I debated writing this for a long time, but then figured I might as well, as I had to get it
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
The First Few Days, An Apology, and The Ugly Truth
Alright. Many of you have asked me NOT to refer to Partial as "Summer Camp for Feebs and Losers" I think it's a perfectly acceptable name, but apparently it offends some people who continue to insist that I am not a loser, despite the fact that I am
-jobless
-friendless(at least locally)
-disowned by most of my family
-childless
-husbandless
I don't understand where the non-loser component is in all that, I truly don't.
Let's be frank. I spend WAY to much time on Facebook and Twitter. Too much time when I should be doing other, more profitable things.
However, in my time there, I can tell you this much.
If you tweet or status update that you are
-getting divorced
-have lost a family member
-are sick(even if it's just a bad cold)
-injured yourself physically
-or are trying to lose weight, quit smoking, drinking, drugs, what have you
The likelihood is that you'll get a million supportive responses.
However, tweet or status report that you are depressed, hating yourself, feeling hopeless, and if you're lucky, you'll get one or two.
Because the truth is, if you're like me, if you have what I have, it's almost inevitable you've pissed off or alienated your friends to the extent, they don't know what to do, or they are afraid to say anything to you, for fear it is the wrong thing. And I'm sorry for all the times I've done that.
That said, I've got to be honest. I can't guarantee that I won't do it again in the next few weeks. I need a lot of support, and a lot of patience, as I continue to work on myself and, more importantly, take care of myself. I'd like to say that means I'm going on vacation from social media, but I'm not that strong, or disciplined. What it will mean, is I'll be more sensitive, more needy, and more likely to get irritated. Rest assured, I don't like this any more than you do, or will. I'm doing my best to get better, to talk myself off the ledge for the eleventy-sixth time.
I've agreed to try yet another med, Prozac this time, to see if it will help with my depression. This is the 7th drug I've tried. It brings up a myriad of feelings. I'm worried, I'm sad, I feel like a failure.
But, I suppose, for all the times I've said I give up, something tells me you never know.
So, here we go again. That's really all I have to say right now.
To all of you who are still reading, still here, and love me for some strange reason, TYESM.
I love you back.
As the little girl on the Tide commercial says,
You are free to go. :)
To be continued...
-jobless
-friendless(at least locally)
-disowned by most of my family
-childless
-husbandless
I don't understand where the non-loser component is in all that, I truly don't.
Let's be frank. I spend WAY to much time on Facebook and Twitter. Too much time when I should be doing other, more profitable things.
However, in my time there, I can tell you this much.
If you tweet or status update that you are
-getting divorced
-have lost a family member
-are sick(even if it's just a bad cold)
-injured yourself physically
-or are trying to lose weight, quit smoking, drinking, drugs, what have you
The likelihood is that you'll get a million supportive responses.
However, tweet or status report that you are depressed, hating yourself, feeling hopeless, and if you're lucky, you'll get one or two.
Because the truth is, if you're like me, if you have what I have, it's almost inevitable you've pissed off or alienated your friends to the extent, they don't know what to do, or they are afraid to say anything to you, for fear it is the wrong thing. And I'm sorry for all the times I've done that.
That said, I've got to be honest. I can't guarantee that I won't do it again in the next few weeks. I need a lot of support, and a lot of patience, as I continue to work on myself and, more importantly, take care of myself. I'd like to say that means I'm going on vacation from social media, but I'm not that strong, or disciplined. What it will mean, is I'll be more sensitive, more needy, and more likely to get irritated. Rest assured, I don't like this any more than you do, or will. I'm doing my best to get better, to talk myself off the ledge for the eleventy-sixth time.
I've agreed to try yet another med, Prozac this time, to see if it will help with my depression. This is the 7th drug I've tried. It brings up a myriad of feelings. I'm worried, I'm sad, I feel like a failure.
But, I suppose, for all the times I've said I give up, something tells me you never know.
So, here we go again. That's really all I have to say right now.
To all of you who are still reading, still here, and love me for some strange reason, TYESM.
I love you back.
As the little girl on the Tide commercial says,
You are free to go. :)
To be continued...
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Notes from the Front
So Wednesday, my therapist and I filled out and submitted the paperwork for me to go back to Rehab. I am full of so many feelings at this point, I don't know if I can even write them out, but I'm going to try. \
This year has been, in a word, horrendous. It started out with a bang, two days before New Years Day with an epic fight between me, my brother and my sister-in-law, over something she wasn't even supposed to hear and both of them refuse to forgive, even though I've apologized for it a zillion times.
A few months ago, my dad's youngest sister died, her last words to me being "I don't hate you, but I can never talk or be with you anymore."
Combine that with being diagnosed with diabetes, that the doctors are still trying to manage(although they do tell me that I'm on the right track with meds, food, and excercise), a possible wonky thyroid, and the fact that several people have stopped speaking to me for whatever reason, and I am, basically, a basket case.
