New House, Old Problems, But a New Outlook, Maybe

Three weeks ago, I moved house, on very short notice.   Understand, I was told a week before this, my housing people told me 'there's nothing available for a while, and we don't know when something will be'.

So, about three weeks ago, this was the conversation

Housing People-We have an apartment.  Come with us to see it, but if you want it, you'll have to tell us right away.

So, I went, and it was a darn sight better from where I was living, so I said I wanted it.

HP-Start packing.

So I packed and threw away tons, and the bottom line is that I've moved into a new place, where I know no one, and all the neighbours hide(or, of course, have loud hip hop parties on the weekends)  but the place itself is gorgeous.  Once I"m entirely unpacked and have some pictures on the walls, I'll show you.

About a week after I moved in, my depression came back.  In spades.  Loud, obnoxious and horrible, it tried to confine me to my bed, and failed(or maybe I just didn't let it win) and worked on distracting myself.  Unpacking helped.  Writing helped.   I was doing alright.

And then, this moring I woke up, feeling like eighteen elephants were sitting on my chest, and seven Mack Trucks had just run over me.   I felt like I couldn't move.   I didn't want to move.  I cried (for no good reason )at least four times.  I went back to bed and slept past eleven.  Woke up, cried again.

And then, I did something different.  Instead of posting a diatribe on Twitter and Facebook about how awful things were, and how my life sucked, I messaged my two closest friends, and instead of being nasty, I said.  "I'm feeling like absolute shit.  I'm scared.  I hate this, and I hate myself." And they responded with such acceptance, and love and warmth and caring and 'we love you no matter whats'.

And my lovely sis sent me the most wonderful video.  

And I realized, once again, I will get through this.

One of my favourite songs by Paul Weller is 'Above the Clouds'.  I loved it the minute I heard it, but when I found out he'd written it at a time when he was feeling low, and worried about his own future, I loved it twenty times more.  

My favourite part of it, is this

♪  As my anger shouts/At my own self doubt/So a sadness creeps/Into my dreams/When you're scared of livin'/But afraid to die/I get scared of giving/But I must find the faith to make it ♪

Those words sum up for me what living with my depression is.   It's a struggle, it's real, but I don't want to give up, ever.  Yesterday, my therapist suggested I take a course on DBT, which is Diadactical Behavior Therapy.  Mindfulness, Distress Tolerance, Emotion Regulation, and Interpersonal Relations.

Of course, my first thought was "What's wrong with me that I would have to take a CLASS about these things..

And then, after talking to the two people I love the most, (other than Mum) I thought --well, it's almost like learning anything else you don't have the skills for, innit?

And, I suppose it is.

So, I'll try.

And hopefully be better for it.

But I need to remind myself also, that my diagnosis and my problems don't define me.

I'm still me

I'm a writer.

I love books.

I'm a good writer.

I will live and die a proud fan-girl and carry my torch for Paul, and Andy, and every member of that band until I'm in the ground.  And admire them, from a respectful distance.

I will always be an introvert.

Some people will never understand.  Some of those are family.  If they don't want to be in my life, that's THEIR loss, and that's the most difficult part of this, accepting that, and finally letting it go.  I need to stop having those people have so much power in my life.

I can do it.

I have people who truly love me.  On my good, and bad days.

Now, I just have to learn to love myself. 

With help, I hope I can.

I'll keep you posted.

And to my sis, and my kid, I love you.  More than you will ever know.  

KTF.

What a Difference a Month Makes

 So, four weeks ago, I went to a concert.

So many things have changed since then, for the better.   I wrote this, and wanted to share.

Standing at an acceptable distance
I send my adoration forward
It hovers
Before joining with more of the same
Given by present company

We wait for acceptance
Until it arrives
Tentative at first
Then fully embraced
And the exchange begins

A rise and fall
Give and take
Swell and ebb of connection
Overwhelming time
And care
Saving the one fact
I'm home.

An Open Letter

To My Wonderful New Followers, as well as People Who've Favourited or Re-Tweeted me in the past three weeks-

First I want to say thank you all for joining me, liking what I had to say, and even decided to stay.  It means so much, and I don't know if I can explain why, so I'll just say that it does.

Unfortunately, most of you are across the pond, and I don't know if I will ever meet some of you, although I know some of you I DEFINITELY will meet, and we've already begun to talk about the hows and where's and whens.   I honestly can't wait until that day happens.

So, that all said, there are some things you probably should know about me.
First, I'm  a girl.  My first name is ' Anne.

