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Surprising I got more support for my short story on FB than here. I thought those of us who get it, would understand the story more. Whatever. Nobody reads this shit anyways.

The anxiety between the get together and my mother’s cataract surgery is starting to get to me. I’m literally having to take it day by day. Can’t think beyond today or I’ll get overwhelmed.

I just want to disappear into my house and never come out. Except for food and therapy. There’s a drop in and I want to go. Probably will. But I doubt the Marvin in me will enjoy it.




I should be very happy about my story being published. But I kinda feel like it’s not legit. Like they just needed a story to finish off their publication and threw mine in, mistakes and all.

Two other publications declined it because it wasn’t what they were looking for, “I GUESS NOT!”

No one wants reality anymore. No one wants to read about the mentally ill unless it’s “HAPPY”. There’s nothing fucking happy about existing with this shit.

But we make due. We have happy moments and those are the ones we have to hold onto.

Just shovel us back into the sanitariums and forget us again. You practically are doing that again.

What’s my audience? People. People who want to understand the truth. The reality of mental illness.

Yeah. I guess that makes two people. Me and my friend.






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I’m working on a few short stories with a lean towards mental illness. The first one “PIECES OF GRAY” was published by Adelaide Literary Magazine. They offer a print version. An ebook and an online print of the story.


I’m on page 121. Now to just finish working on the other stories. Polish them up and churn out the one I’m working on presently.

I should be happy. But I have a cold and am very tired. Maybe happiness will come later. You know how it goes.

Doing Better


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Need an extra nap soon. Going to be up most of the night at a concert. My first BIG venue concert and I’m hoping I don’t freak. Gonna take my anxiety pill before I go and stay hydrated.

I talked to my therapist and she kept the printed out version of my blog post last time. I don’t even remember what it said. I just put it out there to get it out of my head and it’s gone. One day I’ll read all of this, just not now.

I get the feeling that I educated them as to who I am and what I would and would not do. I am not stuck in my therapy. That is clear, we agreed upon that. They thought I was isolating and staying indoors and away from people and seeing my mom every day etc.

This is after I was told by my Pdoc not to go outdoors in the sun because of the effects it has on me, because of my meds. DUH!

I told them about my physical limitation and how not having a thyroid causes anxiety and depression. So although the meds are doing their job, I’m still going to go through times of anxiety and depression as a physical manifestation. DUH!

I know their main fear is that after the inevitable death of my mother, I’m outta here too. I need to build my own life and I am trying. But it’s not as easy as it sounds. With the anxiety and depression.

My mom and I talk every day, but we have our separate lives too. Although I do have difficulty when it comes time to leave. I still believe we should be living together and still doing our own thing. But we are not rich.

I do what I can for her and believe she should never go without. She sacrificed so much for me to help ensure that I grew up with a good moral outlook on life. Done. Now I just want her to be happy and comfortable.

She’s allergic to the rug in her apartment, but there’s nothing she can do about that, it’s a senior living complex. Everyone has the same rug.

I have more inflammation with my Sjögrens. Nothing they can do about that. I think it’s the weather.

Mood wise. I’m ok. Not good. Not bad. Just ok. I’m dealing with everyday life and for the moment. I’m ok. I’m not looking any further than that.

I have to accept that people don’t change when they feel that there is nothing wrong with their own behavior. No matter how many times others have pointed out these faults. I’m talking about Asshole.

Patience is a virtue. Guess who’s VIRTUOUS?

Going down for the nap. Hope tonight goes well. I’m not Sally Socialite and I’m kinda stuck when it comes to talking about myself. Read me like braille.

My writing had a short start this morning. I got some things down when my neighbor started her noise again. Headphones are a must, can’t avoid it.



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Today I was told that I was “stuck” in my therapy. That my anxiety was ruling my life. I have reasons for that anxiety. Every time I take a risk, I have gone one step forwards and then I am knocked backwards two steps back. So, why bother with even trying. I’m getting too old for this and the damage from these encounters only makes it harder for me to function day to day. So I protect myself by avoiding situations where the same thing could happen again.