So, when Scott,the aforementioned therapist, who looks remarkably like John Scheneider does now, and whom has half the clinic in love with him(not me, we've known each other 15 years, and we're way too comfortable. as well as I'm too smart to indulge in any of that transference crap)says to me,
"So, what do you hope to get from Rehab this time?", I think of the question on three levels.
1. Okay, I'm going to be honest. I shouldn't call it Rehab, really, cause it's not Rehab in the traditional sense for one. It's not for drugs, or alchohol. The real name for it is Partial, which is short for Partial Hospitalization Services, which loosely translated, means, it's a last stop program before you decide to commit yourself to the locked ward on the fourth or fifth floor of the real hospital, or someone does it for you. BTW, that was part of the New Year's Day fight, my brother and SIL wanted to commit me.
Yeah. Obviously, that didn't happen.
SO ANYWAY.
2. I haven't been in the REAL hospital since 2004. This past April makes it nine years that I've stayed out. I suppose that says something about me, what, I'm not so sure, because the past nine years have been such a mix of things, good and bad. I've been on six different drugs, all with differing degress of side effects, the result being that none of them have really done what I wanted them to do, that is, make me feel better, have more energy, and most importantly, stop crying at least five times a day. Still, despite that, I'm still here, I get up every day and attempt to do at least one productive thing between the crying jags and bouts of self-loathing. Speaking of, an acquaintence made a comment to me earlier this week about a mutual acquaintence that he was at genius level, and most geniuses he knew all had a dose of healthy self loathing. I don't mean to sound conceited, but I'm smart, I've been told my IQ is up there somewhere. To be honest, if that is indeed, true, I'd rather be dim, and incredibly practical an well adjusted, not consumed with anxiety, worry, and sadness most of the time.
And that's the other thing about Partial. Unlike other mental health programs where the employee turnover is once a month, if not every other day, some of the staff has been there since the first time I was there, in 1990. They know me by name. They'll let me take the lead in some discussions, they tell me I have been a great help to some of the other inmates, erm, patients.
This will be my 4th time there.
3. So, in answer to Scott's question. "What do I hope to get this time.."
Resolution-To accept things as they are. To know that people won't change, no matter how much I may want them to. No matter how much what they've done has hurt me. They are who they are. I need to be able to accept that, and if necessary, cut those people out of my life. It doesn't make me a bad person. And it's no longer my business or concern to worry about what kinds of people they are. I want the resolve to not think about them every day, and not have them affect my life anymore. After all, I don't matter to them, why waste my life having them matter to me as much as they have.
Closure-On all of the above. To put it all away, in some mental warehouse twenty boxes, deep, like the one at the end of 'Raiders of the Lost Ark', never to be seen, heard, or thought about again. I need to do that. Once and for all, I think it's time.
Finally,
Peace. I want to feel at peace about everything, but most importantly about myself. I want to accept who I am, and like who I am, and stop apologizing every five minutes for something I've said or done. I want to stop being sorry for not working, for loving whom I love, for being expressive, and sarcastic and emotional and far from perfect. I want to accept myself whether I have people who accept me or not. And, most importantly, I want to accept the fact that there are some people I know, who do accept me for who I am. Whether I understand that or not. They love me, and I want to finally feel like I deserve it.
That's what I hope to get.
My intake appointment is Wednesday.
Wish me luck.
This year has been, in a word, horrendous. It started out with a bang, two days before New Years Day with an epic fight between me, my brother and my sister-in-law, over something she wasn't even supposed to hear and both of them refuse to forgive, even though I've apologized for it a zillion times.
A few months ago, my dad's youngest sister died, her last words to me being "I don't hate you, but I can never talk or be with you anymore."
Combine that with being diagnosed with diabetes, that the doctors are still trying to manage(although they do tell me that I'm on the right track with meds, food, and excercise), a possible wonky thyroid, and the fact that several people have stopped speaking to me for whatever reason, and I am, basically, a basket case.
So, when Scott,the aforementioned therapist, who looks remarkably like John Scheneider does now, and whom has half the clinic in love with him(not me, we've known each other 15 years, and we're way too comfortable. as well as I'm too smart to indulge in any of that transference crap)says to me,
"So, what do you hope to get from Rehab this time?", I think of the question on three levels.
1. Okay, I'm going to be honest. I shouldn't call it Rehab, really, cause it's not Rehab in the traditional sense for one. It's not for drugs, or alchohol. The real name for it is Partial, which is short for Partial Hospitalization Services, which loosely translated, means, it's a last stop program before you decide to commit yourself to the locked ward on the fourth or fifth floor of the real hospital, or someone does it for you. BTW, that was part of the New Year's Day fight, my brother and SIL wanted to commit me.
