Tag Archives: recovery

Uisge-beatha hold the beatha

This is what I sometimes keep next to my bed at night — just in case?!?!?!

I figured out that I do this because I have a sincere fear of being without water or a beverage of some kind at all times. It’s a real thing. I’ve met one other person with this fear in real life but it’s why I bring open solo cups full of ice and water everywhere I go now (with at least two other bottles of water in my purse).

And since taking about this on social media I’ve found even more people who do this!

I can leave my phone at home and the only thing that will upset me about that is if I hear a song that I like — wherever I am — and I can’t use my phone to listen to it so I can add it to my Spotify playlist(s).

But if I leave without a beverage — serious panic ensues.

Over the years this has escalated to the point that I have at least 2 bottles of water in my bag everywhere I go AND I walk around with a solo cup full of ice water in addition to those bottles.

I’m on day 12 — which is no little thing for me.

I’ve already noticed a few changes.

For one, my schedule is effed.

I’ve been waking up between 1:00 AM and 3:45 AM. Because of that I have to try to translate my time schedule to my Mom based on my waking up at 8:00 AM.

Does that make sense?

If not, let’s say I woke up at 2:00 AM, I’m 6 hours behind 8:00 AM. So I explain that when she leaves for work around 9:00 AM it already feels like 3:00 PM for me, based on my waking up at 8:00 AM. Okay. I think that’s clear.

And to utilize the most useless expression of all time, “needless to say”: when my Mom gets home from work a bit after 6:00 PM (most days), then it feels like midnight for me, using that same example of my 2:00 AM wake-up and assuming a schedule of me waking up at 8:00 AM accounting for the 6 hour difference.

I hate math. But I can count to ten in Scottish Gaelic as of yesterday, so, I’m kind of a big deal πŸ˜‰.

I sometimes wonder if my obsession with beverages is a genuine fear — like someone’s fear of bridges or being buried alive — OR — if it has a more practical purpose.

Maybe I hoard beverages because my body is still constantly screaming “you’re so dehydrated you a-hole! Liquid-ate me up, B!”

I used to think this was because of the nights before, but clearly it’s not. It’s my Disease.

It also might account for why I bring my Mom’s lawn guy and my mail carrier water all summer long.

I spend approximately 7 minutes an hour getting more water. I usually mix it with a zero calorie beverage with taste to lessen the blow, unless I’m leaving the house when I just drink water.

Basically I fill my solo cup with ice and then fill what space is left with that zero calorie ish.

I do this with 2 cups to keep my water intake up as much as possible. And I go through both cups every hour all day long.

Every 53 minutes

It’s too bad my Doctors won’t just let me get an in-home IV drip. I’ve only been hospitalized for dehydration — I don’t know how many times nowπŸ™„. But it wasn’t okay every time it happened, I do remember that.

I’ve been tearing through my reading lately. I am so happy to find things to read that I can’t put down again.

While reading the book my face is currently buried in, I became suddenly aware that my body is a lot weaker than I’d like it to be if for no other reason than practical ones, like if I needed strength for — I don’t know — anything?

So this morning as soon as I saw the sun come up I started with 40 minutes of yoga. A 30 minute beginner class and a 10 minute morning class.

And this was not only awesome, but it definitely did the trick because I felt muscles working that I have not felt in awhile.

So there’s that!

I’m still practicing Scottish Gaelic for hours — about 4 or more on average — per day.

For those of you not familiar with the Duolingo app — they kind of pit you against other people in what they call “leagues.” I don’t really love it because in every league I rack up a lot of points, and people then try to put me in my place by beating my score. What they don’t realize is I’m only playing against myself.

This isn’t a matter of pride.

It’s not a game!

I’m just practicing as much as possible so I really and truly LEARN the language. And it’s working. But I guess good for them for practicing so much too? πŸ™‚

So an early wake-up means an early bedtime, and a natural one at that.

I’ve just been listening to my body, and when it’s ready to sleep I can tell, and I let it. Whatever time that happens to be.

I’ve been listening to music of COURSE, as well, usually while I’m getting my ice cups ready.

I have been listening to a lot of Eminem’s “Recovery” album. I can’t imagine why.

I read this every day.

I can’t find it at the moment, but I watched an interview in which when asked HOW he rhymes words and puts them together in the way he does — Eminem basically says that his brain just does that 24/7 and it’s not something he can ever turn off — and although he spoke about it like it was a curse and a Blessing — all I could think was — okay so his thoughts are always just conjuring genius.

He amazes me.

After watching that interview — I remember thinking that although I cannot relate to his genius — I certainly understand it.

I’m always conjuring — then — very carefully — shaping words, sentences, and ideas for public consumption. A LOT of things go through my head at once pretty much 24/7 as well. I’m always thinking about words and their effect.

Sometimes in an attempt to quiet my mind I dive into music — and Eminem’s sick use of language immediately appealed to me from the time I was 15 years old.

11:30 A.M.