I live in Upstate NY, in a little city called Poughkeepsie.   Not my favourite place at all.  But, it's where I am right now.  Definitely not Where I Should Be.  But I digress.  I'm single.  Some of you already know my age, so that's unnecessary.  But should you truly want to know, I may tell you if you ask nicely.
We've all made each others' acquaintance because four weeks ago, my dear friend Amanda took me to see Paul Weller for the first time in my life.  As most of you know, I've loved Paul on and off, but mostly on, for the the last 30 years.   The only other things I've loved that long are books and my parents.  It was one of the best nights of my life.  I will never stop thanking you for this, Amanda, so get used to it.  I'm already trying to figure out how I can see him live again.
Living across the pond, it's kinda difficult to strike up a conversation about Paul.  I'm mostly met with blank stares unless I mention The Jam, and then I get "Oh, 'A Town Called Malice".  And yes, I've managed somehow to stay out of jail.  So you have to understand how wonderful it is to talk to people about something I love so ,much.
It honestly means the world to me.

Now the boring stuff, about me.
I've been an Anglophile since I was 9, when my 4th grade English Teacher played a recording of Sir Michael Redgrave in Hamlet.  (Yes, he played it on a turntable, so that gives you an idea of how old I am).  I was intrigued and in love.  I went home and took my grandfather's collected works of Shakespeare from the bookshelf and read it.  And understood much of it.  (Most of my classmates were reading Babysitters Club and Nancy Drew).  I was.....an odd child.  And to be honest, I think my fascination with All Things English began when I watched 'My Fair Lady' and fell in love with Rex Harrison.  I was seven.    The accent, I suppose.  I still have the same problem today.  Someone with a plummy voice could say 'doorknob' and I'd swoon.   It's an issue.
I'm planning to visit in the next three years.  If there's any way I can make it happen, I may wind up moving there.  We'll see.

Other things about me.
I love food and cooking, books, reading and writing.  I am always writing something.  I didn't choose it, it chose me.
I am in love with music and some musicians, the ones who write amazing lyrics are the ones I love most.  Hence, well, you know..
I am an introvert to the extreme.  It's not social phobia, it's the fact I can't relate to people well.  So the internet is safe for me.  I have met absolutely wonderful people here.  Amanda, my dearest friend, the one whom I"ll refer to as my kid, on here, is invaluable to me.  I don't know what I"d do without her.
I do make strong friendships here, and I tend to make my attachments quickly.  It's just the way I've always been.  I am a good, loyal friend to have, I think.
-I am way too honest.   To the point of being blunt sometimes.  If anything I say ever hurts you let me know.  It's more than likely I didn't mean it.
I'm a recovering pessimist inching towards cautious optimism.
I'm not looking for a romantic relationship here.  I have enough of those impossible situations in my RL, thank you very much.
I live with major depression.  I occasionally vent about it here.  The short summation of that is some days, "My Ever-Changing Moods" is my theme song.  Capiche?
Moving on.  Actually,. I think that's it.
Yes, I like Every Song On Saturn's Pattern.  I am a CD homer.  If you don't, that's fine.  If you want to tell me why I shouldn't, have a nice day.
I am quite fond of Andy Crofts' band The Moons.
I like all the members of Paul's current band.
Steve Pilgrim is a great drummer.
I think that's everything.
It's great to meet you all, and I hope we'll be talking for a long time, or at least until The Guv hangs up his Ricky.
Tweet at you all soon,
Until then,
I remain
As ever,
Anne

Different Is Beautiful

This entry is devoted to a write up of one of my favorite places to eat in New York City. In a world where most places are interested in coming up with new gimmicks or  trends or keeping up with existing ones, there are a few that go their own way and succeed because of it.  This is one of them.

 A few weeks ago, Jehangir Mehta's East Village restaurant, Graffiti,  was given a twenty-eight(out of thirty) rating for its food.  This is a particularly fantastic occurance, because in all of NYC, only 11 restaurants received such high marks.   I can't say I was surprised by this at all.  I discovered Graffiti two years ago, and have returned many times since.   I can say, quite honestly, I've never been disappointed.  Yes, it's that good, and one of the reasons that's true is because of how different it is. And it's not different in a gimmicky popular sort of way.  Let me try to explain.

The first thing you need to know about Graffiti is that getting there is part of it's charm, especially if you're walking .   East Tenth Street is filled with beautiful brownstones and interesting shops. You'll need to  watch the  building numbers though, or you might walk past Graffiti the first time, like I did.
Once you've stepped inside, however, you know you've arrived somewhere special.
Sure, it's small.   Okay, it's really small.  However, it is an excellent illustration of how good things come in small packages.

From the subdued lighting coming from the hanging chandelier-like lanterns and the soft background music to the lovely pictures and colorful hangings that adorn the walls, you feel as though you've entered a different world.  Chef Mehta himself designed the space himself, and it's evident that everything was selected with great care.