Yeah. Obviously, that didn't happen.
SO ANYWAY.
2. I haven't been in the REAL hospital since 2004. This past April makes it nine years that I've stayed out. I suppose that says something about me, what, I'm not so sure, because the past nine years have been such a mix of things, good and bad. I've been on six different drugs, all with differing degress of side effects, the result being that none of them have really done what I wanted them to do, that is, make me feel better, have more energy, and most importantly, stop crying at least five times a day. Still, despite that, I'm still here, I get up every day and attempt to do at least one productive thing between the crying jags and bouts of self-loathing. Speaking of, an acquaintence made a comment to me earlier this week about a mutual acquaintence that he was at genius level, and most geniuses he knew all had a dose of healthy self loathing. I don't mean to sound conceited, but I'm smart, I've been told my IQ is up there somewhere. To be honest, if that is indeed, true, I'd rather be dim, and incredibly practical an well adjusted, not consumed with anxiety, worry, and sadness most of the time.
And that's the other thing about Partial. Unlike other mental health programs where the employee turnover is once a month, if not every other day, some of the staff has been there since the first time I was there, in 1990. They know me by name. They'll let me take the lead in some discussions, they tell me I have been a great help to some of the other inmates, erm, patients.
This will be my 4th time there.
3. So, in answer to Scott's question. "What do I hope to get this time.."
Resolution-To accept things as they are. To know that people won't change, no matter how much I may want them to. No matter how much what they've done has hurt me. They are who they are. I need to be able to accept that, and if necessary, cut those people out of my life. It doesn't make me a bad person. And it's no longer my business or concern to worry about what kinds of people they are. I want the resolve to not think about them every day, and not have them affect my life anymore. After all, I don't matter to them, why waste my life having them matter to me as much as they have.
Closure-On all of the above. To put it all away, in some mental warehouse twenty boxes, deep, like the one at the end of 'Raiders of the Lost Ark', never to be seen, heard, or thought about again. I need to do that. Once and for all, I think it's time.
Finally,
Peace. I want to feel at peace about everything, but most importantly about myself. I want to accept who I am, and like who I am, and stop apologizing every five minutes for something I've said or done. I want to stop being sorry for not working, for loving whom I love, for being expressive, and sarcastic and emotional and far from perfect. I want to accept myself whether I have people who accept me or not. And, most importantly, I want to accept the fact that there are some people I know, who do accept me for who I am. Whether I understand that or not. They love me, and I want to finally feel like I deserve it.
That's what I hope to get.
My intake appointment is Wednesday.
Wish me luck.
Monday, July 8, 2013
Stuff My Therapist Says-Or, What it's Like to Be Me
So, my therapist is going to be gone for a month. God knows he's entitled to a vacation after listening to me, and who knows who else, bitch, moan and whine about their problems. I hope he gets some much needed and deserved rest, and I hope I manage alright while he's gone.
He did tell me if I really needed to, I could talk to someone else, but the thought of explaining my story from the beginning to a complete stranger, um....no. So until July 15th, I'm alone with all my wonderful jumble of emotions, left to my own devices.
Apparently he knew that fact might leave me a little, for lack of a better word, apprehensive, so, during our last session he kept telling me about all the changes I've made in the past year.
According to him, I am
-more peaceful, less morose. Of course, I tell him it's because I'm resigned to my situation. And alright, maybe it's a little more than that. But I've just had a really difficult week, and that's kind of hard to see right now. Although sometimes, I am able to laugh, and get myself out of the hole for a little while.
-less reactive, which, according to him, means I don't lash out at people the way I used to. He says it's a good thing, and I suppose I agree with him for the most part. Not getting angry at people and saying things that I'll ultimately have to apologize for, and keeping my mouth shut so I don't make a bad situation worse makes things easier for sure. However, it does make me feel like I can't express myself the way I would like sometimes, and more than a few times I've had to leave those feelings unexpressed, and that means I've stuffed them and dealt with all the wonderful things that leads to, such as being up half thew night feeling like the alien baby is about to burst out of my stomach, or intestinal distress or just crying over....stuff.
Ugh.
So, after careful thought, I realize that I'm most probably going back to rehab, yet again. That's if my insurance will cover it. I need a break from constantly being alone, feeling so lonely my chest hurts, and dwellng on stuff that really doesn't help to dwell on, as there's nothing I can do about it.
Again, ugh.
If I'm honest, I feel like a loser going back. If I'm honest, I wish I could, most days, just go to sleep and not wake up. Still something tells me to keep trying, and will. As much as I wish I could just give up.
If I'm honest, I wish I could see why some people think this is so brave of me, when I just don't.
I wish I could believe what was said about me.
Maybe some day.
He did tell me if I really needed to, I could talk to someone else, but the thought of explaining my story from the beginning to a complete stranger, um....no. So until July 15th, I'm alone with all my wonderful jumble of emotions, left to my own devices.