If I’m absolutely losing my ish — I’m supposed to listen to music according to my previous therapist who practiced Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT). And you would NOT be able to figure out what “sort” of person I am from listening to my Spotify playlists — they are so random.

I wonder if this is just how a Writer’s mind works. Or just a creative mind? I cannot imagine that there are that many people walking around with the manic thoughts that I’m constantly desperate to write down somewhere. But how would anyone know?

My Mom is going to hate this but I’ve tasked her with providing a reason why she doesn’t like me writing on myself when nothing else is available — and I’m still waiting. You also get a peak of my super cute hipster bike, and some gardening ish in the background — lucky you!!!!! πŸ˜‚



As a sidebar: an enemy of Em’s is an enemy of mine. I would have liked to check out your music, bro, but if you’re straight up lying about things Em’s done and other ish just for attention tryna blow up — I can’t respect that.

Why Eminem doesn’t care for MGK — EXPLICIT

I told one of my closest and dearest friends (who is more like a sister now, which I’m very grateful for, having been abandoned by my sister by blood: Hillary Joan now if a different last name) yesterday that I want to get a “tramp stamp” of the name EMINEM as soon as possible.

I explained I’ve been listening to his song “W.T.P.” too much in which Em raps: “She’s got a tattoo of me right above her ass, man
In the streets of Warren, Michigan we call ’em tramp stamps
That means she belongs to me, time to put the damn clamps down and show this hussy who’s the man
Now, get amped, dance!”

My friend and I were also talking about irony at the time.

Then we both talked about how we have more than a handful of tattoos in our respective queues to get when we can afford them. I have at least 7 I’ve mapped out.

I’m serious about the EMINEM tattoo as long as it doesn’t intervene with the other tattoo I’ll have going down my spine. Hear me out.

The Eminem Show album

Eminem saved my life in sort of the same way that Captain Jack Sparrow did. His music kept me from killing myself, particularly the song “Sing for the Moment” from his album “The Eminem Show” which came out when I was first experiencing depression but didn’t understand what to do about it yet.

Eventually — I spoke up to my Mom as I’ve mentioned before, but with Eminem’s music in my ear, I was able to hold on until I was able to ask for help.

So honestly, as far as tattoos go, I think tattooing the name of people/characters who kept you from killing yourself are not only validated — but earned and deserved.

And my ink has ALWAYS been for me and only me anyway.

The artist who did my Captain Jack Sparrow tattoo tried to convince me to turn it 180Β° so other people could see it clearly and I unequivocally said, what on Earth makes you think I’d ever mark my body for anyone but myself?

She didn’t answer — and I’m definitely not judging people who do what she suggested because I think tattoos are sexy AF. I’m not a fan of face or leg tattoos, but please, the more the better in whatever way you want as far as I’m concerned.

In the meantime, I’ll keep planning my future tattoos out meticulously. And, I’ll give the one large significant tattoo which adorns my body “the main event” attention and appreciation it deserves. It feels especially special because it’s the only one people usually see. And there’s something significant about that too.

In conclusion, I’m killing it, in a good way: music 🎢🎡🎢🎡🎢🎡🎢🎡🎢🎡🎢; reading πŸ“šπŸ“–πŸ“™πŸ“˜πŸ“—πŸ“•; writing βœοΈβœοΈπŸ“œπŸ“πŸ–ŠοΈπŸ–‹οΈπŸ“–; hydrating πŸ’§πŸ₯€πŸΆπŸ₯›πŸš°πŸ§‰; learning Scottish Gaelic πŸ΄σ §σ ’σ ³σ £σ ΄σ ΏπŸ΄σ §σ ’σ ³σ £σ ΄σ ΏπŸ΄σ §σ ’σ ³σ £σ ΄σ ΏπŸ΄σ §σ ’σ ³σ £σ ΄σ ΏπŸ΄σ §σ ’σ ³σ £σ ΄σ ΏπŸ€ŸπŸ‘©β€πŸ«πŸŸ πŸ“™πŸ§‘; yoga & ballin’πŸ§˜β€β™€οΈπŸ§˜β€β™€οΈπŸ§˜β€β™€οΈπŸ§˜β€β™€οΈπŸ§˜β€β™€οΈπŸš΄β€β™€οΈπŸšΆβ€β™€οΈπŸš²β›ΉοΈβ€β™€οΈπŸ€

Uisge-beatha means “whisky” in Scottish Gaelic. And uisge by itself means “water. “

Do you see the difference?

Because I’m sure starting to.

Math fhΓ¨in, meaning, “Excellent.”

As always be good to one another ❀️🎢✌🏿✌🏻✌🏾✌🏼✌🏽!!!!!

7 24 2022

It has been a long time.

Welcome back for those of you reading.

I just watched “The Batman,” the newest Batman movie based on DC characters in Batman comics. I remember wanting to see this film when it came out. I wanted to see Robert Pattinson in this role. But it took me about a week — in stages — to actually get through — and I probably only finished it at all because of a friend’s recommendation.

