(then Peartree Treehouses)

(then Peartree Treehouses)

Body, Mind, & Spirit

I read today about a man who "cured" his bipolar by eating a diet of seafood for four months. He claimed to have had bipolar for over 20 years, but that after eating this "diet" for four months he was "cured" so much so that he was able to discontinue all meds. If you believe that, I have a bridge for sale too. You can place your bids starting the second Tuesday of next week. I have intentionally not included the link because I do not want to drive traffic to the site or make someone think I endorce that when I absolutely do not.

I do believe that your diet can affect your bipolar, but there is no way diet can "cure" bipolar. There is no "cure". There is only management.

I use to be a junkfood aholic. I was always on the go. Moving. Constantly. No time to stop. No time to cook. No time to shop for food that takes longer than 2 mins in the microwave. I had too much to do, too many places to go. I did not have time to wait for water to boil to even make spaghetti.  I ate out. A LOT. I drank soda. A LOT. Almost all of my food was prepackaged, processed, fast food, greasy, fried and covered with cheese. To say I did not eat healthy is an understatement.

For the last three years, I eat fresh veggies. Cooked properly. With real food. Not Mickey D's. No whoppers with cheese. But real food. I don't drink sodas. Maybe once a month I MIGHT have a glass or two, but that is it. I don't eat junk. No more lil debbie snack cakes, no cream filled donuts, no twinkies. I use to  eat a bag of potato chips/crisps in one day. Now I might eat one bag every three months. I eat lots of fresh fruits also. Drink tons of water a day. I do yoga. Daily.

When I don't do these things, I notice a huge difference in my body and mind. If for some reason I eat too much sugary sweets, I start to feel "tired", sluggish, fatigued. Then my mind also becomes "tired, sluggish, and fatigued". I don't physically feel like getting out of bed which makes my mind not want to get out of bed. Which leads me to sleeping all day. Which leads to depression. Which leads to cutting.

I do not for one second think that diet can cure or treat bipolar, but any parent who gives their kid a candy bar instead of an apple an hour before bedtime knows how difficult it will be to get lil jimmy to sleep.

Sodas, sweets, junk food, and fast food are all loaded with sugar, caffeine and a bunch of other unhealthy things. They make you feel jittery, hyper, on edge. I already feel "jittery, hyper, and on edge". I don't need anything to make me feel more so than I already do. I fully believe that mental ailments can have physical symptoms and your overall diet can effect your state of mind.

That doesn't mean to go buy veggies and get rid of your meds, but I know for myself at least, that my diet has a direct effect on my mental state. My mental state has a direct effect on my diet. If for 2 or 3 days, I don't do yoga, then suddenly I realize I haven't done yoga. I then can look to see WHY I haven't done it. Is it because I had a cold or PMS? Or is it because I am starting to feel depressed and not taking care of myself? How is my diet? Am I eating healthy or just eating junk?

By looking at how I am caring for myself overall, I can catch myself before I go too far. For myself at least, this is the best way I have of remaining stable. When people start to get depressed, the first thing that they usually do is stop taking care of their diet and physical appearances. By noticing these small changes, I can usually catch myself and bring myself out of whatever deep end I am about to go off. Jigger also notices these things. If I start eating things I don't normally eat or not exercising, he will ask if I am ok because he now understands this is  a sign. Treating bipolar isn't just about meds or therapy. It isn't pop a pill and be all better again.

If you want to live a productive life while having a PD, then you have to treat MIND, BODY, & SPIRIT. At least I know I have to.

Seriously, Google WTF?!

So I went to check out my stats. Google apparently has some vendetta against me. I write about all kinds of things. Does Google choose some sage words of wisdom or great advice I gave on how to manage or deal with bipolar?

Oh fuck no Google is a sadist. What  makes Google land upon my lovely world?

Blow sugar up your ass- seriously? people actually  Blow. Sugar. Up. Their. Ass. I reiterate that is an emergency exit. No entrance of any one or thing is allowed.

Ass lick - I think Google has some serious issues. It seems determined to get up in my ass. Dude that is a no fly zone. Fuck off

Man Castrated - I guess that is what happened to Google after he licked the sugar out of some one's ass

I think it's time we scheduled an intervention and got Google the help he is desperately calling out for. Or at least a tube of lubricant. Sugar flavored.

I can see that look in your eyes
I know what you wanna do
you'd die to have me in your thighs
you'd even pay me too

"do you wanna fuck me - forgotten rebels"

And Awesome Tree Houses

and Awesome Tree Houses

Maker Monday: Transformer Tables

[Charles] I know it's a few days late but to be fair this project is a few years late. I spend a lot of time thinking about transformer furniture. Specifically, I think and sketch and conceive a lot on a transformer dining table. The slideshow from Treehugger here has a good cross section of what is out there and it also features the one that they all get measured against... The Capstan or Fletcher which is pictured above. My friend Nicole has been asking for her own version of a transformer table for years. I must have 5 different unrealized versions on my hard drive that were either too hard to make, too complicated to convert, or just too plain ugly. For people that like to solve problems though this is a fun one. Check out the slideshow and well if you have a good way to go from say a 36" round to a 72" round with less than 25 grand on the price tag - let me know. There's nothing cooler than being able to take your intimate little breakfast table up to Thanksgiving dinner size in ten seconds flat. You'll have to watch the video for that though...

The Best Tree Houses In The

The Best Tree Houses in the

Delusions of Grandeur

redrum redrum

In case it's not obvious, I am pretty much self-treating at the moment. I don't have a therapist and don't take meds for my Bipolar. I have taken or well at least been prescribed meds in the past, but never really took them. My therapists were never much concerned. I had state health care which never covered more than a few weeks sessions so I never really saw them unless I had just downed a bottle of pills or two.

