Praise for the Chubby Girls~!

A close friend whose body image has changed since gaining weight feels bereft of possible companions. I have been trying to explain that sexuality and sexiness is not tied in with weight as much as this friend thinks.
Fat girls are yummy and delicious and I am saddened when I hear big girls feel like they won't be able to have a sex life until they are 20 pounds lighter. Sex can happen at any size!
I am a fat girl. I got teased by my family when it started, because of the meds I have to take. But I grew to love my body, and see it as a beautiful thing. And the great thing is I gained a cup size!
Seriously though, sex is not exclusively the domain of the young and thin. Great sex can happen to anyone!

I just wish it was me having sex. I have been celibate for half a decade, to be completely honest, and it makes me feel inadequate. And not having as much experience makes me feel embarrassed, at this advanced age. I've had a number of partners, but not much experience in long term relationships.

I like big butts and I cannot lie!

Been a long time since I got flogged too, I really should do something about this stalemate.

Before the Sun runs away again

I have a good feeling about the lottery numbers I picked. I think I will win something with them eventually.

I am currently looking after my mothers house and all it's many occupants. I just had to feed them.

I'd like to be a little less stupid sometimes. I feel like I keep making mistakes with my life. All kinds of mistakes. I guess that is what it means to be human.

Ew, there is dog slime all over this table from Arthur!!

I want to get married dammit, and I think I want kids. I have been hemming and hawing about it for years, always kinda like Mmmmmnnnnno. No. But then the last year its been a maybe. And I think I am getting close to the day I can say Yes.

As to how I will end up with kids, well, it is a little more complicated because I am a lesbian, and don't have a nearby supply of semen like a boyfriend or husband, just the sperm bank and possible donors I know. And then I have bipolar, which makes it even more complicated. I would have to get off my meds to have a baby, and boy oh boy was that bad the last time I went off them. And I'd rather not be recovering from a manic episode AND look after a newborn, just because I would be so tired!

So the next option would be for my partner to have a kid. The trouble is I DON'T have a partner. I'd rather raise children with a partner, even though I was raised by a single parent and know it can be done. I just don't want to be like Angelina Jolie and have a bazillion children! I think two would be the max I could do.

I think it would be about five years from now, when I'm a bit more ready. A kid! OMG! I am seeing all these little babies sprout up from my friends loins and it's a bit intense! Everytime I turn around it seems like someone else I know is pregnant.

The weather is really nice these days, we had some rain earlier today, but the sky is clearing up.

Well, I was going to write more, but I got distracted by things, and now I have to go out into the wild city to forage for some grub!

My grandparents used to have a grub box. I thought it had something to do with grubs, ew!

Beautiful Mess

There are things I need to change in my life in order to move on and become a better person. I've let things bother me to the point of wanting to die just to avoid my circumstances, and that's never good. I need some help, it's rough.

I think dying just to get out of this rut is a dumb idea, just for the record. I know it's dumb but in the past whenever major problems loomed, suicidal thinking was always there to entice me in it's cruel grip.

But it's a cruel thing to do to myself, and especially to the people around me.

I'm tired of being so depressed. And I'm tired of being down on myself. I really have to just get off my ass and start becoming the person I want to be. It's hard to do that! Why is change so hard? I would like this to be instant, but I know it's not to be yet.

The hardest part about having these addictions, pot and tobacco, is that it's everywhere and so easy to get and I am ambivalent about quitting altogether. I'm not so ambivalent about tobacco, I know I need to quit that, but the pot, just the idea of saying No More is so scary! I've come to depend on it to relax, and I need better coping skills for life.

I am a mess, it is true, but I am a beautiful mess.

Heart Aches

Having a mood disorder makes me doubt my perceptions at times. Especially if I am in a mania. Those are no fun. Actually they are fun, but the ramifications of that much fun is quite staggering.
I knew one woman who tried to buy ten cars while she was manic because she thought she had an intense amount of money from the mania money fairies.
And that's the thing about mania, is that there's all the witnesses and evidence afterwards! And losing important friendships, and self respect, that's always hard. I hate losing control and writing whatever is coming out of my deep dark subconscious. Linking up all kinds of things in new ways that don't really make sense. Coming to conclusions that are totally wrong. Inventing stories to try and find out why things are happening and getting lost in them.
My guilt over my actions during mania has kept me in a mini self destructive loop, and the most upsetting thing is knowing I can't make things right, at least not between myself and the person I hurt. I feel badly about this, like she's a casualty of my insanity. Not like I was sitting next to her on a bus and stabbed and ate her. But still, bad. Just bad.
Shitastic!
I shouldn't be beating myself up as much as I have been though. I am going to try and move beyond it!
On a totally different note, I've been reading all this Gossip that Michael Jackson had boyfriends. I feel badly that he felt he had to stay in the closet his entire life, not able to share who he loved. That is a sad way to live your life!