I suppose, tangentially but not unimportant to this post it seems, he is more than a friend. He’s actually kind of the smartest guy I’m not dating but basically in some form of relationship with. I met him on a dating site — and I liked him a lot — and he was really nice — and we set up a date — but after talking through my concerns with my therapist I ultimately cancelled with him — but not at the last minute — because that’s a dick move. I even explained to him my reasons — I believe there were three of them — and they were all on me and where I was at mentally at the time.

This guy — he was giving me too much credit before he really knew me. I remember that being probably the main reason I pushed the eject button. I needed him to be less kind to me because for a long time now — that is what I believe I have deserved in relationships.

Since I was 24 years old I haven’t believed that I deserved someone who was kind to me.

I thought — “I’m not a good person, therefore I do not deserve anything good.”

And I know what you’re thinking — “where does ‘The Batman’ figure into all this?”

I’ll get there.

It turns out — after thinking on it more than a little — I realized that I have been cancelling on men that I thought were too good for me since I was 17 years old.

I regret rejecting [at least] five seriously good men in my life. I can identify by first and last name five specific men.

I definitely had a more than “a chance” with four of them.

And the fifth I’ll never know. Because he’s dead. But I regret feeling “not good enough” to have tried with him. I miss this guy CONSTANTLY — but I thought HE thought I was “an untouchable” — or something — back when he was alive — which I NOW realize cannot be the case because otherwise — me not being a psychopath or stalker and all — I could not be missing someone constantly that was such an important piece of my life — which I visualize as a puzzle.

I am so freaking angry that the idiots who said to me “you’ll never regret what you do in life, but you’ll regret what you don’t.”

Said above idiots are doubly wrong.

I TOTALLY regret what I didn’t do AND what I did do so far in life. I regret every single move I’ve made since I was 24 years old — with the exception of how I spent my time with my parents.


Batman doesn’t get to ride off with Catwoman in the end.

He is alone.

He is on his own path; he has a mission.

I am a difficult case. I know I am. I have a fear of commitment. I have a fear of being alone. I simultaneously do not understand and fully understand why I am not like everyone else I know.

I, too, am on a mission.

Actually, I’m on about four or five or six (or maybe more) specific missions — with potentially one ultimate mission driving them all — though at the moment I’m loath to put a name to it.



I think I’m fair about it though. I appreciate variety and diverse concepts and budgets. But I’m discerning — as I am with everything NOW in my life.

I’m not an idiot.

I know that people enjoy different types of film and dislike others.

It’s subjective.

We have to.

Like my regrets.

I find it decreasingly difficult to be objective about my life, however.

Imagine that.

It’s probably from the sugar and the sobriety — but memories of various and bizzare things are coming back to me that I haven’t thought about.

I am intentionally not putting a time stamp on the above statement — because I cannot remember time correctly anymore.

So ACTUALLY, what’s going on with my memory, and in my mind, is what this post is supposed to be about.

I will continue to meander — so forgive me.

It started early this morning while I was reading on the back porch.

I was simultaneously ruminating about media that’s been in my head floating around, I suppose, because I suddenly thought: “Stop reading. Get to the computer. Write in your blog about your memory. Tell people WHAT JUST HAPPENED TO YOU TODAY.” So I’m here.


While scrolling through other things available on HBO Max — as one does on any streaming service — (I’m going to say something about this too if you bear with me) — I came across a few films, etc. that I wanted to check out. One of them was the standup of Nikki Glaser. If you’re interested — the whole title is “Nikki Glaser: Good Clean Filth.”

I don’t love a lot of gorgeous celebrity women. It’s [usually] because I’m jealous of how gorgeous they are or what sexy celebrity man they are married to, etc. You know. The reasons I’m surely still single πŸ™„.

But since I first watched Nikki Glaser (wherever that was) I have liked her. I respect her. I have tried to hate her — because she is awesome and hilarious so she’s also intelligent AF and she’s gorgeous — but I can’t. I really like her. She is hella (sorry Eric) all that, yes, but importantly she exudes a confidence I need.

And I think Ms. Glaser is confident because she should be.

I have always felt that one must be intelligent to be hilarious.

I think if you can make people laugh — you’re, first, incredibly intelligent, because, as Ms. Glaser says, “manipulating [someone’s] emotions” takes mad skill.

I’ve been told since high school that I laugh at everything too easily. But I disagree. I think I have incredible taste when judging what’s funny.

I sometimes even think I have mad skills.

When it comes to comedy, obviously I am not on Ms. Glaser’s level. But, I have definitely made people laugh. Kind of a lot. Kind of every day. On purpose.

Secondly — I think someone who is as hilarious as Ms. Glaser must be defined in a way that I bet most people will find objection to and that’s obviously your prerogative. I think to be hilarious you have to be a bit of what we used to call a Sociopath.