The first year of my marriage to Jigger was basically a rinse and repeat of my past. Fighting, yelling, screaming, throwing things and Jigger would get pissed every now and then too. After trying for a year to make Jigger leave/hate me, I gave up and since then have been seeing Dr. Google. He is all I can afford at the moment, but in all fairness, Dr. Google has probably helped me more than the 10+ years of on/off therapy and 3 hospitalizations for suicide and "nervous breakdowns" so I don't want to diss him too much.

Even though he has helped me, he is no substitute for the real thing. I do not recommend his services. You should find a doctor in your area. One that is preferably human and has the ability to write prescriptions. I do not believe a bipolar person can be stable without medications and therapy. At the moment, I am steady, but anything can rock my boat and I will fall into the abyss once again. So please do not think because I seem ok without meds that you or your loved one will be ok without meds. I am a ticking timebomb and sooner or later I will explode.

Where was I? Oh yea blogging.

 I started blogging as a way for me to clear my head and focus.  I will never be able to educate others the way Haven and Natasha do, but I hope that by sharing my experiences and how I felt while things were happening that friends and family of people with bipolar might gain a better understanding as to what is going on inside the mind of bipolar. Every person's experience is different, but in some ways it is very much the same.

I have learned a lot in the few weeks I have been blogging. Met some amazing people, some I dare to call "friends", but through all of my reading, researching, and discovering I have yet to find anyone who has shared a personal experience on one very important aspect of bipolar. Whenever you read anything on bipolar, there is always a list of symptoms, and on that list is a symptom that almost all people with bipolar experience in some form or fashion.

That symptom is grandiose delusions. In simple terms, it means "thinking you're better at (insert noun here)  than others". That definition however does not do justice to the reality of this symptom. One common and less extreme example is suddenly believing you're the best damn artist there is. You go out and buy every paint brush, canvas, oil, easel, etc that you can get your hands on. You buy all of this with your rent money, and in a couple weeks when the mania has subsided a bit and the "grandeur" has faded, you realize your stick figures aren't that great and how the fuck am I gonna pay the rent now?

My delusions were a bit different. I told you about my mother (if you didn't read it but want to then the post is here) because I wanted you to understand what would drive a person "mad". Especially when that person is already standing on the cliff, it doesn't take much to push them over the edge.

If you're still reading at this point, I thank you for being patient with me as this is a very sensitive subject. One I want to share because I know there are others out there, but also one that truly labels me as "crazy". Not just crazy but one who flew over the cuckoo's nest crazy.

You see in this vulnerable state after the last time I saw my mother, I met the wrong person. I became extremely religious, but don't think I sat around praying all the time because I didn't. I did however start to believe that I had a special relationship with God that others didn't, and through the help of this wrong person I began to believe that I was specially chosen by God to complete a purpose and to prepare an army for the return of the Savior.

I will give you a moment to digest that before telling you that I believed I could see "spirits" who guided me, told me about future events, and I even believed I could read the minds of others. I believed this so strongly that I sold all of my possessions and moved to another country  in order to fulfill my mission. There really should be psyche tests in order to get your passport.

I lived in this state of delusion for a little over a year. When the delusion crashed and burned so did I. I went from being the guide of the Savior to being the absolute best motherfucking whore that I could be.

That is how far  the other way I swung. I felt that I had blasphemed to such an extent that I was destined to hell for all of eternity so what was one more sin added to the list? You can't kill a dead man. That was my philosophy.

During these three years I had moments of sanity. Moments where I would attempt to straighten my life out and get back on track, but my view of reality was so skewed that everything I did just dragged me down farther and farther. When you sleep in the mud, you can't really expect the pigs to help you get clean.

I became trapped in a vicious downward spiral. The more I tried to get out the further I fell. This is also how I ended up being a "kept woman".

I really don't know how I didn't end up murdered considering all of the shit I did during those 3 years.  Every night I begged God to just let me die. I would often fall asleep on the floor in a kneeling position. I would spend hours and hours begging, "Please don't let me wake up tomorrow". For whatever reason though I never contemplated suicide. I was too ashamed to commit suicide if that even makes any sense at all. I cut myself almost daily. I have been a cutter since I was about 12. Although I have only done it a handful of times since I married Jigger. When he saw the scars, he made me promise to NEVER do it again. I have kept that promise as best as I could. I started this blog as an attempt to keep that promise. I had become severely depressed and was sitting with the razor blade in my hand. My brain literally screaming like it was on fire. For some bizarre reason, blogging seemed the perfect alternative. So here I am. Dumping my shit on you.

My point in sharing all of this is that if you see your loved one suddenly think they are superman in some area or if their behavior suddenly changes and they start doing things like selling off ALL of their possessions and applying for a passport, then don't assume they are just being selfish. Don't assume they are choosing themselves over their family. Most likely they are having a manic episode and they need help. Immediately. So please help them. You can always yell at them later for being a dumbass, but if they sail away and fall off the edge of the earth, then it makes it a bit harder for them to say they are sorry when they come back to reality. If they ever come back at all.

I believe I can fly
I believe I can touch the sky
I think about it every night and day
Spread my wings and fly away
I believe I can soar

 

"i believe i can fly - r kelly"

And Awesome Tree Houses

and Awesome Tree Houses

Silver Gray Impala

The gravel flew as he pulled into the driveway. I had been playing in the backyard. As soon as I heard the car door slam, I ran to the front. The bright red hood confirmed my suspicions. It was Gramps. I don't really remember the day it happened. I have heard the story at least 1000  times if not more. I have some fuzzy memories of a man standing with the axe raised over his head, but that is about it.