Apparently he knew that fact might leave me a little, for lack of a better word, apprehensive, so, during our last session he kept telling me about all the changes I've made in the past year.
According to him, I am
-more peaceful, less morose. Of course, I tell him it's because I'm resigned to my situation. And alright, maybe it's a little more than that. But I've just had a really difficult week, and that's kind of hard to see right now. Although sometimes, I am able to laugh, and get myself out of the hole for a little while.
-less reactive, which, according to him, means I don't lash out at people the way I used to. He says it's a good thing, and I suppose I agree with him for the most part. Not getting angry at people and saying things that I'll ultimately have to apologize for, and keeping my mouth shut so I don't make a bad situation worse makes things easier for sure. However, it does make me feel like I can't express myself the way I would like sometimes, and more than a few times I've had to leave those feelings unexpressed, and that means I've stuffed them and dealt with all the wonderful things that leads to, such as being up half thew night feeling like the alien baby is about to burst out of my stomach, or intestinal distress or just crying over....stuff.
Ugh.
So, after careful thought, I realize that I'm most probably going back to rehab, yet again. That's if my insurance will cover it. I need a break from constantly being alone, feeling so lonely my chest hurts, and dwellng on stuff that really doesn't help to dwell on, as there's nothing I can do about it.
Again, ugh.
If I'm honest, I feel like a loser going back. If I'm honest, I wish I could, most days, just go to sleep and not wake up. Still something tells me to keep trying, and will. As much as I wish I could just give up.
If I'm honest, I wish I could see why some people think this is so brave of me, when I just don't.
I wish I could believe what was said about me.
Maybe some day.
Friday, May 17, 2013
I Wanted to Share This
Just a poem I wrote last night, about the experience and the process and the wonder that goes into getting to know a new friend.
To you, I
am
An open,
unread book
Whose pages
you leaf through
In quiet
moments
Noticing plot
lines,
And
committing certain passages to memory
To me, you
are
And earnest,
avid reader
And I worry
About what
you may think
And what you
may learn
And what you
finally decide
Together
We are two
parts of the same story
An ongoing
time-line
Of a work in
progress,
As yet
untitled.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Just for Clarification Purposes..
I'll warn you right now. You may not like the tone of this post. You may think I"m talking down or being condescendng. I promise you, that's not it at all. I'm just wanting to help people understand what having a mental illness is about. I hope it helps, at least, to make me seem a little more human, a little less scary, and that you'll be willing to give me a chance.
That said I just want you to know that I am not-
-a bitch
-a sympathy whore
-taking out things on you
-feeling sorry for myself
I suffer from, and live with DEPRESSION. Depression is-
-a chemical imbalance in one's brain
-an actual medical condition
-for the most part treatable
-a major life complication and pain in my fat ass.
Depression is NOT-
-'all in my head'
-'something I can 'snap out of'
-a cry for attention
Everyone's depression is different. I've lived with mine since I was fifteen, which means in October I'll have dealth with this for thirty-five years.( I'm thinking of baking it a cake) Sometimes, mine is combined with anxiety, which makes getting things done that involve leaving the house during the course of a day, for lack of a better word, interesting, BUT-
-I can tell you the number of tiles in my living room ceiling (about 110)
-I call tell you the number of steps from the couch to the bathroom (45)
-I basically know the results of most lie detector and DNA tests before Maury tells me. (It's a gift)
When the depression is bad, it's like a living thing, a black cloud over my head, an elephant sitting on my chest, a noose around my neck.
It makes me grumpy. It makes me snap and scream and swear at the people I love the most in this world. It makes me think no one loves me. It's pushed some people away permanently, and that breaks my heart. It makes me believe that I'm worthless, that no one loves me, that I'll never be anything worthwhile.
HOWEVER-
There is a good side. Of course this good side happens when I diligent about my self care, when I see my therapist regularly, and when, I allow myself to believe that better living through chemistry, in other words, taking the prescribed meds, and taking them as prescribed can help.
Then, depression is a motivator. As a writer I suppose I can describe it as a protagonist to my antagonist, a rival, a challenge. It's a reminder of what I no longer want to be, how I no longer want to act. It fuels my writing. It gives me an outlet for my stories and poems.
And, when I have I good day, or I can look back and recognize that I'm no longer doing something that used to hurt me or make things worse, it's a marker for how far I've come.
In all likelihood, I'll always have this. Then again, if I didn't, I wouldn't be exactly who I am
-a writer
-a loyal and sympathetic friend
-an excellent listener
-a strong,( and according to some people), brave, intelligent woman with a lot to offer the world
And that would be a shame. So, in a strange way, I'm grateful for my depression. Most days, anyway.