Detoxing from marijuana

I'm currently housesitting with my mother's menagerie and mine. There are three dogs in the house right now and two cats milling about. It's pretty crazy here yo.
I don't know if you have noticed, but I have merged posts from Bipolar and Disorderly into Fit of Pique. It now looks a bit more sensible, with the old posts from when I was crazy nicely merged with my recovery posts.
I miss my mom already! She's left me to go up north and fish, I wish I could fish! I like fishing. Fishing makes for entertainment and good dinners sometimes. We used to catch SO many fish! Mostly Pike. And the occasional pickerel.
Until the go barbless campaign came along. We debarbed all our tackle and from then on barely caught any fish. Pretty sad.
I'm in the process of change this year more than any other year, and it's been really HARD on me! Personal change is so difficult to achieve. I know I will grow more if I abandon the ways of doing things that have hindered me. But it's so scary to leave behind my crutches. I realize I have become dependent on certain things and that makes me upset. I never wanted to be dependent on anything. And it's not good for my health.
I am especially realizing that I need to be better to myself to deal with my bipolar disorder. I am better about getting the right amount of sleep, I go to bed earlier and I don't miss medication often. But there are other things I should be doing, like not drinking because it makes me depressed, and quitting the marijuana for a while, for long enough to see what difference it makes anyway. I really have questions about my potential without it, and I think those questions need to be answered.
And smoking, I really need to quit it. I started up AGAIN! Fucking hell, but then I am depressed and it is hard to quit while one is depressed. I hate depression.
I have an appointment to see my old counsellor next week, right now my psych nurse is checking in every week except she's on holidays, so it's back to the old counsellor.
I liked the old counsellor.
I'm worried I would make a bad girlfriend for someone at the moment just because I do need to learn how to live my life differently than I've been doing it. I have to admit some suicidal feelings were around a couple weeks ago, but I think the idea of living life DIFFERENTLY is preferable instead of crumpling it up like a scrap of paper and throwing it in the garbage. I can change, somehow. Starting with today. I can get to work and figure out why I've been allowing myself to fall so far short of my own expectations.
Anyway, I'm off to read some motivational online literature. I am thinking of going to an NA meeting this weekend. I might really need it. I smoked my last bit of pot and am going to detox and try life without it starting with one sober week.

Mad Pride

It is not Mad Pride here yet, I actually might have missed it, but the day, July 14, hasn't crept up on me quite yet.
It is hard to have Pride sometimes, especially in relation to being bipolar. It's a very unusual illness to have. The first thought after a manic psychosis episode for me is always "Oh my God none of it was REAL!"
The second, more depressing thought is "But some of it was, OMG! What did I do?"
And a third, more eerie thought is "But how will I remember what was real and what wasn't?"
For the most part I have it figured out.
Except for two things I heard. I'm pretty sure one was a hallucination. But the other one, I will never know.
I was walking home from the bar wearing a top hat and tails and as I walked through a residential area I heard a woman scream and then a gunshot, and then silence. I have no idea if it was real. I didn't stick around to find out, I just kept walking, and I think part of me knew I was crazy and not to pay attention. But it was weird, and I am still haunted by it. Was it real?

The other thing that happened is I was listening to a song on the radio, which had just come out, and this voice said "The story goes that in the end you'll be normal." I was just recovering from my episode and still thought "Fuck, was that real?" I've listened to the song many times since and never heard those words uttered, so it probably WAS a hallucination.

And then there were so many things that I wrote while I was going under, and I did this the first time too. It's pretty weird. Still I erased a lot of it, and some remains here. Like all of April. I forget the day I went in to the hospital, but I think it was around April 20th or so. And my birthday was shortly therafter, pretty glum birthday. I got a cake and some presents, and cards, and some of the patients scrounged change to get me a strawberry sundae from DQ. We got to get passes to walk to DQ or the store (usually for cigarettes). And even though we were supposed to stay by the ashtray, a lot of us went on walks down the meewasin valley trail. It was pretty weird. One time my friend was depressed and outside having a smoke on the trail when some uber tanned fit white women came running by and one said loudly "And that's where the FREAKS sit!"