Gramps use to be an alcoholic. He was a mean drunk too. You did not want to be in his way whenever he had a few too many. That is why the hood of the car is red. When I was 9, I finally got the courage to ask him "Why didn't he change it to match the rest of the car"?

"So I don't forget, that's why", was his reply.

At 6, I didn't know about AA. I didn't know that 12 steps was a "program" and not a new hop scotch game, but I knew what that red hood on the silver gray impala meant. It meant Gramps didn't get mean anymore. Didn't get drunk. Didn't shout. It might not have been conventional, but it worked.

Every now and then I would see him walk out to the car and run his hand over the hood.52 whacks. Lizzie Borden would have been proud. He had whacked the hood of his most prized possession 52 times with an axe and didn't remember a damn thing. He may not have remembered it, but the car did. That is why its hood is red. A constant reminder that maybe next time it won't be the car. Next time it might be a little 6 year old girl playing hop scotch on the front porch.

This is for the writing prompt at Studio 30+. The prompt was RED.

Aftermath

Yesterday I wrote about the last time I saw my mother and basically my family. You can read that post HERE if you want.

I was extremely shocked by the amount of emotion I felt as I wrote that post. It is very raw and I allowed myself to feel what I was feeling. I allowed myself to feel the anger and hurt. I allowed that little girl inside of me to cry because she needed validation. I allowed her to be angry for not being protected, for not being loved the way she should have been. I allowed her to have her moment.

I think that is very important for me. For a very long time I didn't allow that little girl to feel. I didn't allow her to be angry at those who had hurt her. That caused her to become angry with me. She turned her anger on me. Instead of cutting them, she cut me. Instead of hating them, she hated me.

That is why I allowed her to  be pissed yesterday when I wrote that post. She has a right to be pissed. What happened to her was fucked up no matter how you look at it, but in the comments Natasha pointed something out. That my mother had to be in pain also because otherwise she wouldn't have done what she did.

In some ways, I agree with that statement. It is not an excuse for her wrong behavior. It does not mean I don't have a right to be angry with what happened, but it's an explanation.

After getting through the emotion and being able to look at it objectively, I can see that is WHY. Without realizing it, I have always had the answer, but I just couldn't see it because I choose to be numb and not feel.

Because I never allowed myself to feel I could never work through the pain to find the answers even though they were staring me in the face this whole time. I think it is important I continue to allow myself to have those moments and then let them go.

I am no angel either. I have done things especially with my own children that I am not proud of, but my actions were a direct result of my illness. I am not making excuses. Being crazy does not justify and make it ok to do something wrong, but I know that if I wasn't crazy, then I would not have done the things I did. That is why I am not a bad person.

Am I a person who did wrong?  Absolutely.

Am I a person who made mistakes?  Absolutely.

Am I trying to take responsibility for my mistakes and become better?  Absolutely.

Am I evil? Absolutely not.

A ten year old who commits murder is not the same as a 30 year old who commits murder. Should the ten year old be punished and held accountable? Yes. The same as a 30 year old? Absolutely not. At least that is my opinion. You may not agree and that is ok, but I don't think they are the same. A man who steals to provide food for his starving child is not the same as a man who is rich and steals to pass the time.

It's important family and friends disassociate the behavior from the person. Not excuse it, but try to understand that I don't want to do the things I am doing. There is a little voice inside my head screaming "WTF?! STOP!" but it's like my body isn't connected to my brain. The best way I can describe it is like being on a roller coaster. You're standing in line, adrenaline pumping, you get strapped in, the ride starts moving, slowly you're going up and your brain is screaming "GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE",  but you're already strapped in and half way up the incline. Now all you can do is scream like a banshee until the ride stops, then get off and pray you don't puke on your brand new shoes.

This is what it's like in my bipolar brain. I do stuff. Stupid crazy insane shit that makes no fucking sense. Shit that goes against every single thing I believe in. I don't know why I do it. I don't want to do it, but I do it none the less.

If one day my kids ask me, WHY?!

All I can do is answer them honestly, "I have no fucking clue, but I am so sorry that my actions hurt you."

That is what makes me human and NOT a monster.

"if I could start again; a million miles away

I would keep myself; I would find a way"

"hurt- nine inch nails"

This Is A Disney Tree House.

This is a Disney tree house.

Make A Wish Mummy Dear

Today is my mum's birthday. It's funny how now I remember but before I never did. I haven't seen or spoken to her since 2004. She might be dead for all I know or care. It's strange. I want to hate her. At least then I would have some emotion. Some feeling, but there is just numb. I am not sure if I ever truly loved her. Maybe when I was little. Before I could fully understand her.

The last time I saw her I almost killed her. If my uncle and gramps hadn't pulled me off of her I am certain I would have beaten her to death. I only regret that I didn't finish the job. My last words to her were "Rot in hell bitch" as I spit in her face. That was the last time I really saw anyone in my family.

I won't ever forget that day. I don't remember many days but that day is one I will never forget. My mother never wanted to divorce my father. I don't know if she got off on getting the hell beat out of her or what the attraction was. That day I had found out she had taken  my children to visit him. When I asked her why and how could she? She just looked at me and laughed, asked me if I was "jealous".

That was when I came unglued and began screaming at her. My father is a rapist. I don't use the word "incest" or "molested". Those words are too nice. What my father did was rape. It doesn't matter that I was 4. It doesn't matter that I was his daughter. It was still rape.

Not that anyone in my family ever talked about it. Oh no. No one was allowed to talk about it. Just pretend it didn't happen. But that day all of the rage I had kept bottled inside of me for more than 15 years just exploded.

I grabbed her by the hair of  her head and threw her to the ground, sat on top of her and began pounding. With each hit, I would ask

"WHY?! "

Why didn't you protect me?

Why did you let that man rape me?

