine, beer and random brass instrument spit will come out of it anymore.

Just needed to write tonight. It’s after midnight and have been a mess all damned day. Usually save these exciting and amusing tidbits for my ‘other’ blog. But really. Fuck it.
Give a shot, cola, thumbs up or whatever is needed to get me to The Burn.

Livin’ the Life in Reno
OR as you may know it ‘the OTHER city in Nevada’
~Miss R

Broken Engine

Well it does has something to do with a motor, Okay, motor skills actually.

The whole  ‘engine’ thing was  more  than a Silly Putty stretch and more like a Stretch Armstrong  kind of stretch.

If you don’  recognize the two items that I’m referring to above  then you’ll just have  fuck  yourself and do some Googling.

And get off my lawn you kids.

There have been very few posts the last three weeks.  The surgery was long and arduous.

Am still using walker, taking opiates (which I a am weaning  myself off of )  feeling  intense pain

Right now the engine is broken and the Motor Skills are irregular and slow. My cognitive abilities appear to be  normal as well.

What’s worrying me is that it seems I’ve forgotten how to type.  Now what kind if weird side effect is this?!

Called doc yesterday to ask some questions.

Forgot to ask about this little tidbit.

Will let you know as soon as I can. This blog has taken over two hours to write.  It should have 15 or 20 minutes. The spelling is so bad, because I’ve forgotten where the keys are, that spellcheck doesn’t recognize th,yjindu.gyuiod!

~Way fucked up in Reno

Laughing at National Mental Health Month

My mind has been a vortex of depression, anger, fear (and loathing) for months. How to change? What can help and help immediately? Laughter.

Taking an inventory of my behavior over the last year I’ve noticed something unusual: Laughter doesn’t come as often or as easily.

This morning I signed on to Facebook (go ahead and sneer now) and saw a status that said:

‘DEPRESSION is not a sign of weakness. It is a sign that you have been trying to be strong for too long. Put this as your status if you or someone you know has had depression. Will you do it and leave it on your status for at least an hour? Most people will not, but it’s mental health week and 1 in 3 of us will suffer at some point in our lives.’

Never believe what you read on Facebook. It’s a networking site that promotes idiocy, skanky pictures (woo hoo!) and wasting some time. Not that it can’t be amusing. It’s just that any information coming  across the feed is suspect.

I’m not the snopes.com of the internet but checking out statements dealing with issues that concern me direct my attention to research. First, it is not National Mental Health Week, it’s actually National Mental Health Month. Second, An estimated 26.2 percent of Americans ages 18 and older — about one in four adults — suffer from a diagnosable mental disorder in a given year according to NIMH.

Already we’ve learned the basic tenet of Facebook. If some idiot posts it as a status it’s gotta be wrong.

To keep myself from wandering even further into the abyss of statistics I stopped there. It would be akin to spending four hours on Wikipedia reading all the links from your primary topic and winding up at the Three laws of Thermodynamics. After your initial search for information on David Bowie.

What’s so funny?

National Fruitcake Week is actually National Fruitcake Month. As a psychiatrist-carrying Fruitcake this example of humans acting like sheep (POST THIS STATUS IF YOU DARE FOR ONE DAY!) would normally cause a chuckle. Instead, hardly a smile. Hell, even my favorite Eddie Izzard bits barely cause a subdued laugh these days. Something is definitely wrong.

Climbing out of the despair requires laughter and humor. So beginning the day with Fark.com, The Chive or even LOL Cats is a start. It’s better than allowing your brain to cross into dark neighborhoods. Or eating too much food rich in trans-fat and refined sugar, or sleeping all day. Or calling in hourly bomb threats to the local 7-11.

First thing in the morning with good coffee. It’s a slow process but a start.

Hopefully the easy laughter will come back. I just have to change and look for it. And as my crone of a piano teacher often told me Practice  Practice Practice.

Finding out about National Mental Health Month (Week) was funny. But not as funny as laughing at myself.

~Miss R

A Moment of Angst

Photobucket

I’ve been thinking. No comments about my working without tools again please.