I can't help much about my brain, well, actually that's not true. There's my cocktail of mind altering drugs I take, which are prescribed thank you very much. I have heard of people abusing some of the meds I am on. Which seems ridiculous to me because they are just psych drugs. Like the risperdone, who would take that if they didn't have to? It's a freakin antipsychotic!

I am not proud of all the things I do or say while I'm in such an altered frame of mind as a psychotic episode. But I am proud that I can stand in the company of other people dealing with similar issues who still find ways to thrive and build community and make glorious works of art and other contributions to society. And I am proud when I look at a friend with similar issues to me, and be able to say "Don't you hate it when . . . " And they can say "I know exactly what you mean."

Today I quit smoking, again,

and it's been 9 hours of no smoking. I have been wearing step one of the patch and just waiting out the few cravings I've had. Mostly I have them whenever I start doing something that I have usually smoked while doing. Like writing. Or walking. Or waiting for the bus. stuff like that.

I updated all my quit meters and dates and times. I have no more cigarettes in the house.

Zzzzzzz

I'm sleepy. I don't have much of anything to say today. I slept all afternoon and then did some family things for a couple hours. I'm home now, about to go to bed. It's been a long day, even though I slept in the middle of it.
It was hot here today too!
The depression's going away, I can feel myself getting better everyday now.
Damn, I really have to go to bed. I hope to have a good day tomorrow, no work til later in the day! Yippee skippee!!

Update on my Guts

Well, as it happens I do have gallstones. I have to switch to a low fat diet (NOOOOO!) and wait and see if I have more problems. IF I do have more problems then it's surgery for me.

But that wasn't all, I also got a pelvic ultrasound and it turns out I have fibroids in my uterus which accounts for the heavy bleeding every period, and will get worse as they grow. NOT ONLY THAT! But I also have a cyst on my left ovary. I have another pelvic ultrasound scheduled for August, they expect it will go away because it is a simple cyst.

Anyway, oh joy! The funny thing is what freaked me out about the fibroids was worrying about not being able to be pregnant, which is so BIZARRE! I can get pregnant and have a normal kid even with fibroids in there, not that it will happen. But the idea that maybe I couldn't, that scared me. It's fine though. But funny that I panicked about it.


So there ends the medical mysteries of me. THANK GOD FOR Ultrasounds.

Anyway, it's almost time for bed but I wanted to update yall.

I am slowly recovering from the depression. It's feeling a lot better.

Phases?

Strange that I left this blog as being written by Thirza instead of Sarain, which is the name I went by for a while during my crazy time when I was still struggling with deciding to be a boy. I decided in the end to be a boy in a girl body, which is fine by me since I like getting fucked in the vagina and having boobs. I am a boy, but a bottom all the same. One more hole is more appealing to me than having a dick.
Still, I do feel I have masculine traits, and I'm trying to honour that more with some more gender bending. I was wearing a packer, like I mentioned before, and I would go out of the house dressed like a boy.
Which isn't much different than how I normally dress.
But things have changed. I didn't like how being a boy made me, especially in regards to how I behaved towards the woman in my life. I didn't like the idea of my female gender disappearing altogether either!
And I didn't like the idea of my boobs vanishing. I do like my boobs. I like being large chested. And I like how sensitive my nipples are, and I hear top surgery really deadens that sensation because they basically chop your nips off, trim them down, and sew them back on! Eeep!
And testosterone is irreversable. I can basically sum up my apprehension by saying I am not transsexual and am simply transgendered.
Which still puts me in a situation where I could be in danger. Masculine women are still targets of transphobia and homophobia. And I am all tattooed, I don't know if that makes me look like more of a hard case or what. I wish it did, then people would leave me alone.
I haven't been hassled since I was a teenager. I was a pretty radical dyke teen. I tried to start Aden Bowman's first queer group, but even with chips we didn't have a very big meeting.
I admire anyone who has the guts to be who they are in whatever way makes them feel comfortable, including getting transsexual related surgeries and hormone treatments. But Sarain is an old name and not mine really. I'm a Thirza, through and through. This is what makes me feel like myself.
I sometimes wonder if I will change my mind again down the line, but somehow I doubt it. My struggling with being transgender is somewhat laid to rest by living like a boy for six months or whatever it was. Now I'm simply a transgender lesbian.
My cousin who came out when she was 11 went back to being straight after six years, she said it was just a phase! I think six years is a long time for a phase. But what do I know? I went through a male phase.