They want me to go to an intensive program for a few weeks and then come back.

I was super anxious about my mother’s upcoming cataract surgery. It’s hard enough just holding it together on a day to day basis. Distracting negative thoughts and fighting depression and the messages of self-hatred. It’s exhausting. For four weeks I’m gonna be more of a caregiver than I am normally. This builds added anxiety for me. I talked to my therapist and I was able to work past that hurdle.

Now they add this shit on my plate. MORE anxiety. You get rid of one and decide I could be doing so much better if I were more social. That you want to send me away and put me in some type of program. I am now making a mountain out of a molehill. Last time I was put into some type of day program. I was frightened because the majority of the participants just straight out scared me. Not because of their illnesses, but because they were men and I had been molested as a child and hadn’t dealt with that aspect yet.

Whenever I get into group therapy settings, I ended up facilitating the group instead of the facilitator. And when I try to turn that around and don’t talk until it’s my turn and ask for help, no one is able to help me. So group doesn’t work for me. My Pdoc said in that situation I should be happy just to be able to have helped someone. Fuck that. When do “I” get the help “I” need in that situation? Yeah, I’m happy I could help you, but where does that leave me? How does that help me towards stability?

They spring this on me two months before my mother’s surgery. It’s not the surgery I’m concerned about, it’s her reaction to the medication she has to take BEFORE and AFTER the surgery.

She’s on Letrozole for her cancer. She’s cancer free and has two more years of this stuff. The side-effects for her are exhausting. Foods and odors and medications cause her to have reactions that shoot through her body, from head to toe and last a long time. She has to drink lots of water and milk to calm her stomach and wash it out of her system. And then sit down and calm her nerves and her heartbeat. I understand this but her doctors seem to just ignore her remarks. I know and she knows that she has no choice but to finish off the last two years. The alternative is that cancer could come back, so there is really nothing anyone can do but put up with this.

This is where the anxiety comes from. I feel for her, it’s called empathy. And she’s my mother.

As I said, I got over that anxiety. But there are reasons I’m not a social butterfly.

I feel like I’m being judged by other people when I go out. OK, paranoia. I dismissed this and just started to feel comfortable and safe at one place. When this person decides to validate this fear by looking me up and down with an expression on her face like she smelled something bad. The stink face.

I didn’t smell. I was neat and clean. But she looked at me like I was beneath her. Judging me. Situations like that keep me from taking the risk of ‘being social.’ I could have said something, but out of respect of the people and the building, I kept my mouth shut.

I was walking down the street and some guy who decided I was in his path and didn’t want to move over his way mumbled that I was a fat fuck under his breath. I yelled “Fuck You” and continued on my path. Judgement. More justification of my mindstate.

I take the leap into a relationship and it turns out to be verbally abusive and almost physically. So I’m not heading down that track anytime soon.

Then there’s the chronic pain. If you hug me, it hurts. Sometimes even the slightest touch hurts. My knees swell when I walk and sometimes my leg drags if I walk too long. I fight through it and keep walking. It goes away, but the next day I suffer. My body is exhausted and I struggle to move around. I’m one day up and one day down. This is constant. Right now I am in pain. The weather has a lot to do with how I feel. Trying a new vitamin, hope it helps. This is my manifistation of Sjögren’s Syndrome, the joint pain etc.

This is a factor in my ability to be social. But I have no cane. I don’t talk about it to anyone but one friend who is in the same boat. No one wants to hear that all the time.

I can’t dance anymore. I can’t run. I can walk, so I am grateful. So my rant is over. I was very upset at the start. I might go to the program, just not now. November when everything is over and I have fewer worries.





Sometimes things become to difficult to put into words. Life becomes one ball of nothing. No substance, no meaning and all noise. I barely made it home today. Because of the sun and the meds I take make a difficult combination. My neighbors are exceptionally noisy today. So I am playing the Sex Pistols because they woke me up. I know its childish, but their disregard for the person living beneath them has been discussed, but I guess it hasn’t been received by their small brains.

