I'm starting to really resent neurotypicals. I don't want to play nice. your charity breaks me. I'm sick of sitting in bed. the tulips are too excitable.


re-reading through the old blog, waiting for lunch plans to coalesce.

The mental health industry is sick. The information packets at MMHI refer to the patients as mental health consumers. makes me picture rows and rows of blank eyed shoelace-less men and women lined up at picnic tables eating spaghetti. the sin that eats away at the industry is that the providers think they are superior to the consumers.

we've fetished mental health to such a point that we refer to it as a commodity. can one buy mental health? should one have to? does it really come in multicolored gelatin capsules? is there a surplus of mental health rotting away in a warehouse somewhere? does EliLilly offer producers money to burn their excess mental health to keep the price steady or do we flood the market of our neighboring countries with genetically modified mental health, causing their collectively farmed mental health to be worth less, forcing them to immigrate to the border to work in our mental health sweatshops?

the tulips are far, far too red.

and just maybe I'm to blame for all I've heard

I remember sitting in my room in front of my dad's beatup old speakers, listening to this song over and over. before all this shit started. before the endless pills and pried-open jaws and the throat-stroking and the puking and shaking and complete and utter lack of privacy. before the mono or the fatigue that never lifted or the sleeping through classes or the insomnia or the inability to keep a job or the fear of rejection. the blood testing, the needles and steroids, the hypotheses, the ignorance, you have what now, how do you spell that, why i have never even heard of that.

it's warming outside, a white-skied first of march, and I'm stoned on the couch after a restless night. the brain zaps kicked in last night. the only thing that relieves the headache is biking, mouth open to swallow the damp air, headphones keeping my ears warm, free of gravity, invincible, but I'm puking up vitamin-flavored bile in the sink first thing upon waking, so it's sofal orbit.


brain zaps make it hard to think.

like you would do?

Your body like a searchlight
my poverty revealed,
I would like to try your charity
until you cry, "now you must try my greed."

I've never gone this long without having any kind of job, and I'm simultaneously terrified, resentful, and exhilarated at the thought of finding work.

I'm afraid that I don't have the damn HP to stay on track for 6-8 hours. let alone dexterity or constitution. It's hard for me to sit still and focus on something mind-numbingly boring when my bones feel like they are made of lava. that, and I'm running out of marketable skills: I'm too sick to cook and I can't clean houses like I used to, not without spending the entire next day in bed recuperating.

I'm hoping to get in at a doula service, because there doesn't really seem to be much out there for semi-cripples like me. my dear old dad is covering my rent next month, so I have a few

I've got three days left of 30 mg Cymbalta capsules, and after that I'll be pharma-free. so far I'm doing fairly well, although the brain zaps just kicked in an hour ago despite the buffer I'd been hoping the weeks of major Omega3/6/9ing would provide. not as bad as I thought, though, and I did have a great acupuncture session yesterday that gave me lovely lovely sleep last night. albeit bizarre dreams featuring Bette Midler.

the nets are in an uproar over that British study on anti-deps' efficacy. I've even seen (hopefully sarcastic) comments calling it a Scientology plant.

I've spent the past 15 years metronoming between "I'm getting MEDS/LIFE tattooed on my knuckles" and "EFF big pharma." I tend to think that meds are only useful in the most extreme of cases and that proper diet, exercise, and supplementation combined with talk therapy or mindfulness training can fix most problems. I'm disgusted that I can obtain 6 weeks of samples (FOR OFF LABEL USE!!!!1!) for ten bucks while the same amount of money will only get me about 2 meals' worth of organic produce, or 5 meals' worth of conventional produce, which may contribute to long term systemic damage. for the typical poverty-limit and under mental patient like myself, our finances just don't allow for the diet required to heal our bodies.

while the idea of national healthcare is so appealing, I'd sure rather see an increase in food stamps. Last time I was on them, I got ten bucks a month, and that was when I made about 750 a month.

my fridge is full now, but after the end of the week it's back to rice and beans until I can find work. I imagine I will end up making some flyers for eco-friendly housekeeping, but it's such painful work I don't know how much I'll actually be able to handle, and then it's back to square one.

I hope once my brain quits churning my posts become more articulate.

wanna

we're chained to the world and we all gotta pull

they say the way to your heart is through your stomach

Being a Southern girl, if I love someone I cook for them, and worry about them, and bring them presents every time I pay them a visit. Lately this has extended to my offering to make a meal at my friend's houses when I go over for a Buffy or Lost. I worry that they don't eat well, being the sort of boy vegetarian who eats too much white rice and fake meat.

I've been trying to eat an exceptionally well-balanced diet lately. Friday I made mushroom and sweet potato tacos with avocado, chipotle sauce, and onion-steamed kale. Tonight, after a Marinol (BEST CARE PACKAGE EVER), I revived the pressure cooker to make some catfish gumbo. Onions, ginger, garlic, blackeyed peas, organic canned tomatoes, okra, and the last piece of catfish from the giant 4 pound fish I got up at Armitage Produce.

I've gotten so sensitive to what I put in my body. Saturday night I had a gin and tonic and maybe 2 cups of wine and was miserable all day yesterday. Days I eat toast instead of fish and vegetables I can feel it in my energy levels and in my digestion. Hella wicked evil stomach.

I wish my cooking could heal my broken heart, and yours.

my acupuncture clinic gave me some really adorable little round black pills for sleeping. I was astounded by their efficacy. I have been unable to sleep through the night for years without Seroquel, but the second night I took them at dinner and then again about an hour before I planned to take my Seroquel and fell fast asleep reading and only woke up to turn the light off and get up to pee around 4 am. Haven't had any Seroquel since then. maybe 4 days. amazing.

especially now that I am reading that there is a class-action lawsuit against AstraZeneca. apparently there is a high risk of developing diabetes when it's prescribed for off-label use such as a small dose before bedtime to help with insomnia. oh hurray.

the pills are wicked expensive, though, and I am supposed to take 10 2x a day. I guess that's about a dollar a day. man. maybe I should put up a paypal button.