(Earlier, I said I’m not a psychopath. Actually, now, I believe that Mental Health professionals group both — at least what my generation used to distinguish between — “Psychopaths” and “Sociopaths” — as “Antisocial Personality Disorder,” (ASPD). And I think I probably should be diagnosed with this because I have too many of the traits at LEAST occasionally but that’s a story for another post. Anyway. I think the people who write the DSM are off their rockers to utilize those words to describe a human being. And again. Maybe I have this disorder because I feel that way.)

I think — with RESPECT — people like Ms. Glaser and Batman (who, yes, is fictional, but I’m making a point about character), maybe even someone like Tyler Henry (who I have all of the admiration in the world for as well), and every one of my ex-boyfriends who I wanted to marry, as well as I’ve already stated, myself — check off some of the characteristics of a Sociopath — again, with RESPECT, I say this, because I admire all of the above — because we have to if we are ever going to accomplish what we set out to do in this world — AKA our missions.

We. HAVE. To.

At least a little bit.

This is why I think goal oriented people might have a little bit of this so-called disorder. Sociopaths are said to: behave impulsively, disregard the feelings of others, recognize what we are doing when what we are doing is considered wrong but we do it anyway, cannot typically maintain both a “regular” (whatever that means) work and family life — and I’m going to say here on behalf of at least myself — that means we don’t have 9-5 jobs or a regular schedule because we don’t fit into one and cannot for into one because of how we think and what we want to accomplish — and as for family — I guess we’re basically all unmarried without children. And finally, sociopaths CAN have emotional connections with others but it is difficult for us.

So, we probably don’t fit what “they” see as “regular” because we are different. And I understand why. And the above was the short version.

I want to emphatically state that I am NOT labeling/stating/intending to say that Nikki Glaser is a Sociopath. I’m ATTEMPTING to say that I can relate to her, more than ever, because she potentially has some of these characteristics, and because I think the DSM is wrong. Besides. Who the eff am I to judge?

But here’s where it gets tricky. Essentially — it is widely accepted that Sociopaths lack Empathy — and that is in direct conflict when juxtaposed to my third requirement for one to be hilarious.

Jesus Christ, this is a long post.

I’m blaming Recovery.

To accomplish a goal or a mission, and in Ms. Glaser’s case, that would mean being hilarious — which she has accomplished — thirdly, one must have Empathy.

So grapple with THAT, [my own] point number two!!!!!

Empathy is essentially the capacity or ability to understand AND share the FEELINGS that other people understand and share. Ms. Glaser unequivocally does this — so it is redundant when I now say that she is not only capable of empathy — but she exudes it in her profession and I imagine in her life.

I have learned that you cannot fake Empathy. CAPITAL E. Emphatic period.

I have been officially diagnosed by a psychiatrist as an Empath. This means that I have these characteristics: I work with OTHER people or on behalf of other people because I want to help them, however, I am also UNCOMFORTABLY sensitive to being around other people. Sometimes I’m INCREDIBLY sensitive to noise, smell, vibrations on bleachers during a basketball game I attend, I get chills watching someone brush their teeth, etc. I’m often exhausted after being in social situations. I do not like crowds, and I get overwhelmed if I have to be in a crowd or I unintentionally land myself in a crowd (now I’m looking at you and how you say you feel about this, Tyler Henry).

I saved the worst for last. The worst part of being an Empath is that you literally absorb the emotions and feelings of everyone around you — usually almost immediately. I cannot explain how this feels — except to say that my previous sentence is what happens. (Imagine going to funerals, being around someone who was just sexually assaulted because you work as a rape crisis advocate, or worse, absorbing the hate that your abusive rapist of an ex-boyfriend exudes when he threatens to kill himself if you don’t stay the night.)


And in a world where we as a society like to pin good versus evil, I’m looking toward the good as I attempt to make these three points.

Nikki Glaser, Tyler Henry, me, and, yes, even Batman are on missions to leave our mark on this world in a way that helps people.

This is where the Antisocial Personality Disorder thing gets to me.

How can I simultaneously feel confident enough to manipulate others if I absorb what they are feeling so incredibly all-encompassingly and often debilitatingly at the same time?

Because that’s how to make positive change happen.

At least that’s my new and only outlook.

It has to be.

And it is not lost on me that this seemingly impossible contradiction perhaps applies to people who attempt to change the world by leaving an evil footprint. But that’s not what I’m thinking about today.

Not today, Satan.



These traits actually aren’t contradictions. They coexist perhaps intentionally for people who WANT to implant change.

I guess that’s a thesis I could write about thoroughly if I weren’t so busy Straight Ballin’.

HBO Max gave me hope through Nikki Glaser. She is a badass 37 year old unmarried woman who is a brilliant, beautiful genius. She IS a hilarious comedian. She is confident. She has an impact. And her intense raw relentless honesty is not only awesome, it’s imperative. (People have said I have the same style — and it’s gratifying.) I cannot say emphatically enough how much I respect and admire her. She IS one of my heroes. She’s accomplished her mission. At the very least she’s in the process of doing so.


I hope that’s okay with her.