I have a lot to say tonight, but I fear putting it into words makes it real. Mom needs cataract surgery. She’s getting older and I think it’s really weighing on her mind. The Letrizol is too much for her, with its side effects. And I am slowly becoming this slug who doesn’t want to move. It’s paralyzingly watching your parents age and fade away.

Rough weather

The heat affects me adversely. I get dizzy and confused. Break out in heat rashes and get dehydrated very quickly. I’m just one big mess. Not attractive. I went through two weeks of high temps and now we are getting some rain and the humidity etc. is making it hard to just ‘be’.

I haven’t been able to write and what I did write in my notebook, I haven’t looked at and that was a week ago. I don’t know when my head will be straight enough to put down a decent sentence. This is easy, it’s all done on the fly. No structure of plot to consider.

Needed to complain and when you live alone, there’s no one but the walls. And hopefully, they don’t talk back. On a good day.

I look at the news and it disturbs me. So I turn it off. I like to keep up to date, but there are times you need to disconnect.

Neighbors are up and bumping over my head. Put on some music, it usually drives them away. They never play music. Odd.

Today is my radio program and after I take my pill, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to stay awake to listen. But I can catch it on iPlayer, BBC stuff.

I usually sleep too it, but it’s hard because it’s a Funk and Soul show and is generally a party for your ears. Craig Charles Funk and Soul Club.

I don’t feel good today. I don’t feel good right now. Bye.


2 much time on my hands. Or what I did 2 day.




  1. Look up ex-lovers and see if they’re doing time or on parole.

2. Google yourself.


  1. Go to various Department of Correction sites in different states to see if YOU are doing time or just on parole.
  2. Google dead relatives and pets.
  3. Write. No blogging, but write actual short stories or working on that novel. (*NOTE TO SELF)
  4. Get a mammogram.
  5. Go to a cookout. Arrive on time and see no one is there and find out it was canceled but nobody told anyone. Walk home.
  6. Talk on the phone with bestie about how you’ve been wasting time today.
  7. Don’t play any video games or you will be up all night. (*NOTE TO SELF)
  8. Go to bed while it’s still light outside. Listen to music on headphones.
  9. Blog meaningless nonsense to pass the time.


Been writing lately. Have made some progress on some stories. But I’m stuck on two. They feel like skeletons and I just haven’t put the meat on the bones yet. Decided to write blurbs and ideas as they come and stick them where appropriate. Nothing is flowing this summer. Sent off one story to two places. Want more to offer than what I’ve got before I approach an agent.

Mentally. I’m not sure where I stand. I’m functioning. But I keep saying things out loud to no one. Phrases like. “I hate myself”. “I wish I were dead.” And other negative thoughts that have squeezed their way out into the open.

The thoughts come from nowhere. No triggers except being tired of doing the same things every day. Things like pills, sleep, distractions. I have no real motivations. But I want to go swimming or rather aquacizing. But I can’t seem to get it together. We’ve finally got our summer, weather wise. I feel like doing NOTHING. I’m beginning to think this happens every year. I just don’t remember.

Went through a bout of depression, but headed it off before it got serious. Went to one social event, but I couldn’t get into the swing of strangers. I have the hardest time letting myself go in front of people. I just sat there and talked a bit. Semi danced a bit. As much as I could with these bad knees. And drank wine and tequila and one corona.

I fell backwards into friends car, not because I was drunk. But because my knees wouldn’t bend to save me when I leaned backwards. Don’t like things like that. I hate my life sometimes.

When your body wont cooperate. 

I have another function this weekend. I’m not nervous. I know what I have to do and what I’m going to wear etc. Just not going to drink. Can’t afford a cash bar.

I wish the writing came back. I might need to kick start it somehow. Hoping this helps. Random thoughts are easier than weaving a world.




I attended a writer’s conference for the first time this past weekend. I left on the second and got home on the fourth of June. I was exhausted and my mind was reeling with ideas and options and to be honest, I was totally ‘overwhelmed.’

The conference was a great experience and opportunity for me to connect with other writers and to learn more about the craft. It seemed to focus on novels, something I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do. But I want to get some short stories published and that was the last presentation of the conference. I was too exhausted to stay, I had to leave because I was falling asleep, although the presenter was excellent.