A weekend of waiting . . .

I got in touch with the doctor's office. Currently I have no doctor, so I'm kind of floating around to different available doctors. They wouldn't tell me anything on the phone, I have to go in to talk about my results. My mom says they wait for you to have a major attack, where you're like, barfing and peeing at the same time and feel like you're going to die! And THEN they finally do surgery on you. Oh man! I hate pain. I mean, especially thinking you are going to die. I HAVE thought I was going to die a few times when I was getting panic attacks in college.

But all this fuss, and just knowing it is coming, and having to change my diet, oh man. I'm really NERVOUS about that. And then surgery itself, that scares me. But at the same time I imagine my poor ducts and something getting stuck in there, aaaah!

And I have to get a Partial Nail Avulsion on this ingrown toenail, which is a pretty gross sounding procedure. But someone I know had it and it's not that bad. I just don't know if Indian Affairs can pay for it.

I also have to go get my prescription changed, but that won't cost me any money. In fact, if I had Air Miles I could save up for Berlin!

Ein biere bitte!

I'm getting tired of castigating myself for things all the time. I have to get my head together. It's just that these changes I wanted to make haven't happened yet. I wrote all about them on Bipolar and Disorderly. Now I'm depressed and smoking again. I'm taking a break from drugs and alcohol for a while. Although summer always feels like a party time. But realistically if I want to keep on top of this crazy incurable bipolar disorder, I have to stay away from doing that stuff. Even just having a few beers is bad because it's a depressant, and lord knows I don't need more of that in my life.

And now I might have to get SURGERY! I hope none of the drugs they gives me interferes with my bipolar disorder medication. Like my risperdone will wake me up on the operating table. Ickky!

And what about this crushing depression? It's so fucking gross and makes me think bad things. I know it's going away, it feels like it's going away. But it's still a while before regular life is breathed back into me. At least a week longer.

Summer of Health Problems! Craptastic!

The entry in which Thirza's phone gets cut off

I have yet to hear the results of my ultrasound. I am expecting the worst. I was reading how gallstones form and it sounds an awful lot like my lifestyle. And I have talked to friends my age who have already HAD gallbladders removed.
Apparently you fart a lot while you recover. How embarrassing! I hope I am not recovering with some snotty stuck up person who will scold me for farting so much.
I'm recovering from some depression. It started because I was lowering my dose of antidepressant and my mood got destabilized. Which sucks because I was doing so well. But HOPEFULLY it will be going away soon, I already upped my antidep before the psychiatrist said it was okay. So I have another week or so before I will know for sure if this gets me back to normal.
Depression sucks. It makes everything seem so bleak.
Bleak!
I haven't been cleaning much either and that depresses me. It's terrible to come home to a messy house.
My phone line has been temporarily suspended! Fock! i don't know how much longer I will have the internet for!
I'm in trouble! Poopy! I need to learn to stay on top of bills.
My television got cut off a while ago too, I knew this was coming. Oh well.
Better luck next time.
I have made some videos since my blog was in limbo. I made a video called You Are A Lesbian Vampire. It is pretty funny and got a good review in NOW. It has screened in Toronto twice, Calgary once, and Vancouver this summer. I am hoping for more!
I got to go to the screening in Toronto, the premiere! That is when it got the good review.
I need to work on my videos more. What I also need to do is clean. My mum is picking me up this afternoon for some errands. I could do some work before then, especially since now I don't know when she is coming and can't call her!
Well I got shit to do and no way of hearing from the doctor about my ultrasound. They will have to call me at my mum's.