That said I just want you to know that I am not-
-a bitch
-a sympathy whore
-taking out things on you
-feeling sorry for myself
I suffer from, and live with DEPRESSION. Depression is-
-a chemical imbalance in one's brain
-an actual medical condition
-for the most part treatable
-a major life complication and pain in my fat ass.
Depression is NOT-
-'all in my head'
-'something I can 'snap out of'
-a cry for attention
Everyone's depression is different. I've lived with mine since I was fifteen, which means in October I'll have dealth with this for thirty-five years.( I'm thinking of baking it a cake) Sometimes, mine is combined with anxiety, which makes getting things done that involve leaving the house during the course of a day, for lack of a better word, interesting, BUT-
-I can tell you the number of tiles in my living room ceiling (about 110)
-I call tell you the number of steps from the couch to the bathroom (45)
-I basically know the results of most lie detector and DNA tests before Maury tells me. (It's a gift)
When the depression is bad, it's like a living thing, a black cloud over my head, an elephant sitting on my chest, a noose around my neck.
It makes me grumpy. It makes me snap and scream and swear at the people I love the most in this world. It makes me think no one loves me. It's pushed some people away permanently, and that breaks my heart. It makes me believe that I'm worthless, that no one loves me, that I'll never be anything worthwhile.
HOWEVER-
There is a good side. Of course this good side happens when I diligent about my self care, when I see my therapist regularly, and when, I allow myself to believe that better living through chemistry, in other words, taking the prescribed meds, and taking them as prescribed can help.
Then, depression is a motivator. As a writer I suppose I can describe it as a protagonist to my antagonist, a rival, a challenge. It's a reminder of what I no longer want to be, how I no longer want to act. It fuels my writing. It gives me an outlet for my stories and poems.
And, when I have I good day, or I can look back and recognize that I'm no longer doing something that used to hurt me or make things worse, it's a marker for how far I've come.
In all likelihood, I'll always have this. Then again, if I didn't, I wouldn't be exactly who I am
-a writer
-a loyal and sympathetic friend
-an excellent listener
-a strong,( and according to some people), brave, intelligent woman with a lot to offer the world
And that would be a shame. So, in a strange way, I'm grateful for my depression. Most days, anyway.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
I didn't want to write this, but in the interest of everything, it needed to be said.
This has been a long, stressful, week, and at the end of it, the verdict is this. Guys, I'm sick. There's no easy way to say it. After three months, my diabetes isn't where the doctor would like it to be, even though my A1C is going down, so they're upping my meds, adding a new one to the mix, and ordering a battery of blood tests for me. Checking my thyroid, my lipids, all sorts of fun stuff. Because there's something definitely wrong with me, and after self medicating and ignoring it for months, I need to get things checked out. I hope it's nothing too serious, and in all likelihood, they'll probably tell me I'm anemic on top of everything else. This'll sound strange, but I hope they do find out that part of why I've been feeling so crappy lately is physical, and easily fixed.
The meds I'm on now make me tired, nauseous, and headachy. I don't know what the new ones will do. As they're for my diabetes, I HAVE to take them. I've cut out much of the crap I used to eat, but still need to learn to eat better. I have an appointment for the nutritionist next month and I"m going to start regular classes with her. At the dentist, I found out I'm going to most probably have all my teeth out and get dentures, top and bottom. This whole process will take about four months. Joy.
After enduring three months of crying at least five times every day, and feeling basically miserable, I went back to the psychiatrist, who said to me, "You sound depressed". REALLY? Seriously, he's a good guy, and frustrated that almost every drug he's tried me on has failed. So, this is my last shot.
http://www.emsam.com/
He's starting me on a low dose, then, if that doesn't do it, he'll give me more, meaning more side effects, less things I can eat....oh, this trial and error stuff is so much fun. If that doesn't work, the only other alternative is ECT.(Electro shock therapy) that scares the crap out of me. Or, I learn to live with and manage the depression better. Also, pretty scary.
So, what does this all mean? I'm not sure. Until I adjust to all the changes, it's likely I'll be more tired, more stressed, more worried. I may not be around much, I may be around more.
I'll probably be weepy, and needy sometimes, not my usual sarcastic self.
I want to stay positive. I do. But as you all know, that's not something that comes easy for me.
I need you guys very much right now.
And here's what I mean by that.
Be patient with me.
Bear with me when I'm sad, or frustrated, or don't feel like talking, or even listening some times. Or if I talk your ear off and call you and cry. Bear with me if I text or tweet you 20 times a day(it's highly doubtful this will happen, but on the off chance it does...be patient.) If I happen to bite your head off, or be impatient, forgive me.
If you pray, pray. If you don't, send good thoughts.
If you're so inclined, tell me good things about myself. Tell me I"ll get through this, as I've gotten through everything.
Practically, I know this isn't the end of the world. Practically, I know things could be a zillion times worse.