Speaking of geniuses, the man I mentioned earlier, the one I did not go on a date with, but am in a kind of relationship with? The one I explained to why I was cancelling our datr, and pushed away like I did with all of the best men I could have been with so far in my life, (two of which are now dead)? He did THE only thing any man has ever done at me — and this really caught me off guard and blew my mind.

He graciously understood, and asked if we could continue talking as friends.

GD effing genius, he is.

Now, of course, this wouldn’t work for every guy that I have not ghosted but also did not pursue (through online dating, at least).

But I’d rather have that offer even if I don’t take it than the fairly typical cursing me off and telling me I’m an ugly B they don’t want anyway.

But, if I knew I was NEVER going to want to be with a guy I wouldn’t entertain this request.

However, in this man’s case, my reasons for not wanting to go out at that time had the potential to be ironed out in the future. Basically, for significant and logical reasons, I just wasn’t ready.

Of course I did not say to him, “I’m just not ready.”

But perhaps in my explanation he understood that was what I meant.

And when he asked me if we could still talk as friends I was so thrown — because he was serious!!!!! And genuine.

Obviously, whether this was his plan or not, that request changed everything in our relationship.

Now, we’ve been getting to know each other quite well for months, and he continues to treat me the way that had always made me uncomfortable before — in the process — making me comfortable.

He treats me well.

He gives me respect.

He’s understanding.

He doesn’t judge me.

He is honest.

He doesn’t have a bad thing to say about anyone.

And by getting to know him through this on-going “friendship” I am more comfortable with him and our relationship has become something more.

So if any men (or women for that matter — though I’ve never experienced the respect from anyone who rejected me the way I rejected him so I don’t know if it applies because everyone has different experiences) are being rejected under the HONEST premise that the person they are interested in “just isn’t ready” — I recommend that you ask said Rejector if you can continue talking as friends.

Because I think it’s genius.

And as someone with traits of Antisocial Personality Disorder — I affirmatively state that whether or not my man has “game” — this “move” worked like a Mmer-Effer.

And to quote Em’s song “Seduction” from his Album “Recovery,” (appropriate timing), “You sadly mistaken if you thinkin’ that I’m not on my game, boy
And things just ain’t been the same since the day that I came forth
You wear your heart on your sleeve, I sport that white tank, boy
What you hollerin’ my name for?
Ain’t my dang fault, man, I can’t call it.”

I wonder if Eminem still knows I’m hoping he’ll seduce me. I didn’t Stan him with letters so I doubt it. Someone hook that up for me, will ya?

But back to reality.

Brillant. Sgionniel!!!!! Right?!

Sgionniel means “brilliant” in Scottish GΓ idhlig (aka Scottish Gaelic for us Americans).

The answer is YES!!!!!

I am learning Scottish Gaelic. I practice it so much every day that I have started thinking, speaking, and writing in this new (for me) language. And I’m kind of obsessed with Scotland now.

TOTALLY unrelated, I changed my hair up again.

This is the fourth language I’ve attempted to learn in five years.

In case you’re curious:

I took an adult French class with my Mom prior to the pandemic because she learned French in High School and I wanted to do something different outside of the house with her. Unfortunately, my Mom understood and spoke French better than the “teacher” of the class, so she didn’t learn anything new, and even though I tried really hard, I was ultimately unable to understand how French worked.

Prior to that I took Mandarin through an adult school. I was working for a company at the time where much of the staff and the owners spoke Mandarin fluently. I thought I would work there for a long time because I loved it there and my coworkers loved me, but unfortunately — shortly after I started taking the class the dam that only allowed some symptoms sometimes broke and the Disease that plagues me now —- and will forever — has taken over my life — and IS why I wanted to write this post — and I could no longer work there. That was probably the most fun place to work I ever had. Anyway, I was oddly able to learn beginners Mandarin, although it is an incredibly sophisticated language, well enough that my Mandarin Teacher didn’t believe that I had never taken a class or learned the language before — a compliment that really lifted my spirits at a time when I needed spirit-lifting.

After I moved back home to live with my Mom, I started watching more and more movies and films and media as I’ve already stated. I watched the movie “The Informer” with Joel Kinnaman. Actually, I watched this movie for two reasons: Joel Kinnaman — (God — the concupiscent me would love to find a Swedish-Scottish American who is a mix of Mr. Kinnaman and Mr. Sam Heughan) — AND because the movie involves the Polish mob (which is not generally an ethnicity surrounding mob movies) — but there was a lot of Polish spoken in the movie. I am 50% Polish — so I thought — why not? So I started learning Polish — and then I got REALLY into it — and I think I’ll go back to it again because I liked feeling like I was indulging myself in part of my heritage. But sometimes I can be manic with what I want to do. And when that happens — I start doing a bunch of things at once — and I stopped learning Polish because I started learning other things. That’s my bad.