Awry

I am still recovering from Pride! I stayed up until 3:30 am last night, I am so tired!
I can't party like that again for a while. I am going to have to take a break, maybe just do some fun summer activities like go to the beach or sit in the park by the river. Eat ice cream.
I need to expand my repetoire of fun things to do without getting crunk. I feel like I'm just a one note girl.
I'm getting tired. I was going to write something glorious that came out of my bum, but I've realized I can't do it. And I have to get up early and go to the doctor's to get my ingrown toenail cut. Apparently the only bad thing is when the needle goes in. I hate needles and yet am intrigued by them. Not in a heroin way, or in a medical way, more in a play situation. But I am not looking forward to this visit at all, I am terrified.
This is not the only medical visit I have to take this week. I have to go to my psychiatrist's, and get an ultrasound looking for gallstones!
It's pretty crappy. I'm 31 and feeling it! My body is now a mess of different things going awry.
I'm wanting some romance this summer. Someone who doesn't mind that my body is going to hell and I might need to get surgery. My first surgery! Oh woe is me.
I also have work tomorrow, and I worked a full shift on Saturday right between the parade and the dance. I'm so tired now. Dammit, I was going to write something better. Oh well, I will be home tomorrow afternoon to show off my toe!

Bad Habits, And I Don't Mean Naughty Nuns

I recently, like, this morning, bought a pack of cigarettes. I have started smoking again, and I'm going to quit again. But I feel dumb, I hate my addictions and bad habits. They are starting to catch up with me and cause problems in my life. Smoking itself is one big problem, namely the health concerns, and then the no girlfriend concerns. But here I am, poisoning myself again just because I can't handle the OTHER issue, which is cutting back or cutting out my pot use. I've been trying to cut back since January, and it's difficult. I've achieved some long stretches of no use, but still go back to pothead tendencies.
I have some other bad habits, like getting a messy apartment and not cleaning until I could call those How Clean Is Your House ladies to come over and scold me while showing me how to use biological powder to clean nearly everything.
I'm a mess still. Not emotionally, but I have some bad crutches I have grown used to over the years. Maybe I am a mess emotionally and am covering it up with some bad habits.
Either way, at the beginning of this year I was going to try and make some major changes, and I am still working on them. It's a long slow process, and not the instant prestochango I was hoping for. I was hoping I would just magically be a better person by January 2nd, smoke free, drug free, exercising and cleaning. And it didn't happen! I think the process of change is very slow.
I remember when I was a kid the beginning of the school year at a new school always felt like an opportunity to be a new person, smarter, cooler, hipper. So cool nobody would think I was cool. Instead the same old shy person trotted out.
I wonder if personality is genetic.
My father also has one of my aforementioned bad habits, and I won't mention which one, but I remember it from when I was a baby and I always associated it with nice feelings of being a baby. And now I do it! A lot! Is it genetics, or is it just me?
I wish I was talking about Naughty Nuns instead of Bad Habits.
Which reminds me, my Nun Satan porn got legs and walked out of my mum's basement and vanished. I suspect a rogue cousin stole it. But I can't prove anything, besides what other perv would take my smuggled porn?? I had to go to GERMANY to get that comic!
This means I have to go back to Berlin and find that comic.
Or look on Ebay, but I would prefer it NEW! Secondhand porn is gross, and I'm still shocked anyone would want MY secondhand porn.
I do not consider porn a bad habit. I really don't have much porn. I don't rush out and buy every new issue of Club or anything.
I'm depressed, and I think it's about my bad habits. I feel again like I would be a bad girlfriend, just based on my bad habits. Dammit! And I don't want to twelve step or even two step, I just want to knock it off. Stop acting like a bad teenager. Or twenty something. Or whatever I'm not supposed to be anymore that I'm 31.
Yes, I am 31 now. I actually was in the hospital on my 29th birthday. The hospital, where I painted all the blocks. I still have them, some of them are very pretty.
I have an appointment with my psychiatrist next week, so maybe I can talk about some of this stuff.
I don't know how much of it relates to my mental illness. I know a lot of crazy people who are messy and smokers of tobacco and pot, who barely exercise and stuff. But is it just bad habits or indicative of something more?
They say substance use is high with persons with mental illness, and then they try to say it causes mental illness, but I think we just like the altered state, especially if the present state is not agreeable.
But I can be feeling fine and still want to get blotto.
I just want to feel like a grown up. Someone who takes care of themselves and doesn't waste money by smoking it. At least I still have the desire to change.
In other news, a friend I thought I had lost for good during my manic episode has agreed we can send emails. Which is really nice because she writes great emails, and because I have missed her everyday since I went crazy.