Why do you still love him more than me?

Why do you still choose him over me?

Why don't you love me like a mother should love a daughter?

"WHY?!"

As Uncle and Gramps pulled me off of her, she gave me the answer.

"Because you deserved it"

Four little words that tore through me like a bullet. I died that day. That was the day  my whole world began to unravel. That was the day my mind left this world and entered an alternate universe. Four words that no child should ever have to hear. I lost my job, my home, my life because of four words. I had endured pain, sorrow, beatings, rape, torture, fear, but those four words did to me what years of abuse and insanity couldn't. They broke me.

I hated her more than I ever did my father. I blamed her more than I ever blamed him. Even though he did the actions. I blamed her for staying. For loving him instead of me. How bad must a child be that its own mother would love the man who raped her child more than the child itself?

 I am still looking for the answer.

I think I'll find another way
There's so much more to know
I guess I'll die another day
It's not my time to go

"die another day - madonna"

Amazing Tree Houses

Amazing tree houses

Cool Tree Houses

Cool Tree Houses

Nauvoo Visitor's Center

This sunstone from the original Nauvoo Temple is "on loan" to the Church and displayed outside the visitor's center. It is huge. Every time I think of the work that went in to building that temple without all the modern equipment we have, I am amazed!!! This is only one of two that were left entirely in tact, the other is in the Smithsonian in Washington D. C.

This view of the Relief Society garden, taken from upstairs in the Nauvoo Visitor's Center shows the role of women through-out the world beginning with Joseph and Emma as he pledged, "With this five dollar gold piece, I pledge all that I have to give to the poor, I shall give to this society."

This mural covers one full wall on the west side of the visitor's center. This picture tells of the miracle of the quails that were sent to help those poor Saints who were driven from their homes in September of 1846, after the Battle of Nauvoo. Just as the ancient Israelites were fed miraculously by a tender and loving Father in Heaven, so the Saints of early Nauvoo in their exodus were taken care of by their Father.

This picture covers much of the wall directly across from the mission secretary's office. It reminds all of us that Jesus issued an invitation, not only to his ancient apostles but to all of us to "become fishers of men". I personally love the account as Peter, James and John straightway left their nets and followed Him. The other account I think of is after the resurrection of the Lord, when He stood at the banks and asked the fishermen if they had any meat. When he told them to cast their nets on the other side, Peter knew immediately it was the Lord. He didn't wait for the boat to reach shore, he jumped out and ran to him.

How appropriate that the "frontier prophet" should be depicted with a copy of the Book of Mormon in his hands. At the very end of his life, just prior to the martyrdom, he spoke with some of his jailers and testified that it was translated by the gift and power of God. In fact, two of the jailers, who were part of the conspiracy were convinced that he was telling the truth and they left the jail just prior to the mobs coming.

This is probably a little too far back to see, but it depicts the martyrdom of the prophet and the patriarch, but more importantly, it depicts how the work went on after the death of the prophet, Joseph Smith. They could not stop the kingdom of God from rolling forth because the keys were invested in the quorum of the twelve and God called Brigham Young to serve as the next prophet. In the pageant there is a line that says, "and they taught their children and their children's children and the work rolls on to fill the entire earth."

A person coming in to the visitor's center will see this bust of the prophet, Joseph Smith. It might be misinterpreted that we worship him, but he, himself said, "I am only a man who serves Jesus Christ." John Taylor described it best when he said, "Joseph Smith has done more for mankind save Jesus only". He was the instrument through whom the Book of Mormon was translated by the gift and power of God, a witness thereof that Jesus is the Christ, that His Church has been restored to the earth and that the Priesthood authority to act in His name has been restored and is carried on through the living prophet of today.

This replica of the Christus staute originating in Denmark is so remarkable. Notice how the hands of the Savior are outstretched inviting all of us to come unto Him. When we take people through the visitor's center, we play a minute tape of scriptures wherein the Savior testified of Himself. The beginning is: "Behold, I am Jesus Christ whom the prophets testified should come unto the world..." He is our Savior, and our Redeemer. I know that He lives and because He lives, so will we.

This statue depicts one of the most significant events in all of history, the appearance of the Father and the Son in answer to the prayer of young Joseph Smith. This momentous occasion marked the beginning of the restoration of not only the gospel of Jesus Christ, but the Church of Jesus Christ to the earth. Important lessons from this event include: that the Father does love His children and hears and answers their prayers, that the Father and the Son are two separate beings, that they are of flesh and bone. I know Joseph saw what he said he saw.

Why I Prefer BK

I don't allow Jigger to put his sausage in my butt. Ronald sure as hell is not putting his.


Dun-HAM The Other White Meat

All my life I've been good, but now
I, I, I am thinking what the hell
All I want is to mess around

"what the hell - avril lavigne"

Amazing Tree Houses.

Amazing Tree Houses.

Friday Forecast: Pause Overload Ecolution

[Charles] So you can't go the Avett Bros because it's sold out and you're broke anyway well then here you go. You want to have fun in the bay and don't know where to start. Start here. Friday forecast is my little guide to three things every weekend in Tampa.

Tonight is the sold out show at Ruth Eckerd with the aforementioned Avetts. That's okay though, cause you saw them at the Cuban Club anyway before they were completely huge! So head over instead to catch Modern Skirts with The Pauses and Poetry N Lotion at New World Brewery. The Pauses and their sweet indie rock are returning from blowin it up at SXSW and Modern Skirts are another cool indie Athens rock group that has been to town before and is rumored to be really great. I'm digging the mix so head over and have some fun with all your buddies while the weather is still awesome for an outdoor show.