Finally, one of those things I started learning lead me to wanting to pick up Scottish Gaelic, and I’ve been working hard to learn it for 74 days straight now, and I practice a few hours every day. My fascination with Scotland’s history lit the spark. But this is also THE crux of my post.

FYI — shoutout to the app Duolingo — without which I most likely wouldn’t be learning any languages.

I, like Nikki Glaser, am now 37 years old.

Except, I don’t really feel like the last 13 years happened, sometimes.

Imagine losing 13 years of your life. What a mind-eff.

I mentioned that I have regrets about most everything I’ve done since I was 24 years old. So THAT math checks out.

It’s like I stopped being me when I made the decisions I made in 2009, influenced by what happened to me in 2008.

This won’t make sense to most of you — but I feel like it’s nine days later than the worst choice I made, 13 years in the past, meaning I’m about to do what I should have done at 24 years old.

In fact: most of what I’m about to say may not make much sense to anyone.

I don’t know.

Those of you reading this that have the same Disease that I have will understand. But I’m not sure that everyone else won’t just find my words to be cray cray.

I brought Nikki Glaser up again for a reason. (That phrase jumbles my mind.)

During her set, she used the word “blazer” to describe what she was wearing during a particular interaction she had with someone — and she said the word quickly and without much emphasis — meaning it was not especially important to her sequence — except for the fact that it was setting the scene so we could visualize better what was going on.

And that word is what prompted me to write this incredibly long post.

I think part of the reason it is so long is because I think differently now than I used to be able to, partly because I guess I have a lot to say and writing feels really good because I’ve “only” been “hand-written journaling” and working on my book which in which everything is surrounded by one specific topic — so I miss writing my opinions about other things, and mostly because I haven’t posted anything since last year during Christmastime. That’s quite a long break.

And the reason is me. (Sorry, Hoobastank.)


I’ve been suffering.

I’ve been struggling.


I’ve been in pain.

I’ve been selfish.

I’ve been disabled.

I’ve been losing.

I am an Author without words.

That’s how I described how my mind feels to my Mom one night when I could not find the word — for the 600th time this year — I needed — to get my meaning across — in what I was failing at attempting to explain to her.

So “blazer.”

It took me approximately forty seconds to figure out what that word meant. I could not recall for the life of me what that garment looked like, though context clues in the set told me it was a garment. This was my thought process:

“blazer. what is a blazer? i know that word. i know it is a top, i think. does it have a collar like a golf shirt? no that’s not right. what about those sweaters with the knot looking things running down them. or just a sweater with a v-neck. that’s not it either. blazer. blazer. blazer! it’s that thing that hill wears when she coaches. it’s that thing she gave me when she grew out of it. oh my god. i have like ten of them at least. more like twenty if i count all of my suits. how could i forget that. i wore them every day when i was practicing. blazer. god. ok. that is right. blazer. what is she saying? i have to rewind the joke.”

Irony can be defined as an occurrence that is intentionally not something a person anticipates and therefore may be slightly amusing.

That being said, ironically, I thought just this morning (madainn an-diugh) — about something I used to say sometimes when horrible things were on the minds of the people around me who I felt compelled to help as I always do, and when horrible things were on my mind as well and I was expressing them: “I wish I had a Pensieve like Dumbledore, and I could take certain thoughts out of my head and store them so they aren’t forgotten, but I also wouldn’t have to suffer them constantly in the meantime.”

Unfortunately I am forgetting words when I need them — in almost exactly the way a Pensieve might work — except it’s like the words are deciding for me who should tap out.

So I got a very effed up version of my wish, I suppose, in the end. (I never understood that thing anyway. Like, are the thoughts labeled? Because at some point “magic” isn’t a good enough excuse for everything anymore. It’s not like JDepp as Captain Jack Sparrow saying, “Pirate!”)

The losing words thing happens most often when I am speaking to someone, which isn’t that often anymore, but it almost always happens at least once during every single conversation I have with anyone.

I have to ask whoever I’m talking to if they know what I mean.

And now I’m forgetting the meaning of words I know?! It’s not something I love — to say the least.

Actually, it’s terrifying.

And since I’ve had time to process; this has been happening for years now, actually.

It started in 2017. That’s when the dam in my mind broke. I just did not realize it until it was too late. I didn’t realize it when I decided to pursue a different avenue of my career in 2018. And I had to leave my favorite place of employment — a place where my co-workers (all male but me — seriously — all of them), LITERALLY cried when they found out I was leaving because I was making such a difference in their sanity. I was proud of getting that job too. It actually didn’t exist until I met with the Owners of the company. They made me an employee when they were not hiring. I hated leaving. I was making such a difference.

I was hired by another company at the end of 2019, but had to leave after four days because I got so sick almost immediately — because of this Disease — and I could barely function, let alone move my body parts without excruciating agony. That sucked.


And I’m aware people think I’m exaggerating about the pain.

I have a high tolerance for pain. I think a lot of athletes have to in order to get the job done.

I’m not exaggerating.

I am often in agony. I’m in pain right now.