And then, there's the food, which is truly something that has to be experienced. All the appetizers and entrees come on small plates, so they're designed for sharing, but if you go alone, like I often do, two or three of them, along with a dessert are enough for a satisfying meal.   The menu is varied, with something for everyone.  Most of the items are constant but there are a few dishes that change seasonally.  There's also a vegetarian menu along with some gluten free offerings.  If you or your party have any special requirements, they will do their best to accomodate you.

I'm including a link to the menu, which describes the offerings far better than I ever could.
http://www.graffitinyc.com/menu/
Some of my favorites are the scallops, and the Graffiti burger.  I have to admit though, I'm pretty obsessed with the desserts.   Last time I was there, I had something that had just been added to the menu, a pear, poached with spices, and served with home-made marmalade ice cream.  Yes, you read right.  MARMALADE ICE CREAM.   I still think about it.

Finally, I want to talk about what I think is the best thing about Graffiti, and that's the attentiveness of the hosts and the waitstaff.   You are greeted warmly the minute you walk in, and they see to it that your experience there is enjoyable.  They'll answer any questions you may have, and I appreciate the way they explain each dish you are served.   And, if you are lucky to be there when Chef Mehta is in the restaurant, don't be suprised if he actually takes your order, or even brings it out to you.  That's just the kind of person he is.

So, if you have a chance, try to dine at Graffiti at least once before you die.  It's an experience you will long remember.  Maybe I'll see you there .

This is What Depression Is, This is What Depression Does

Last August, when Robin Williams decided(for whatever reason, and truthfully we'll never know because he didn't leave a note to tell us why---at least not  one that the press could glom over) to end his life there was a resurgence of articles, news stories, and all over posts by people on their blogs, and on their Facebook, Twitter, and all other social media speaking of their sadness and confusion over this tragedy. As the story developed and it was made known that he struggled for years with clinical depression as well as alcohol, there were many people who said, or made promises to 'be there for anyone who was hurting' to be more understanding, to always be willing to listen.

It's November now.  The weather is colder, the  new school year is close to a third over..  Football and hockey season are in full swing, and dear god, it is a mere 52 days until Christmas.
And, as I predicted, the attention about the devastating effects of clinical depression have, for the most part faded away.  I do understand why-sort of.  It's not easy to talk about.  Not many people want to talk about it.  And, there is a lack of understanding about what depression actually is.
Unfortunately, 'depression' is a word that's bandied about easily.  It's become a catch-all word for so many things that clinical depression is not.
Still, as a person who's lived with Major Depression-Recurrent for the past thirty-six years, it's troubling.  Major, or clinical depression is different than---see, here's the tricky part---it's hard to explain without sounding like you're being condescending.  It's a little more though than waking up on the wrong side of the bed, feeling blah, having the blues, having a bad day.   It's a legitimate, physical problem.  Your brain either doesn't make enough of certain mood elevating chemicals, or your neuro-receptors(and yeah, I know I've spelled that wrong) don't pick them up, or absorb them.  I'll admit I'm not EXACTLY sure on all the technical reasons why I have what I have.
All I know is how it affects me.   All I know is that over the past two months it's been a struggle to do anything.
-Get out of bed
-Eat
-Have interest in most of the things I love
-Be pleasant
People say, "But you were laughing the other day."  Yeah.  Every now and then something's funny.  Rarely.  Most days I can't find much to laugh at, except maybe myself.  Which, believe me, I do.
And when I do force myself to get up, get out of my head and go out, I look decent.  My hair's combed, I'm clean.  Truly, if you didn't know me well, or I hadn't told you, there's a good chance you wouldn't know.
But I'm tired of feeling like I have to hide it.
When I do talk about it, most people avoid me like the plague.  And I wonder, is it me, or is it who I am?  Which of course is a question that does wonders for my self esteem.
Chris Martin whines his depressing lyrics and everyone wets their pants at his 'brilliance'.
Sylvia Plath wrote some of the most self indulgent self-pitying doggerel ever, and she's revered.
And there's Dylan Thomas, and Poe, and well Kurt Cobain--and Hemmingway.   Oh, wait.  They all offed themselves, didn't they.  Yeah.  ANYWAY.
*Sigh*  I had a point when I started writing this.
The truth is over the past year my clinical depression has gotten worse.  I've been on eight different meds, and none have worked.   I have to wait until Dec 2nd, to see the shrink because the hospital where I go just went through a major reorganization.
And I'm lonely.  I've lost friends because of this disease, and yeah, that is my fault.
And basically I'm just scared.
I know I'm better than this, and honestly, I just want myself back.

Yet Another Open Letter

Dear-

I debated writing this for a long time, but then figured I might as well, as I had to get it 

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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="">

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.

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.

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.