Saturday night is the annual Sensory Overload show and this year it's heading over to the new Children's Museum downtown. It's a big mix of art, music, and performance. There are bands like Infinite Groove Orchestra, the results from CL's Show Us Your Neighborhood contest, and always lots of craziness going on. It should be interesting to see it transition from a clubby setting like Ybor to a museum. It could be growing up or maybe growing apart - we'll have to check it out and see.

Also on Saturday is the Cigar City Criterium and Ecolution downtown. The criterium was interesting last year but as a vendor at Ecolution it seemed like it was lost on most Tampa folks why they should come to this thing at all. It's pretty cool to see the bike race and just get out and enjoy the vendors and music downtown. The folks at the Urban Charette work hard to put on a good event in a pretty harsh environment for sustainability and green mindedness. Cigar City stepped up to sponsor the Criterium so if bikes don't excite you, maybe awesome beers will get you going. I hope people continue to support it and in a time where bike accidents are at an all time high in Florida it is really important to get out and show how important bikers are to us.

There are tons of other things going on this weekend including especially the GIFF and Ybor Festival of the Moving Image for those movie buffs out there so get out and have some fun!

Your Crazy is My Normal

This post is a bit of a ramble. I just needed to work this out and the only way was to "talk" it out with myself. If I keep the thoughts jumbled in my brain, they just stay jumbled. The picture never becomes clear. By slowly pulling each piece out and putting it into place only then can I see what it is my brain is trying to tell me. However, if you continue forward, you do so at your own risk. Don't say you weren't warned.  

I wrote a post the other day about being TOXIC. I have had a lot of thoughts arise from the comments that I received. Those comments helped me to start to see things a bit more clearly.

You see struggling to fit in. To be "normal". It is tiring. Exhausting. For every step forward there are 10 back. For every achievement there is a sacrifice. After fighting for so long sometimes you just think "Is it really all worth it?"

I mean if I flip out again. Jump off the cliff. I won't know  what the hell  is going on around me. I won't feel it. It won't affect me, but it will affect all of those around me. Those who care for me. My love for my family and friends keeps me from jumping. At the moment, I am in "control", but I know that control can slip out my grasp at any moment. If I let my guard down for one second, then I will let go, but holding something that tightly for so long is tiresome.

It's a vicious circle. It doesn't end. It's not that my life is boring. It's just sometimes I don't want to have to "be on guard". The only way that I can "relax" is to "let go". That is what I desire. I don't think I even realized it until I read the comments on that post. That is when it clicked for me. When I realized that it isn't the TOXIC that I crave. It's the just EXISTING. There is a sort of freedom in that darkened haze that is extremely intoxicating. At the moment, I am stable enough to make the choice to not go back there because that "freedom" that exists there isn't really freedom. It is more of a prison than the "normal".

I see Jigger's family. His nieces, nephews. There is laughter. Love. Disagreements. Normal. I would give anything to be able to fit into that. I crave it so much, but no matter how hard I try I just can't. The closeness is suffocating. Every time I reach out and try to bring them close to me I start to feel claustrophobic. I can't breathe. I panic and pull away.

I live in limbo between normal and toxic. If I step into normal, then there are constant reminders that I am "different". It is in my face 24/7. If I step into toxic, then there is a time where I don't stand out, where I blend in. A moment where I am the "same". Even if that moment isn't real, it still exists. That is what I crave. That moment of just being without having to hold on. I guess there is still a part of me inside somewhere that still hasn't accepted that this is my life. For as long as I breathe, this is how it will be. Constantly alert. Aware. On guard. It's strange sitting here reading those words. There is that sense of calm that exists in the toxic. I think I might like it here in limbo after all.

I'm lost at sea Don't bother me
I've lost my way
I've lost my way

" in limbo - radiohead"
 

Amazing Wooden Tree House

Amazing Wooden Tree House

Shocked-ECT

I have become somewhat addicted to the Bipolar Burble. If you have never read her blog, then I suggest you check it out. Natasha Tracy, the author of the blog, has been doing a few posts on ECT ((electroconvulsive therapy, previously electroshock therapy or shock therapy). I have never had ECT. I only know one person who did and that was many moons ago during one of my hospitalizations. My roommate had them, but she was transfered a few days after I arrived so I don't know what happened with her.

Natasha has said openly that she has had ECT and she is currently featuring another blog author the Bipolar Badger who has also had ECT and apparently both have had successful experiences. ECT like most meds isn't for everyone, but it makes sense to me after hearing their stories.

The closest I had ever come was movies and we all know how true to reality Hollywood is. In my bipolar brain, I can understand why ECT might be effective in some people. I mean obviously the wiring is not firing on all cylinders for those with mental illness. When your car won't start, you jump start it. I don't think I will hook myself up with jumper cables anytime soon, but it is something to think about. ECT I mean not jumper cables. Don't be stupid like that one kid who shocked his nipples unless you're into shocking your nipples then by all means shock away. My nipples and I however will stand a safe distance away.

If my world wasn't the color that it is, then I would definitely be institutionalized. Jigger keeps me level, sane. There is no way I could go back and even begin to function with any level of "normalcy". I just couldn't. Something inside me snapped way back when. Something that can't be repaired. I have fought my way back out of the darkness, but if Jigger didn't hold the candle, then I would have remained in the darkness. If I ever did have to go, I definitely would look into ECT. My moods are very dark and very deep.

What about you all? Would you get shocked? Yes? No? Maybe? Just on the nipples?

Tree Houses

tree houses

Conversations with My Inner Self

Lately I have been all about finding "me". I don't know what "me" is. I am searching around. Trying out new things. Some fit. Some don't. Taking what does, trying a different size on what doesn't. It's very strange to be physically one age, but another both emotionally and mentally.