I consider opiates. Knowingly. I’ve resisted on purpose. But I am ALWAYS in pain. And I mean it wakes me up every night and I cry out in agony from my bed trying to reposition my screaming body.


I also realized I could make a career out of something else and I drew up a business plan, presented it to a local business, and they loved it so much they hired me immediately. Unfortunately, the four hour meeting that was meant to be a fifteen minute presentation brought my never-ending Disease out full throttle again, and I realized I could never do what I wanted to do if I continued to have unannounced Flare-Ups that left me paralyzed — unable to walk or talk.

Imagine ME not being able to talk. Everyone’s favorite joke against me is “silence is golden.” But do you know what happens when I stop talking?

It IS silent.

And no one likes that.

Silence makes people uncomfortable.

People want to be stimulated if not entertained.

Perhaps that’s why an ASPD outlook gives me the confidence to say: I AM the main event.

Nevertheless, I am writing all this to share some things I wanted to put out there, about me, and where I’ve been. First, for 5 months in 2017, when the dam broke, and I was quarantined to a typically empty apartment because my ex was a beaver, and then, in late 2018 because my brain just wasn’t keeping up and my body was broken — I really went through it.

I REALLY went through it.

By “it” I mean that when the pandemic hit, absolutely NOTHING about how I was existing changed except that now — everyone was wearing masks. In THAT way, the pandemic did not make me stir-crazy the way it affected other people.

But, when people started losing it about being locked down, I remember thinking, “this is the first time I don’t care that “they” don’t like it and have feelings about it.

I have no empathy.

Because we’re not going through the same thing at all. For them, this will eventually end. But for me, it will be the rest of my life. And if I had had competent Doctors when I was a teenager, or possibly even earlier than that, maybe I wouldn’t have made the choices I made when I was 24. Maybe I could have prevented 13 hard years of regret.

Instead, I’m blocked, getting worse all the time.

An Author without words; a Writer without words.

I have lost so many people in my life because of Disease.

I have lost entire communities who turned their back on me.

I lost friends.

And I also gained a couple of really close ones.

And now — I have a plan — and I’ve given myself a timeline. There are 3 projects that I have given myself 3 years to complete — and I intend to do just that.

Unfortunately for me, I could use help, and I know people who could help me, but they won’t.

They don’t.

It’s lonely.

And I still often need Pedialyte because I am ALWAYS dehydrated.

I take 26 pills every day. I am “only” 37 years old. That is more than what my Father was taking when he had tons of medical issues before he was dying, and it’s even more than what he took when he was dying, and he would have been 84 this year.


I really hate complaining — although that statement seems like BS based on what I’m sharing now.

But there are these things that are just so much worse since that dam broke.

For example, the second hot sun touches my skin, it burns. IMMEDIATELY.

Showers are agonizing to the point they’re some days impossible. (And I do NOT have a bathtub nor can I afford one at this time in case you’re wondering — because EVERYONE ASKS ME THAT.)

My hands are almost always shaking. This isn’t new. It’s just worse. Imagine something as simple as painting your finger nails while someone’s chewing on a nerve in your arm.

Now imagine trying to hold a plate of food with the same effect.

Imagine you took a serious interest in photography and suddenly couldn’t hold a camera. Imagine you shake so badly that even the accessory that is supposed to ground and steady the camera doesn’t work. Imagine you giving your love of that up because you can’t take pictures like you used to anymore.

That broke my heart, y’all.

I was so proud of myself for weeding my front garden bed that has been a disaster for years now, after I cleaned out our gutters as well. Unfortunately, I ended up getting poison ivy. Poison ivy is not supposed to last longer than 3 weeks. I’ve had it for at least 5 weeks now. It’s because my immune system is absolutely shot, though no one seems to be able to explain why, AND even though what I suffer from is not considered auto-immune.

I started falling asleep while driving so I haven’t driven in 3 years.

I started falling asleep while reading, which meant I fell face first into my books, sometimes with my glasses on (oops!) and when I woke up hours later my face, glasses, neck, and back were destroyed.

I fall asleep when I’m eating.

I have dropped food suddenly all over the place while putting it on my plate because I guess now I’m somewhat narcoleptic.

On the plus side, since last month, for whatever reason, I have been Blessed and have been able to read without falling asleep as often as I used to so I am taking advantage of that HARD.

Writers have to read!

Things that people take for granted I cannot even consider doing ever again.

But that’s okay.

Because I have resigned myself to some things. And I’m positive and excited about them all.

Oh. Yes.

With respect, I [also] don’t want/need suggestions on what I “should” look into for relief.

You cannot help me. Empathic period.

Not with supplement suggestions or exercise recommendations or diet changes or by asking questions or my very least favorite with books about how it’s all in my head — (that was the suggestion from my college roomate of 3 years who I was extremely close to but I have since cut out of my life — and THAT’S not even the reason why — although it could have been or should have been — but I think I’ll keep that story in my pocket for another day because it is a doozy).