Everyone was using Scrivener, I think that’s how you spell it. But it’s just too complex for me. I’ll stick to Word.

The most important thing I learned was just to get the story out, literally, vomit it onto the page and worry about mistakes later. I started writing when I was there, but I was exhausted. I don’t even know how it reads or if I’ll do something with it.

This week has been hellish. Doctor’s appointments. Canceled transportation, pain, and depression. I woke up this morning and cried myself back to sleep. The thoughts of giving up just clanged in my head over and over again. I quit. Not so much dying, but just saying, ‘you win. I quit.’ Now leave me alone here in my bed and let me do nothing.

I realized I am running on automatic. Repetitive motions and routines devised to keep me together in this world. I hate it.

I would love to go a day without pills. Without needing to brush my teeth and floss and just lay there in bed. Being and doing nothing. I don’t want to eat, I don’t want to talk or be acknowledged as existing. I don’t want to ‘be.’ I quit.

Living a life of routine isn’t really living. It’s existing. And that’s all that I do and am, existing.

Yup, I’m depressed. I felt it coming on before the conference and fought as hard as I could and made it through. I saw Janis Ian (At Seventeen) fame. She’s tiny.

At Seventeen here’s the song. It’s my anthem.

She told the story of when she sang, “Societies Child”, for the first time she got booed off the stage and was hit with a can and various things. She cried and ran off the stage. Her manager said, what are you doing? Those people paid good money, get back out there. And she did.

The world is a dangerous place. I’ll move through this thought process, therapy today.

Who knows what my mind will give up tomorrow. If I will give up tomorrow. I doubt it. But whenever I hear a train, I want to walk in front of it. And that’s dangerous. There’s this battle that goes on inside. And I have to walk through a train platform to get to my mother’s house.

I scare myself.


April and a sense of loss.


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There was a fire on our street this morning. Loads of fire engines and ambulances. But no one was hurt, so that’s a blessing. But it has affected me in a bad way. I have this heavy sense of LOSS.

Had to walk past the house twice, not much damage outside, no marks of fire. But all the windows are broken and there’s water going down my street. Now they’re cutting off the electricity and gas.

I feel so sad for the people who lived there. Easter morning and your house is on fire. Next thing you know,  you’re walking out of your door with your belongings in a bag.

There were children in that house. No one was hurt, but now Red Cross is there for them. That eases some of my feelings, but my thoughts have been morbid since the fire. Which was just a few hours ago.

I realized that I messed up my meds. Which explains why I feel this so deeply and am slowly slipping into a depression. I was messed up before my morning meds and then after I took them, I was ok. I’m dipping down again, but writing this out helps.

I’m confused and scared and just not really here. If you can understand that feeling. Saw the neighbors kid this morning and the look on his face was exactly how I feel now, dazed. He’s BiPolar too.

I don’t know if I could have handled this illness as well if it began when I was a child.

So much to think about. So much I don’t want to think about, but I know I can’t stuff.

I realized that the month I was molested as a child, is the same month my brother died. Which is April, this month and my emotions and thoughts are a whirl. I processed the molestation years ago. I had originally blocked it from my memory and through hypnosis, I remembered when I was twenty-five; something that happened when I was five years old. I don’t think you ever really get over something like that, no matter what age you were or are when it happened. I am proof of that.

I can’t wait for this month to end. In the past, I was always in some type of mental turmoil during April. I would end up with a deep depression from nowhere and go inpatient and have to adjust my meds. This pattern went on for a long time and I didn’t have an idea why. I would be fine and then, BAM.

I can’t remember when it stopped, but things got better and the meds got better and the pattern stopped. I was doing pretty bad in the beginning of the month, just processing the first anniversary of my brothers’ death. But I was making it with help from therapy.

I was standing in the kitchen when it hit me that these two events took place in the same month. I knew it happened, but all I never knew exactly when. I just knew it was sunny.

This is my April. I have to be careful and mindful of my meds and therapy from now on, or I’ll be back in the bed crying all day or at least most of it.