However, living alone, and dealing with all of this, is, at the moment, weighing really heavy on me.
You guys have always been there for me already, and I love you all for it. I'm just letting you know, the next few months are going to be...well, maybe a little more interesting than usual.
But I'm still me. And hopefully, I'll be a better me soon.
Thanks for reading. <3 p="">
The meds I'm on now make me tired, nauseous, and headachy. I don't know what the new ones will do. As they're for my diabetes, I HAVE to take them. I've cut out much of the crap I used to eat, but still need to learn to eat better. I have an appointment for the nutritionist next month and I"m going to start regular classes with her. At the dentist, I found out I'm going to most probably have all my teeth out and get dentures, top and bottom. This whole process will take about four months. Joy.
After enduring three months of crying at least five times every day, and feeling basically miserable, I went back to the psychiatrist, who said to me, "You sound depressed". REALLY? Seriously, he's a good guy, and frustrated that almost every drug he's tried me on has failed. So, this is my last shot.
http://www.emsam.com/
He's starting me on a low dose, then, if that doesn't do it, he'll give me more, meaning more side effects, less things I can eat....oh, this trial and error stuff is so much fun. If that doesn't work, the only other alternative is ECT.(Electro shock therapy) that scares the crap out of me. Or, I learn to live with and manage the depression better. Also, pretty scary.
So, what does this all mean? I'm not sure. Until I adjust to all the changes, it's likely I'll be more tired, more stressed, more worried. I may not be around much, I may be around more.
I'll probably be weepy, and needy sometimes, not my usual sarcastic self.
I want to stay positive. I do. But as you all know, that's not something that comes easy for me.
I need you guys very much right now.
And here's what I mean by that.
Be patient with me.
Bear with me when I'm sad, or frustrated, or don't feel like talking, or even listening some times. Or if I talk your ear off and call you and cry. Bear with me if I text or tweet you 20 times a day(it's highly doubtful this will happen, but on the off chance it does...be patient.) If I happen to bite your head off, or be impatient, forgive me.
If you pray, pray. If you don't, send good thoughts.
If you're so inclined, tell me good things about myself. Tell me I"ll get through this, as I've gotten through everything.
Practically, I know this isn't the end of the world. Practically, I know things could be a zillion times worse.
However, living alone, and dealing with all of this, is, at the moment, weighing really heavy on me.
You guys have always been there for me already, and I love you all for it. I'm just letting you know, the next few months are going to be...well, maybe a little more interesting than usual.
But I'm still me. And hopefully, I'll be a better me soon.
Thanks for reading. <3 p="">
Sunday, March 17, 2013
April May Be the Cruellest Month
But March isn't really far behind, in my book. Both months have been difficult for me for the past nine years. They're the anniversaries of my last nervous breakdown, which, for the most part I have put behind me, (except when the anniversary comes about) round, and round...
Ugh.
Nine years ago, my life unravelled. I was in New York, alone, dealing with a dubious relationship. My dad was dying, I'd just lost my job, mom was refusing to let me come down to Florida, I'd lost my disability and my apartment was a disaster.
On April 23, 2004 I wound up going into the hospital, on the the Fifth floor locked ward(the irony of that being that there was a movie of the same name made in the '70s)-
Look-http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Abum4viDlaI
My experience was only slightly better. :P
Amazingly, I can laugh about that now.
On April 27th, 2004, my dad passed. I wasn't allowed out of the hospital for the funeral. Nine years later, around this time every year, the guilt comes back full force. Even though I know he understood. Even though I went to his memorial service a few months later, when we buried his ashes. I never really got to say goodbye, and I needed to. I suppose I'll always feel badly about that until I get to see him again, and apologize in person. If I'll even get that chance, doubtful, with the type of fath crisis I'm having now.
I've been told God doesn't give up on anyone. More credit to Him then, I feel like I'm a lost cause, and I'm just waiting for Him to realize the same thing.
Bottom line, living with major depression is a bitch. I hate talking about it, I hate feeling like this, I hate everything about my life right now.
The only thing that's changed in the past nine years is that I may just have better tools to deal with it.
-I use my sarcasm to make fun of myself.
-I don't lash out and alienate people as much as used to
-I basically retreat from everyone, rather than cling on to people as much as I used to(for the most part anyway)
-I channel the bulk of my crap feelings into writing, or going for a walk, or singing at the top of my lungs, or actually, managing to distract myself from the garbage for a while.
-I remind myself that I have the most awesome social media (and real) friends ever, most of whom I don't deserve, and two that I will never understand why they stick around, but they do.
And all this is good, I understand that. But the thing is, that I'm alone most of the time. I've been trying to remedy that for the past six months, and everything I've tried, has fallen through. For the next six weeks, I don't know if I have the energy to try to do anything at all.