I'd intended to write something witty about my meeting with my dad's pastor's friend here the other day, but ran out of energy. a weekly meeting with this guy (who is the pastor at a small urban church) is a pre-requisite for his supporting me til I can get a job. he wants to know that "I have a responsible adult in my life."

I don't know why my dad thinks this will work. I'll never become a Christian. Especially when this guy got all flustered when I asked him "what about original sin? do you believe women are cursed because of Eve?" I mean, he was just plain kerflummoxed by the fact that I DON'T BELIEVE IN SIN. and then he told me he was certain that Buddhist monks were leading a violent uprising in Burma and not just peacefully getting beaten to death. at that point I wanted to start compiling documentation to prepare for the stupidity I am certain he will bring to arms against me next time we meet.

my therapist says I should tear him apart.

we like

oooh, shiny!!!

I don't know who is responsible for the newly-updated wiki on fibro but it's phenomenal.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fibromyalgia

wake up early and you live to regret

I suppose months of being on an anti-convulsive have left me susceptible to mood swings, but for the past few days I've really been plagued by an all pervading sadness that is occasionally overwhelming. I'm shaky and tired, having run out of Seroquel. not even sure if I should continue to take it. Benadryl seems to help me sleep just about as well. and is less toxic. meanwhile my nerves keep misfiring and my muscles feel scraped raw.

I hate being dependent on my parents. I hate feeling this way, I hate the lengths my sickness has forced me to go to get by. I hate this state of perpetual brokenness. I hate my dreams, dreams of being someone else, someone loved and cared for. In my dreams last night I was pregnant and getting married, thrilled to be creating something, thrilled to be wanted and needed and adored. To finally know that things would be ok. And then I wake alone and with no-one to take care of me or hold me when the pain grows so intense I chew my teeth raw. Nothing at all to look forward to, just these unending tears that won't stop leaking. and with cancelled plans and more nights alone and nothing to do but wait it out.

not that I am pro-heroin

but my god. officially going off Lyrica has been like an extended bout of the flu. withdrawals like going off opiates: fever, chills, hot itchy eyeballs, puking, shaking, incessantly dripping nose, can't sleep, can't get comfortable, kafka dreams.







DO NOT WANT.

fun with detox

I guess the half-life of Lyrica is about two weeks, cos Saturday night I got really bad muscle spasms, more or less seizure-like, and a wretched case of the spins. and that was just from cutting to 100 mg. being up all night shaking brought the flu back. hurrah.

I figured I couldn't feel worse, so I went ahead and quit taking Lyrica entirely. I have been nauseated as hell, but I am unsure if it's post-nasal drip or withdrawals.

Being off the weed maintenance program isn't helping, either, but I'm too sick to smoke. One day I'll live in a state with "Compassionate Care" and things will be easier. Really.

reading the new stephen king

ANIMALS


Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth

it's no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned some sharp corners

the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn't need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water

I wouldn't want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of all my days

-Frank O'Hara

these magic muffins are the secret warp tube to the level 8 of your heart

8-10 ounces mexican drinking chocolate (Ibarra or Popular)
1/2 c canola oil


1 c finely chopped dried figs, stems removed
3/4 c bourbon
1.5 tsp mexican vanilla extract

1/2 c vegan butter (earth balance)

1 c chopped walnuts


16 oz can pumpkin
1/3 c water
1 egg
1/3 c flaxseeds
3/4 c quinoa flakes
1/2 c whole wheat pastry flour
1/4 c spelt flour
1 tsp soda
1 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp cloves



equipment: muffin tin, 2 small saucepans, large mixing bowl



Preheat oven to 350. grease muffin tin.
melt chocolate with oil over low heat and set aside.
simmer figs, bourbon, and vanilla until liquid is absorbed. add butter and walnuts and fry until the nuts are golden brown. remove from heat and set aside.
combine pumpkin, egg, and dry ingredients. add chocolate mixture. thin to approximately the texture of yogurt or sour cream and stir in fig mixture.

distribute batter even in muffin cups; they should be completely full.

bake until a fork poked into the center comes out clean, about 45 minutes. there's enough oil in them that they really won't get too dry if you forget about them while you are vacuuming, downloading john cougar mellencamp, and cleaning the bathroom. i did. then i ate 4. mmm.

figs are a great source of b-vitamins, potassium, and fiber. flax, canola, and walnuts all are rich in omega-3s. pumpkin has tons of beta-carotene. chocolate is the number one remedy for dementor attacks.

bleh.

I tried skipping a dose of Lyrica Sunday and ended up with a ferocious panic attack. Not gonna do that again, at least, not off the weed maintenance program. I certainly can't afford weed, not when I can't even pay my phone bill. I've been off work so long. honestly, I am not looking forward to the prospect of spending 6 hours trying to be productive. or of trying to pass a drug test. just 1 day without weed and I am already jonesing. fun with classical conditioning. not to mention super-low endocannabinoids.

I'm hovering on the edge of full-blown sick, with a fever and chills and a fearsome thirst. I hate being ill. I start class tonight, and at 3.5 hours, it's going to be miserable. I hope the room is cold. I have no idea how I will sit still that long well, let alone fevered and gulping water and pissing 16 oz every 40 minutes.

it's -3 out

and I'm ferociously sad. some days I guess it's just too much to fight off.