Life With Mister

I didn't know what else to write about, besides maybe talk about my dog, Mister.
He's laying beside me right now chewing on a rawhide bone. Earlier in the day he decided he wanted love right in the middle of my Tarot reading. And when I woke up this morning, he was patiently waiting by the bed. Whenever I come into the apartment, he does his crazy kissy dance routine all over me. He's pretty sweet.
He is a wiener dog, and he was supposed to be my psychiatric service dog. Life had other plans. I did come into contact with a woman who taught psychiatric service dogs, but while he's good with depression, he is NOT good with mania. I was just moving around too much, and he's a little guy so he got freaked out and spent time under the couch. He slept with my mom instead of me, and I barely slept.
But we're fine again now. But no, he cannot be a service dog. On the other hand, he is a good companion and therapy animal. He likes being held and he's very engaging, he keeps me from being stuck in my own head.
He is marching in the parade with me this year. Although I am worried about him getting stepped on. But he's done it two years in a row. I keep talking with my mum about organizing a wiener walk, but so far it has never happened. Mum just got a dachshund herself, a smooth coated black and tan girl named Hermione. She's super cute. This is her birthday month. When mum first got her it was so cold and we cut up one of my wool socks and made a sweater for her. She was THAT tiny.
Even though the psych service dog thing didn't pan out, I still am pretty happy with Mister. He makes me smile. Whenever he's away from the apartment it feels lonely. I like living with animals.
Here is a wiener dog from the Ministry of Funny Walks!

Pride week in Saskatoon

I haven't gone to any Pride events yet. I figure I will blow my wad at the parade and the dance. I haven't got anyone to go to the Dance with me yet, like a friend I mean. I will probably go with my cousin.
I went out to Diefenbaker Park last night with an old friend, where we drank hot chocolate and talked about old relationships and future relationships. Damn she has some intrigue in her life. I feel like I am not getting out there enough. I should advertise myself!
Never mind that, I've had several personal ads running here and there, and have only ever gotten a handful of responses that seemed remotely interesting in all those years of doing online ads. And I hate writing the about me sections. I always feel like I should mention the bipolar thing, but I don't. Not that I wouldn't, I'm pretty open about it.
It just seems like bipolar almost automatically adds a layer of drama to relationships. You know what I would like to read? A book about how to have a relationship written for people with bipolar. I don't know if it would help. I used to spend my evenings sitting in the self help section of Chapters reading all their books. They didn't care, and I did buy books enough for them to leave me alone. I just didn't want to pay for self help books. I learned all about "I" statements there. Come to think of it, I think an ex read those same self help books because she used all that lingo.
I also used to read all their paranormal stuff.
I had a couple years there where paranormal stuff kept happening to me. That was weird.
It will happen again, I am sure.
I wonder when the world will acknowledge that we've been getting visited by aliens!? At Cranberry Flats?!?
I realize this entry is not much about Pride. I like Pride, it's one of my favorite times of the year, mainly because there are so many hot cuties that come out of the woodwork. I've never had a girlfriend in the same city as me during Pride. Kinda sucks. and I've never gotten laid during Pride either. And yet every year there's that feeling, maybe this will be the year me + some girl will collide during pride = sex. Even though the track record is going against me, I still clean up and try to be sexually presentable Just In Case.
Who knows, maybe this year if I recondition all my leather I will win a sweetie! I'll put it on Facebook, just to make sure everyone knows I'm all ready for someone.
Well Mum will be here any minute to take me to see my dog, who's just gotten shaved! Little Mister! He's living with me now and it sure is good having a pet.