The other thing is that my year is rapidly developing into a series of doctor and dentist appointments, trying to get my sugar stabilized, trying to get my teeth fixed, trying to get my eczema under control.
Most of the time I want to stay in bed. I'm longing for warmer weather, because then I'll be out more, walking, and feeling better. I know once my teeth are fixed, and I get on the right dosage of diabetes meds, and everything else, I'll continue to feel better.
But there are times, especially during these next six weeks when I just want to find someone, anyone, lay my head their shoulder and cry until I can't anymore, while they hug me as tightly as they can.
I know this will pass. It's the waiting that kills me.
Thanks for listening.
Ugh.
Nine years ago, my life unravelled. I was in New York, alone, dealing with a dubious relationship. My dad was dying, I'd just lost my job, mom was refusing to let me come down to Florida, I'd lost my disability and my apartment was a disaster.
On April 23, 2004 I wound up going into the hospital, on the the Fifth floor locked ward(the irony of that being that there was a movie of the same name made in the '70s)-
Look-http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Abum4viDlaI
My experience was only slightly better. :P
Amazingly, I can laugh about that now.
On April 27th, 2004, my dad passed. I wasn't allowed out of the hospital for the funeral. Nine years later, around this time every year, the guilt comes back full force. Even though I know he understood. Even though I went to his memorial service a few months later, when we buried his ashes. I never really got to say goodbye, and I needed to. I suppose I'll always feel badly about that until I get to see him again, and apologize in person. If I'll even get that chance, doubtful, with the type of fath crisis I'm having now.
I've been told God doesn't give up on anyone. More credit to Him then, I feel like I'm a lost cause, and I'm just waiting for Him to realize the same thing.
Bottom line, living with major depression is a bitch. I hate talking about it, I hate feeling like this, I hate everything about my life right now.
The only thing that's changed in the past nine years is that I may just have better tools to deal with it.
-I use my sarcasm to make fun of myself.
-I don't lash out and alienate people as much as used to
-I basically retreat from everyone, rather than cling on to people as much as I used to(for the most part anyway)
-I channel the bulk of my crap feelings into writing, or going for a walk, or singing at the top of my lungs, or actually, managing to distract myself from the garbage for a while.
-I remind myself that I have the most awesome social media (and real) friends ever, most of whom I don't deserve, and two that I will never understand why they stick around, but they do.
And all this is good, I understand that. But the thing is, that I'm alone most of the time. I've been trying to remedy that for the past six months, and everything I've tried, has fallen through. For the next six weeks, I don't know if I have the energy to try to do anything at all.
The other thing is that my year is rapidly developing into a series of doctor and dentist appointments, trying to get my sugar stabilized, trying to get my teeth fixed, trying to get my eczema under control.
Most of the time I want to stay in bed. I'm longing for warmer weather, because then I'll be out more, walking, and feeling better. I know once my teeth are fixed, and I get on the right dosage of diabetes meds, and everything else, I'll continue to feel better.
But there are times, especially during these next six weeks when I just want to find someone, anyone, lay my head their shoulder and cry until I can't anymore, while they hug me as tightly as they can.
I know this will pass. It's the waiting that kills me.
Thanks for listening.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Three Memorable Things About Mehtaphor
To say that I am a fan of Chef Jehangir Mehta's food, style, philosophy, and attitude is to make not only the understatement of the year, but possibly, the decade. Anyone who follows me on Twitter, or reads my Facebook page, knows how much I supported him while he was on "Next Iron Chef', they know how disappointed I was when he was eliminated in the sixth week. I could go on about that if I thought it mattered, but it really doesn't.
HE WAS ROBBED. THAT'S ALL.
Moving on...
Over the past five months, I've had the opportunity to dine three times at Mehtaphor. Today, I want to write about my last trip to Mehtaphor which I enjoyed thoroughly, both for the food, and the experience. Just know, this won't be your typical restaurant review, as I am a writer, not a critic, so expect plenty of bias to be displayed, but then again, aren't all reviews, if anything, subjective?
I have to think that owning a restaurant anywhere, brings with it many challenges. That said, owning one, or more in a city like Manhattan has to bring with it, the regular challenges as well as some unique to being successful in a huge city with a restaurant on every corner, and serious competition everywhere. It's hard to get a regular following, and many places resort to gimmicks, or having articles written about celebrities who dine at their establishments, anything to attract attention, and of course more business into the restaurant.
Sometimes that works, and sometimes that doesn't.
What I like about Mehtaphor, is they seem to do things differently. They don't host big celebrity gatherings, they don't do much advertising They attract people not through gimmicks, but through their own merit. At least that's what I think. To be honest, it's not a high profile place, which really is a shame, because it should be. It kind of reminds me of the really great guy or girl who never gets considered for a relationship, and everyone who has experienced a situation like that knows how unfair it is.
So, that all said, I'm going to talk about three things that make dining at Mehtaphor a fantastic experience.