The past few weeks have found me awash in various levels of depression, obsession, worry (about things financial, physical, blah blah blah) and stress.

There’s a roof over my head. Food in the fridge. A car that runs (knocks on her head). My daughter is healthy and doing well.

Still this miasma of unhappiness, uncertainty, fear and the longing to simply give up permeates the waking hours and the dream time.

Now, don’t get me wrong. The days and nights have been punctuated with laughter, self-deprecating humor, and the usual day to day crap that can make one smile. It’s just that… they’re so far and few between. Couldn’t even get into ‘the zone’ when I went skiing today. A bad sign.

I think I know what’s wrong. I may have an axiom here.

All people require two special items to survive:

1. Physical touch.

2. Encouragement  and kind words

Seems to me that these two facets of life are as indispensable as food, shelter and health.

I’ve been missing both. For a long time. So holistically I’m not healthy. Ya, no shock there but bear with me.

Humans are programmed to feel comfort from touch, from words of solace or compliment. Those wacky fun-loving serial killers you read about were all missing these two critical objects in their lives.

So, I feel better identifying what may be a major cause of this current desolation. There’s no cure on the horizon which gives me little hope, but there’s something positive about all of this self-discovery:

I’m too old to start a new career as a serial killer.

I Just Can’t Seem to Get it Right

Since the debacle with my family (over one of my blogs for chrissake) I’ve been unable to write. Or play the piano. Or catch up on any of the other blogs that I normally love to read.
Nothing seems to shake out.
My depression over dad’s death and the fall-out afterwards have stricken my heart and mind.

Apathy has taken hold and creativity has fled screaming into the night.

Hell I can barely read a book. Have a great one going too: Wait Until Spring Bandini by John Fante.

Anyway, it feels like everything is going sideways. For example:
Yesterday I couldn’t leave the house. Or my bedroom.
Today….

Got up early (as I do) and went to a local property management place called Action Properties.
There is this great duplex for rent. It’s a funky weird-ass 1930’s building with lots of defects, tons of storage, a leaky ancient basement and (supposedly) a ghost.
Best parts:
The other side of the building is occupied by a wonderful musician and friend (playing my music would not be a problem here)
The grand piano would fit in the living room
It’s much larger than my current apartment
It has a back yard
The rent is $110.00 LESS a month than I pay now.

Here’s what happened after I took a looksee at the duplex…

Went back with all of my documentation, completed application, $45.00 app fee, social security cards, copy of current lease, blah blah blah.
The receptionist immediately looks at my income verification and says that they cannot rent the duplex to me because their ‘formula’ requires that the rent expenditure be no more than 30% of my income.
Wait. I know that this is the optimal percentage used in determining credit approval for mortgages (didn’t spend all of that time in NYC finance for nothing) but this is Reno. It’s a duplex. It’s in a ‘transitional neighborhood’ (bwahahaha).
Not to mention (oh hell I am) that I overlooked the 30% rule when approving mortgages and credit…. a LOT.
My rent and previous mortgages have always been paid on time or early.
Every fucking month for years and years.

She didn’t care that I’m currently paying $100.00 MORE a month right now and all of my payments have been on time or early.
Told her that I would be willing to set up a direct deposit for the rent check.
She still didn’t care.

According to Action Properties I need to make $351.00 more a month to qualify for this duplex.
She asked if I had additional income.
Uhhhhh no. (I’m on disability you dumbasses)

Then I burst into tears.
As you do.

Absurdity Notice: I was told that I would qualify for a $525.00 a month rental but not the one I wanted which is $575.00
This means that according to their cretinous reasoning I need to have an income of $351.00 more a month to make a rental payment of $50.00 more a month.
Is it me?

So, I’m stuck here in tiny apartment hell with a herd of elephants upstairs, crazy managers next door, and nowhere for my dad’s piano (or any other possessions).
Thanks Action Properties of Reno. You fucking eeeediot bastards.

Whew.
I feel a bit better.
It’s not real writing but it is a small vent in the surface of my soul.

~Miss R

Currently listening:
Singles
By: Deacon Blue
Release date: 23 October, 2006