A long recovery to today

Well as you can see I am writing sensibly again, which isn't as much fun as the 200 hypergraphia entries, but oh well. I still find some of the things I thought about when crazy somewhat seductive, but there isn't much I can do with seductive thoughts besides make art.
My most recent work of art is a video I am currently editing which I got a grant to make about my family's home lands. Do not ask me how it is going, I don't want to say. And don't ask me what position I am taking because I don't really know much besides I have three hours of footage and need to condense it into a short snappy half hour of family history. Right now it's 45 minutes long, too LONG! Fifteen minutes I don't need.
I have been single for the last two years as well, no intriguing ladies milling about in my life. Well, that's kind of a slam against all the women I know, let's just say no romantic intrigue. When I think about it seriously I don't think I was ready to have a relationship, I needed to do a lot of healing about a lot of different things and I think I would have relied too much on a woman to keep me together. As it is now I am pretty together. I've been dutifully taking my medication (but forgetting the morning meds now and again) and I have even been working besides the year I got to just be a famous artist. Well, I was working then too, but not at a job. It seems that every so often I get the opportunity to be a full time artist, and then work can go stuff itself. I like working for myself.
The screenplay is finished, although I am open to rewrites if I find a producer who thinks that would be a good idea. I've realized that I am not the self producing type, at least, not with features. Too much work and I need to concentrate on the creative stuff.
I currently have an interesting part time job I like, which is good. I've been working for the telephone company and I like it much better than call centres, although in a way it is a glorified call centre. But inbound, no more calling people at home and bothering them.
Call centres have been my bread and butter for most of my twenties.
Now I am in my early thirties. It's nice so far, I feel more confident about myself and I don't feel self conscious about dorky things having to do with me, like listening to Roxette, which I used to be closeted about, and also thinking Louis Riel was the messiah. Well that's not really dorky, just kind of interesting. He did say he was the prophet of the new world. He was also highly manic depressive, and I'm surprised no one ever thought to point out that the government executed a mentally ill person.
I don't mind being called mentally ill, although I notice none of the professionals working with me use that term. It's always Bipolar diSordeR, which isn't as much fun to say as Manic Depression.
I currently have a very good female psychiatrist who has gone above and beyond what psychiatric care I have recieved in the past. She's sent me to light therapy groups, she's told me to try vitamin d and omega 3s, she sent me to a dietitian, and she even reduced my meds this year when I told her the Seroquel was making me too sleepy to get up in time for work and the antidepressant was killing my sex drive. I did gain some weight, I'd gone down fifty pounds with all the walking I did while I was manic, but I have gained that ALL back plus about ten pounds. The manic exercise and diet routine does not have long term benefits.
I also have a good psych nurse at the community clinic. And my gp, who is on maternity leave now, visited me in the hospital several times to check on how I was doing.

So I have much better psych care than before, no diss to my gp but a psychiatrist has specialised training in matters of the brain and the chemicals that get it to work properly.
It's funny having one such TERRIBLE experience with psychiatry, like being restrained and shot in the ass with Thorazine in Montreal for trying to make a phone call during nap time, compared to when I ran away from Hantelman and when I came back they just asked me to pee in a cup. They didn't even scold me!
It's funny that I've had some of the bleakest depressions but what makes me end up in the hospital is always the manias. Some of my depressions probably could have done better with psych care in a ward, but I never went. Thought I could be stronger.
The summer I was in the home my friend Jasmine Turner killed herself. She had scars on her arms from when she'd tried the first time as a teenager. And then she just did it one day. I guess there was a note, but I didn't read it or hear what it said. I felt bad, like if only I had done something differently she would still be alive. It was a sad funeral, her son was just this little boy and he was still helping fill in her grave. Now he's in foster care, so sad. So are her other children.
I don't know if I was suicidal when I got out of the hospital, I sure was depressed though, as anyone would be when their seratonin's been used up. It felt bleak, like there would never be a time when I'd just be living independently again working on art and making a mess. But it happened. I used to visualize myself standing just below the summit of a mountain, unable to see beyond the mountain but knowing there was some great vista on the other side.
I got a dragon tattooed on my arm, for a few reasons. It's on my right arm, the Manic side, and is on one hand a reminder that mania can be destructive, and on the other hand is a memorial to my cousin Christopher. He had an obsession with corn snakes so it is made to look like a corn snake.
I am getting another tattoo this fall (I try not to get tattooed in the summers because that's swimming time and you can't swim for a month with a healing tattoo) of Cherry Blossoms on my left arm, the depression side, because when I would get suicidal in Vancouver I would promise not to do anything until the cherry blossoms came out in spring, and by then I was usually okay. When I think about it, god, it must have been the winters! I would always get depressed from the grey sleet, and here in Saskatoon, winters, while chilly, are still sunny.
I've been trying to improve myself this year. So far I've only managed ONE goal, to stop smoking. I really want to exercise and walk my dog more. But I'm not very motivated, I have to admit.
And now for Some Penguins! I taped these Gentoos and King Penguins in Scotland while I was there. I also got footage of a Rhino giving another Rhino a blow job (REALLY!) but Youtube took that video down because it was rude.

Fit Of Pique running again!