I currently see exactly 11 specialists who give me conflicting information and cat-scan and x-ray me so often that I am certain that I am going to die from brain cancer because I have been exposed to so much radiation by now — to my head — that I think it’s inevitable.

There is exactly one person who can alleviate my pain — and because of my financial situation I cannot afford to see her right now (and that’s not her fault — insurance is BS). If I get my 3 goals accomplished in the 3 years then I will be able to — and I hope she’s still here — because I would see her 5 times a week if I could. She is my Acupuncturist — and she is absolutely AMAZING. Shoutout to Karen who is the only one I trust with genuinely helping me to feel my best. And shoutout to my Wifey who told me about her. Both of you have helped me live more of my life than I could have hoped. If I saw you more I’d be so much better, I know it. Fingers crossed that it is in my future.

I have so much hope.

I want to make that extremely clear.

I am sharing what I share because I feel I owe the people who have reached out to me (thank you, by the way, for doing so) asking where I’ve been and why I’m not writing here some information if not an explanation.

I care about my readers!!!!!

And I want to be informative.

I want people to know what I go through.

It has been so rough (garbh).

But I am fighting back.


In addition to my 3 main goals I decided I’m going to start taking words back.

I made the decision last month to try to finish my goal of reading 52 books before the end of the year. I’m working on it.

I am also fighting back by learning Scottish Gaelic.

I decided that if this Disease is going to take things away from my brain — I am going to shove new things in as much and as often as I can.

I AM going to learn NEW things.

I’m not going to give up.

I take notes about words I want to look up.

And I’m studying them.

I am learning history and realizing how much public education failed me in so many ways.

But it is awesome to think about all of the things that I CAN do now that my schedule is completely effed so it is impossible for me to have a 9-5. It leaves OTHER options open.

Like writing this for me and hopefully for you — those of you who stuck it out.

I’m hopeful — about the future — because I see one.

I’m making myself see one.

I’m not dead yet.

I’m just getting started.

I am basically starting over as that 24 year old — only I’m much stronger, wiser, confident, and have more experience than I did 13 years ago.

But I get to start my real life now.

The one I should have started to begin with.

But back then I didn’t really live for me. I did what was expected of me. Happily, at the time.

But I knew after one semester it wasn’t going to work out. It wasn’t what I thought it would be, and when one of those five men I mentioned at the beginning of this post that I had a chance with announced that he was leaving after the first year was over because even though he did incredibly well in class — he hated it — and said so — and he left — I envied him.

I wish I had followed my own path like he did.

I could have been happy so much sooner.

I might have a family by now.

But what ifs don’t really get us anywhere positive.

And it’s time for me to stay positive.

Lord knows I AM trying.

That’s my wrist with bracelets and my cracked hand.

Before I forget completely, I know why streaming services started putting that optional button up that says, “pick something for me,” or whatever. I believe it’s because people are spending more time trying to decide what they want to watch than they are watching content. Because there’s too much freaking content! Don’t let them fool you. Don’t let Skynet win. πŸ˜‰

I hope you can imagine how difficult it feels for me to try to “date” at the moment.

The prospect of a relationship is daunting because I’m me.

I’m on a dating website that is overwhelming me. I get a lot of attention, and I cannot keep up. That’s not a low key brag — it’s just the truth. And then I have this awesome relationship that formed out of an unexpected friendship that I never saw coming. Seriously. What a brilliant move.

After months of talking I asked him if he had done this with women in the past — because I thought it was so slick and he had mad game to approach me this way. He said [apparently] honestly, “No. You are just someone so interesting. You don’t flirt or say things you think I want to hear. You talk about things that no one has ever asked me about before. I wanted to have you in my life in some way even if it was just as friends.”

Then. Flash forward.

Me: “I know that you are probably going out with other women because I turned you down and that’s obviously fine because it’s none of my business. But if you aren’t serious with anyone, now that you know me better, are you still interested in dating me?”

Him: “First of all, I am not seeing anyone else. And yes, I’m extremely interested in dating you. Let’s set a date.”


All of that is very flattering to me. But also horribly overwhelming. I don’t know where to put it.

So, now with a better understanding between me and myself I am willing to say: I am a difficult case. I know I am. I have a fear of commitment. I have a fear of being alone. I simultaneously do not and also fully understand why I am not like everyone else I know.

And that’s no little thing.

Everyone should watch “Cool Runnings” by the way. Then you’ll understand how the above phrase changed my life and why I say it when something incredibly meaningful happens in front of me or to me. — I “just” need to keep seeing those “no little things” in myself.

So that’s where I’m at y’all. For better or worse.

Ach. Who am I kidding?

For better.

Day 9. Tomorrow I hit double digits.

😎 Bussin. As always, be good to each other ❀️🎢✌🏿✌🏻✌🏾✌🏼✌🏽!!!!!

Author’s note: mostly written yesterday — edited today. And I’ve hit double digits y’all. πŸŒ€οΈβ˜€οΈπŸ”†πŸ˜Ž