1. It's one of the most different and welcoming places I've been too, simply because of the decor. Sure it's small (it only seats about 45-50 people, ) but that doesn't matter. Everything seems to gel together in a wonderful, eclectic mix, from the colorful pillows that rest against the booths to the high, silver stools at the bar. The dark paneling adds a warm touch to the whole room, and somehow it all works together beautifully. That theme is carried out further through-
2. The menu which is both interesting and difficult to describe, that instead of writing endless paragraphs about it, I'll just let you read it yourselves.
http://mehtaphornyc.com/menu2.html
And that's not all, they also have a completely vegetarian menu as well-
http://mehtaphornyc.com/menu5.html
On my last visit, I had the foie gras, which was as wonderful as the first time I tried it last November. I honestly didn't expect to like it as much as I did, and I'll admit a tiny part of me still screams 'Oh no,organ meat!" right before I eat it, but then I take my first bite, and I'm lost. The foie gras is everything it should be, and the raspberry compote, with its tangy sweetness, compliments it perfectly.
I also enjoyed the Orange Ginger Shrimp Ceviche, which is both cooling from the fresh shrimp and warming from the ginger and cilantro.
Finally, for dessert, I had the hazelnut souffle with the homemade rum raisin ice cream. Simply put, there aren't words to describe how wonderful this is. I don't often wax poetic about food, but this deserves a sonnet at least, or a moment of silence. There is no doubt in my mind that the souffle was Divinely Inspired, from its crispy outer shell to the soft sweet custard beneath, redolent with nuts and spices. It's most definitely one of the best things I've ever eaten.
I have to think that owning a restaurant anywhere, brings with it many challenges. That said, owning one, or more in a city like Manhattan has to bring with it, the regular challenges as well as some unique to being successful in a huge city with a restaurant on every corner, and serious competition everywhere. It's hard to get a regular following, and many places resort to gimmicks, or having articles written about celebrities who dine at their establishments, anything to attract attention, and of course more business into the restaurant.
Sometimes that works, and sometimes that doesn't.
What I like about Mehtaphor, is they seem to do things differently. They don't host big celebrity gatherings, they don't do much advertising They attract people not through gimmicks, but through their own merit. At least that's what I think. To be honest, it's not a high profile place, which really is a shame, because it should be. It kind of reminds me of the really great guy or girl who never gets considered for a relationship, and everyone who has experienced a situation like that knows how unfair it is.
So, that all said, I'm going to talk about three things that make dining at Mehtaphor a fantastic experience.
1. It's one of the most different and welcoming places I've been too, simply because of the decor. Sure it's small (it only seats about 45-50 people, ) but that doesn't matter. Everything seems to gel together in a wonderful, eclectic mix, from the colorful pillows that rest against the booths to the high, silver stools at the bar. The dark paneling adds a warm touch to the whole room, and somehow it all works together beautifully. That theme is carried out further through-
2. The menu which is both interesting and difficult to describe, that instead of writing endless paragraphs about it, I'll just let you read it yourselves.
http://mehtaphornyc.com/menu2.html
And that's not all, they also have a completely vegetarian menu as well-
http://mehtaphornyc.com/menu5.html
On my last visit, I had the foie gras, which was as wonderful as the first time I tried it last November. I honestly didn't expect to like it as much as I did, and I'll admit a tiny part of me still screams 'Oh no,organ meat!" right before I eat it, but then I take my first bite, and I'm lost. The foie gras is everything it should be, and the raspberry compote, with its tangy sweetness, compliments it perfectly.
I also enjoyed the Orange Ginger Shrimp Ceviche, which is both cooling from the fresh shrimp and warming from the ginger and cilantro.
Finally, for dessert, I had the hazelnut souffle with the homemade rum raisin ice cream. Simply put, there aren't words to describe how wonderful this is. I don't often wax poetic about food, but this deserves a sonnet at least, or a moment of silence. There is no doubt in my mind that the souffle was Divinely Inspired, from its crispy outer shell to the soft sweet custard beneath, redolent with nuts and spices. It's most definitely one of the best things I've ever eaten.
3. In closing, the last thing that makes dining at Mehtaphor a memorable experience is the quality of service I receive every time I go there. I'm always greeted warmly when I arrive, and even when I'm only a party of one, I'm regulated to the last table in the darkest corner of the room, as so often happens at other places.
The servers don't hover, but they're always easy to find if you do have a question, and best of all, they don't rush you. It's one of the things I enjoy the most about the time I spend at Mehtaphor, and the main reason I make time every month to return.
You should go there too.
Soon.
The servers don't hover, but they're always easy to find if you do have a question, and best of all, they don't rush you. It's one of the things I enjoy the most about the time I spend at Mehtaphor, and the main reason I make time every month to return.
You should go there too.
Soon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)