I have also been trying to stop myself from manipulating and mimicing. It's an extremely bad habit of mine. Maybe by putting it out there I will be able to catch myself before I get too lost. It's so easy to just be things I am not. People like the person I am not. I can be the person they want me to be regardless of who or what that person is. It's so much easier than just being "me".

How do you be something you have never been before? It's being poor your whole life and suddenly somebody goes "you're a millionaire". While that sounds great, but if you have been poor your whole life, you know nothing about managing money. You will go out and buy shiny things, and then a few weeks after becoming a millionaire, you will be poor again. Why? Because you didn't know how to be a millionaire. That's why.

This is the circle I find myself repeating. Being "me". Then being what others want me to be. Then trying to be "me". Whatever the hell "me" is. Most people say just be normal. Whatever the hell normal is.

Normal for me growing up was alcohol, drugs, and avoiding being shot at by my father and/or my mother's boyfriends. No thanks. No normal for me.

Sometimes I feel so lost that I check the backs of milk cartons just to see if my face is there. I am usually surprised when it isn't. I don't know when this journey started. Somehow I missed the beginning and now I am stuck in the middle. Either go forward or backwards. Both choices suck eggs, but at the moment I am trying to go forwards. It is unchartered terroritory, but I am a trekkie so I boldly go where no man has gone before.

Little girl
I wish you well
Until we meet again
My little thirteen year old me

"Conversations with my 13 year old self- Pink"

Apparently I wrote this 10 days ago, but for whatever reason I never published it. I was just looking at my edit posts page and noticed this draft. I don't remember writing this, but it's spot on so I thought I would just publish it. I would assume I wanted to add something and that is why I didn't publish it, but  something shiny must have come along and I forgot.

Toxic

Why is it we ,or well me I guess I should say, crave toxicity? When my world is settled, why do I crave jumping off a cliff? I think about some of the things I did in my past and even though they caused me such terrible pain and loss, I miss it. I miss the excitement, the fast pace, the adrenaline rush. Sneaking around, trying not to get caught. Being quiet when a certain number appears on the caller ID.

The rush. The power. I LOVED it as much as I HATED it. There are times I find myself looking up old pics on the net. Remembering what I did there. Being a part of it all. There is a small part of me that longs for that. Yet I know none of it was real. It was poison, but I crave it.

Sometimes Jigger notices. The sparkle in my eye when I talk about certain things or see an old photo. It hurts him so. Makes him feel inadequate. He can't understand why I still have a longing for that life. I don't understand why I still do. He takes it personal and it isn't. It has nothing to do with him. I am not unhappy and truth be told I would never leave my world now to return to that life.

But yet there was something powerful and magical about being out in the desert late at night. The roar in my ears. The smell of burnt rubber. Why can't I just be fucking normal? Sigh.

I'm addicted to you
Don't you know that you're toxic?
And I love what you do
Don't you know that you're toxic?

"toxic-britney spears"

A Tree House

a Tree House

TINY Houses

TINY Houses

I have the golden ticket

"I've got a golden ticket. I've got a golden chance to make my way, and with a golden ticket, it's a golden day."

I may never own the chocolate factory, but I  can own the world. My passport is my golden ticket. It allows me to go anywhere I want. Work anywhere I want. It's a status symbol of freedom and superiority. It gives me the right to vote, to dress how I want or not. It allows me to speak my mind without fear of reprisal. My passport allows me to be a lot of things, but most people never realize I carry that passport.

They see ignorance shrouded in a veil. Oppression tied by a leash. People tell me "You can be anything. So why choose to be this?"

My world is strange. "Freedom" is just an illusion. If it were real, then no one would question my clothes. No one would ask why I don't use my golden ticket. No one would judge me because of the color of my skin. People tell me I am "free", but then deny me the "freedom" to wear my cloak of oppression. As long as I don't shackle them, why do they care if I shackle myself? As long as I don't enshroud them, why do they care if I enshroud myself? Is this freedom? It is not my definition of freedom.

The world looks at me and sees someone who has lost a valuable priceless treasure. When I look at the world, I don't really see that I have lost anything. I am happy with my nothing. My "nothing" is more precious to me than the world's everything. I wouldn't trade my shackles for the freedom of the world. I wouldn't trade my hunger for the food of the gods. I wouldn't trade my poverty for the gold of the kings.

I thrive in my world of nothingness. It was in this world of nothingness that I found everything. The world may pity me when it looks at me, but I pity the world. 

"One man's treasure is another man's garbage" I prefer the garbage.

This post was inspired by a Studio 30 writing prompt. The prompt was "irony".

Not a Man

I have been reading this book "Not a Man". It is an extremely good book. I am about half way through it. The middle part is quite boring. I think the author added alot of unnecessary things, but I can be a bit ADHD/ADD/easily distracted by shiny things so it could just be me.

The book is about a boy named Shuki. When he was 9 or 10 he was kidnapped from an Arabian slum and sold to a wealthy arab man as a bed boy (sex slave). After he had been with the man for a few months, the man had him castrated so that he would be a eunuch and "stay beautiful forever".

Shuki realizes if he is to have any chance of survival, then he must please his master and wait for his chance to escape. Which comes when he is 16 years old.

I really identified with the main character, Shuki. I don't know how the author was able to capture such intense complex emotions that are often felt by people who have been sexually violated, but she did an amazing job of it.

Even when Shuki is assaulted and raped, he takes it as part of his lot in life and just moves on. Even when he has to use his body for sex, it's a moment in time and he just moves on. He totally disassociates himself from the act of sex and wants nothing more than to be loved. He substitutes the sex and pretend love of men for real love because he knows no one will ever want him for how he truly is. He is damaged goods and the best he can hope for is the pretend love he gets from paying men.