After two years of being locked out of my old blog, I have finally cracked my password and am currently writing in it. I have written three entries. I am pretty happy! I also got to read old emails, including the first email I wrote after my cousin Christopher died.
If only I could fuse both email and blog accounts and have one blog and one email! Oh well.
My arm is itchy. I have gone down to Step 2 of the patch and haven't noticed a big difference yet. I still have cravings to smoke SOMETHING, so I've been smoking some tobacco alternatives. No tobacco though. It's been 23 days? 22 days? A long time anyway. I have no desire to start again, just this need to smoke something or another.
I went to a BDSM munch last night and had a good time, met a lot of new people and talked kinky stuff. It was fun, and I am going to go back for the mid month coffee I think.
I'm so messy! I think I am going to clean today. I know, I always say I am going to clean and then nothing happens. But I really DO want to clean today and I'm not working so far. Plus I am getting a new couch tomorrow, well, an old couch from my grandparents, but it's new to me!
Well, I am going to go write in Fit Of Pique now, about I don't know what.

The Home

Living in a psych home is the ultimate in tedium and I have to admit, I generally just spent time at my mother's instead of trying to hang out there. I was living almost the whole time with women far far older than me, waiting for nursing homes at that point really, except for one other younger woman who moved in soon after me.
There just wasn't much to do. we had television. Most of the residents stayed there and didn't go out into the city. That was very depressing. And like I said, the rooms were shared so no rumpy pumpy even on your own. And I missed my dog especially, I went to Mum's all the time to see him. I also stored my pot at my mum's since I was in a sober living facility. There are only a couple homes in town that don't care if you do alcohol and some other drugs. And they aren't the kinds of homes you want to live in.
My roommate for most of the time was schizophrenic and we think had dementia. She was always talking about Indians or Cows in the backyard, and couldn't wipe her bum properly. We shared a bathroom so I knew the truth!
Shit all over the towels.
At the time I was still thinking about transitioning, and it was weird being male identified and spending time in an all female group home. On the other hand, it would have been weirder to be with guys. Which made me realize how difficult it is to be trans and crazy. I made a packer that I wore outside of the house sometimes and it made me feel better.
Shit, this typing is driving me nuts and I don't have much else to say about the home. Maybe tomorrow I will just skip ahead to today.

The Hospital

I'm guessing you will want to know what the Hospital was like for my last psych trip. Especially considering I wrote so much bad stuff about my first hospital experience as a nutter.
Well, it was okay! It was a nice big ward with an outdoor courtyard and you could go down to the river for a smoke. I started smoking again mostly to get out of the ward, and it was hard to quit again! I have quit now for three weeks.
There were a lot of movies to watch and groups to participate in. I don't know if I learned anything in group, besides to keep specifics of my looneytuneness confidential, but you all know I'm not good at that. We went on walks every so often around the university grounds, which was nice because you could see all the bunnies. There were a LOT of bunnies that summer, and a fellow bipolar even got me to come outside to look at a baby bunny that was in the courtyard, it was so cute! Every time I went outside the ward it seemed like there was another brown bunny munching on dandelions.
I was there for six weeks, I came home and was still emailing all the time and got sent back, not quite sane yet. I made some friends in there, one I still talk to on facebook and a few I've seen elsewhere. Some dude spit on me and my book in the ward and then disappeared, I think he assaulted another patient and got sent to a higher security ward. It was pretty weird getting used to the relative safety of the ward, have an issue and just take it up at the nurses station. But then I was released and scared of everything, scared of the randomness of people, especially after my cousin Steven got assaulted in his own home by some gang thugs.
But there were no restraints in the psych ward, no shouting orderlies, no one telling me I was wasting hospital supplies. I even ran away twice, went back with no big fuss.
The one things I didn't like was how I felt railroaded into going into a psych home after. I didn't want to go, and it was hard. I didn't have a room of my own for nearly six months, couldn't even masturbate I was so stressed. I was sad and in shock, especially because of weird things I had said, most of which are chronicalled in this blog. And I missed my best friend, who didn't seem to want to talk to me.
Although I found an email she sent to me after I lost my password, just checking in. And I missed it! Oh, so sad.
But in conclusion, the hospital was not so bad. The first one I was in my cousin showed up to and told me she'd been in five star hospitals and that the one we were in was a one star hospital. So I guess I was lucky enough to be in a four star hospital.
They're building a bigger version of it now, and I hear people get to have their own rooms. I sure hope so because not being able to get off is a major problem. Everyone, even mental patients, should be afforded enough privacy to masturbate.