I get that. I have done that. For about a year I was "kept". I lived in a very posh part of London with a man who flew in for his job on Monday morning and flew back out on Thursday afternoons. He paid for everything. He had an account that I was to use for food or whatever I wanted on the weekends while he wasn't there. I didn't have to do laundry or cleaning or really anything except be "available" when he wanted to fuck Mon-Thurs. He was nice. We went out dinners, sight seeing, the beach. I knew it was fake even though he constantly told me that he loved me. I would just reply "thank you". It wasn't real. His wife didn't know. He had 3 daughters back home and I use to wonder if he ever thought about that. That I was someone's daughter, but I was damaged goods. It seems that once you're broken, it doesn't matter who else steps on you.

Thanks to my father I learned very early that sex had nothing to do with love and everything to do with power. Thanks to my ex I learned that I could use that power to get what I wanted. There was nothing Pretty Woman about it. I never met a Richard Gere. I never took that much advantage either. I took just enough to survive. The absolute bare minimum. Somehow in my twisted mind that made it ok. Made me not "paid for sex". Not a "whore". Not a "bitch on the side".

Because I was introduced to friends. Because I was taken out. Because they said "I love you". All of that made it palpable. On the surface anyways. Underneath it was festering until it would fester over and I would start cutting.

I was living with that guy in London when I met Jigger. I told him the truth about my situation. I think he felt a bit sorry for me. We became best friends. I confided all of my secrets in him. All of the darkness he knew, and after knowing all of my darkness, he asked me to marry him. I said yes and then two months later we married. Two days after I moved out of the guy's apartment.

Jigger is not an ordinary man. I am sure if I searched this world over I won't find another like him. He respected me when I didn't deserve to be. He loved me when I didn't love myself. He cared for me when I prayed for death. He has been my rock. Without him I am certain I would have been dead by now. Either self inflicted or just driven totally mad.

This book has brought out a lot of memories and feelings I had sort of pushed aside and forgotten. It has taken me to places I had hoped to never return to, but I am glad in a way I have gone back to them. I can look at them objectively. I can see myself in this boy, doing the best he can to survive. He was damaged but it wasn't his fault. He was shunned and made to feel ashamed because of what had happened to him, but somehow through all of that, he survived. I can really identify with that.

Extreme Dog Houses

Extreme Dog Houses

Maker Monday: Electric Umbrella

Photos from Instructables user sockmaster

[Charles] It took me quite a few articles and digs to end up on an Electric Umbrella, but well here it is. I wasn't looking for it and that made it much more intriguing of course. I actually was just wondering how to make an LED light bulb. I dug into Google and Make magazine and Instructables and read quite a bit about LED reading lamps and flashlight circuits. It sounds pretty simple really - you get some LEDs and resistors and a DC power source and wire it up. Of course there are some simple calculations about getting the resistors right and well you have to keep in mind that LEDs are electrically directional. It doesn't sound too bad though. I still didn't find a lightbulb exactly but this umbrella is pretty cool and it might be just the thing for long walks home in a neighborhood that isn't too pedestrian friendly...

Norman Bates Has Nothing On Me

Personality Disorder Test Results Paranoid |||||||||||||||||||| 90% Schizoid |||||||||||||||||||| 90% Schizotypal |||||||||||||||||| 74% Antisocial |||||||||||||| 54% Borderline |||||||||||||||||| 74% Histrionic |||||||||||||||||| 78% Narcissistic || 10% Avoidant |||||||||||||||||||| 86% Dependent |||||||||||||||| 62% Obsessive-Compulsive |||||||||||||| 58%

Take Free Personality Disorder Test
Personality Test by SimilarMinds.com

 Oh yea! Paranoid schizo! See if you can top that score!  On the plus side, at least I am not narcissistic.

Tree Houses

tree houses

Weird Houses In The World

Weird houses in the world

Martyrs for the sake of Martyrdom

I have numerous pet peeves. This one is one of the top 5. I won't list the others because neither of us has that much time. But it seems at the moment I am surrounded by martyrs who choose to be martyrs. I truly don't understand this. I have issues. We all have issues, but seriously?! I do NOT understand this.

I have this "friend" who BITCHES constantly to anyone who will listen about how she has to do ALL of the work and how NO ONE will help her and oh woe is me I am so oppressed!

OMG Will you shut the fuck up?!

She has to do ALL of the work by herself because anytime anyone ATTEMPTS to help her or OFFERS to help her she totally refuses. I have seen her push and grab things out of the other person's hand whenever they try to help her. She will NOT let anyone do anything and then  bitches about having to do all of the work. I do not understand this.

I no longer bother with it. I figure if she wants my help, she knows where I am and how to ask and if she doesn't, then not my problem. She can bitch and moan all she wants to people. I don't really give a flying rat's ass what they think. I know the truth. That is good enough for me. But I do not get this.

Why be the fucking martyr? What do you get out of it other than a shitload of work? Do you know people like this? Please explain it to me because this is something I do not understand.

Feels so good being bad

There's no way I'm turning back

 Now the pain is my pleasure

cause nothing could measure

"s&m-rhiana"

Houses.

houses.

Friday Forecast: Kesstronic Movement Dap

Photo from Tampa Museum of Art
[Charles] Friday Forecast is my survey of three awesome things to do each weekend in Tampa Bay. I try to find things I could stumble home from in my hood of Seminole Heights but sometimes I'll travel the bridges for the good stuff. If it's music, art, or a good time - I'm in. Check it out.

Friday night: Izzy and the Kesstronics are making another visit to Ella's Folk Art Cafe Friday night. This band runs the fine line between roots rock, rockabilly, and even a little large band type music. They have been known to burn the place down and should probably encourage some real live dancing in front of the stage at Ella's. I'd love to catch these guys mixing it up - they bring a sax and a trombone into their swinging groove so definitely be ready to shake it.

Before you head out to Ella's you should probably head down to the Tampa Museum of Art to check out the Art After Dark Party dedicated to the latest show opening - Degas - Form, Movement, and the Antique. The Degas exhibit is really great and is one of the biggest and most expensive shows at the new TMA. They brought the what I call "Tiny Dancer" sculpture down from The National Gallery in DC and quite a few of Degas's bronzes that are rough and unashamedly large figured. They take the abstract and rough sculptures but somehow capture the angles and balance of a dancer's movements in unexpected ways. I really enjoyed it and there are a few paintings that are truly fantastic as well with one of my favorites called Three Dancers in Yellow Skirts - a fuzzy abstraction with just enough detail to force you to carefully study it and really try to sort out what is going on while the colors are so much brighter than most of the drab world that we see in his pencil sketches. Also since you're there - check out the Herb Snitzer jazz photography exhibit which is every bit as fascinating as I wanted it to be.

Saturday night: Excuse me for a second while I mourn the fact that I'm going to miss this show. This is one of those shows that is pretty impossible to miss and I'm completely disgusted with myself for not making it. Sometimes the schedule just doesn't work out for you. So, anyway, if you have any way of making it to the Ritz on Saturday - do not miss Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings. I have only been as close to them as Austin City Limits on PBS will allow me to but that was plenty close to see that this is one of the hardest working and smokingest shows that I will ever get a chance to see. They are getting pretty well known now but The Ritz is still small enough and open enough that you should be able to weasel your way to the stage if you wanna get in the middle of the sweaty mess. Sharon Jones takes everything that was soft and sexy about the 60's soul women like the Supremes and then grinds it through a Foxy Brown vibe that makes you wonder why the heck they ever stopped making music like this. More than a throw back, Sharon Jones picks up where the greats like Aretha left off and takes this soul into the future. Check out her updated version of This Land is Your Land or the floor-burner 100 Days and try and figure out when they were made...

Have fun out there!

A Child in Africa Dies

This was just funny as hell to me.

Relief Society Commemoration 2011

For several years, the sisters of the Illinois Nauvoo Mission have met on the second floor of the Red Brick Store in commemoration of the restoration of the Relief Society. Each year a different program is written but somewhere the re-enactment of the events that transpired on March 17, 1842 is depicted. What a marvelous way to celebrate the wonderous work of women. Joseph Smith stated that if we lived up to our calling that angels could not be restrained from being our associates. I believe that promise has been and continues to be fulfilled in the work of the Lord through His Relief Society. The sisters dressed in modern clothing were part of the program representing a Relief Society presidency of our day and age. We were gathered outside the carriage shed to load the carriages and go down to the Red Brick Store. Hours of preparation went in to making this program work. It must have been much like the preparation that went in to the first meeting. The sisters had already done much in the sewing and gathering of materials, little did they know the impact of what was to come as they "looked after one another, and cherished one another another".

Loading the carriages to go down to the Red Brick Store-- I'm sure instead of cameras the sisters were taking their knitting or mending or perhaps even their scriptures with them. Many of them did not have transportation, so they would have walked. They were of a wider variety of ages than this group was, but the other similarities are amazing: singles, marrieds, widows, women with children, and women without children, women who were united in one common cause: to serve the Lord.

This view was taken to show the corner on which I used to live and the view I had of the Nauvoo Temple as it now stands. I think of Sarah Granger Kimball looking out of her window every day, watching the men work on the original temple as it rose on the bluff. I think of Miss Cook, who sewed the shirts from the material that Sarah provided. I think of that group of women who gathered in her living room not only before the organization of the Relief Society, but also afterwards. They were so excited to be a part of "something extraordinary".

This isn't particularly part of the Relief Society program, but it was along the way. I love the sunsets in Nauvoo. This one is not as pink as it is in the summer, but it had such an amazing contrast as we rode along. I wondered what the early sisters thought of as they were on their way to the Red Brick Store, were they worried about children or husbands or finances or food or sickness or were they thinking of the blessings of meeting with a prophet--that he cared enough to meet specifically with the sisters? Joseph told Emma that the Lord had accepted their offering and that Eliza's constitution was the best he'd seen, but the Lord had something better in mind. Did the sisters know what that was? Could they ever have imagined to have been organized after the manner of the Priesthood?

Unloading the wagons and entering the Red Brick Store is a time of great anticipation. For many of the sisters this is the first time they have been in the store and for others, it is a time of memory and reflection, but whatever position one is in, it is a great time, as I am sure it was for the early sisters as they prepared to go upstairs and meet with the prophet, Joseph Smith. We were not allowed to take pictures inside the store, so now I'll jump to the end of the program.

This year's version of Joseph Smith--Elder Lamar Taylor of North Ogden, Utah. Joseph took a five dollar gold piece from his pocket and gave it to Emma, as the Relief Society President. He stated at the time, "All that I have to give to the poor, I shall give to this society." Joseph also stated that "the Church was never perfectly organized until the women were thus organized."

Getting ready for the group picture is always an interesting experience because there are always people who are talking when they should be listening and in a group this size there are always a lot more chiefs than braves. I think one of the greatest indicators of a non-posed picture is the expressions of the people.

Just before we loaded the carriages to return to the Visitor's Center, the two of them met at the road to pick us up. The wagon on the left cut across the grass. Just as these two wagons are meeting to take the sisters on to their next assignment, we can look at this point in our lives as a crossroads of the many opportunities to serve others. We can be empty or we can fill our lives with great joy as we do the work of angels--"the errand of angels is given to women and this is a gift that as sisters we claim to do whatsoever is gentle and human to cheer and to bless in humanities name".