And Then There Were Six

.
I love this photo, and I'll tell you why.   It's candid, it's a bit vague, but I know the story behind it.  In that moment I was happy.  I was proud of myself and I liked myself because I'd just done something great for another human being, someone I admired( and still admire) greatly.
Seeing what happened, later that night, and for the last two years, it seems I've spent most of the time trying to get back to that moment, to that place of well being and contentment.   It's been a struggle.
I've written a great deal this year, about my writing, and about living with my depression.  Sometimes it's been helpful, sometimes it's made things worse.   I know some things I've said here have offended people, and honestly, that wasn't my intent at all.  I offer apologies for anyone I may have unintentionally hurt.
I'm a work in progress, as always, and so much of 'what happens next' for me is uncertain.   My faith has slipped a lot, I've lost a lot of trust in people.   I don't like not knowing what happens next, and abhor change, even though I know things have to change, or you can't move forward.
So hence the title of this post.   There are six weeks left to this less than stellar year, and while I have many things to say, I think I'll keep it to the positive stuff.  So, I'd say this year I've learned to-
-Keep my mouth shut sometimes, to not pick fights, to try to make peace, rather than creative dissension, whenever possible.
-I've learned to be more gentle with people.  To breathe, to take a step back, and to work on my patience.  After all, I need that from others, now more than ever.  I'm not saying I'm completely successful all the time, I'm still working on that.  It's a process.
-I've learned I'm not as hideous as I think I am.  I've been forgiven so much this year, and I am so grateful for that.
-I've learned to detach , with love, from people and situations who can't change, who refuse to give an inch.  The brick wall won't crack, and I need to let it go, and accept what is, and rest my aching head and heart.
To everyone who's helped me this year thank you.  I won't go through the list of names, oh, hell, I have to mention a few.
To Lisa, and Amy, and Jules.  Again, thank you all, for everything.  I know we will be friends until we're in the ground, and yes, I'm going first.  You are my true sisters.
To Amanda, thanks for hanging on so far.   I know it hasn't been easy, but I'm getting there.  You'll see.
To my wonderful friends in the writing and culinary community- Michael Ruhlman, Simon Majumdar, and Jehangir Mehta, again, for the encouragement, for being willing to follow me on Twitter, for interacting with me so frequently, a million thanks.   I love you guys so damned much.
So long, 2012.  Up the staircase to 2013.  Head up, eyes forward.  Let's go!!!

Regarding 'The Next Iron Chef'

If you follow me on Twitter, or are a friend of mine on Facebook, you'll know, that since August,  I've been posting and tweeting about 'The Next Iron Chef-Redemption' and the contestant that I've been supporting, Chef Jehangir Mehta.  Which reminds me.   Go vote for him.  Here. NOW.  I'll wait.

http://www.foodnetwork.com/next-iron-chef-fan-vote/package/index.html
Finished?  Good, then I'll continue. :P
This Sunday, 3 days (or 2, if you want to be picky )  from now,'The Next Iron Chef-Redemption' starts, at 9pm EST on Food Network.    If you've never watched it, it's really a fun show.  Think of it as combination of 'Survivor' and 'The Amazing Race' only with cooking challenges, and somewhat bigger egos, where some of the chefs are concerned. And I'd be lying if I said I won't be watching to see what Alton Brown will be wearing every week, along with the fact he makes a great host, and his interactions with the chefs are always for lack of a better word, interesting.  There'll be drama, backstabbing, tears, and of course, Redemption for one person.
  I'm hoping it's Chef Mehta, and if you'll indulge me, as there are three days left, here are three reasons -(musical fanfare)
Chef Jehangir Mehta Should Be The Next Iron Chef

1. He Loves NYC, and He Does Tons of Charity Work
2. He Has Fantastic Cooking Chops And Skills
3. He's a Beautiful Person, Inside and Out     

To elaborate on each point
He really does do TONS of charity work.  There's hardly a week that goes by that I've not seen him either tweet or post on his Facebook page about some event he's either involved in or hosting.  He's done dinners for Autism Speaks, and for Breast Cancer Research, to name two.  He's also spoken about Childhood Literacy, a cause very near to my heart.   He gives often of his time, and of his talents.
Speaking of his talents, the man can COOK.  Watching him cook and create is fascinating, but that's not all that makes him Iron Chef worthy, in my opinion. Yes, he did start out as a pastry chef, and he is still is a (pardon my French) damned good one, he's so much more than that, and he demonstrates that every day at his two restaurants, Graffiti and Mehtaphor, both in NYC.   I've had the pleasure of eating at Graffiti twice so far this year, and none of the dishes I've tasted have disappointed me.  Again, though, it's more than that.  It's the way the food is prepared, and the way it's presented, with such care and love.  You can tell that cooking is not only the man's profession, but he is truly passionate about what he does.  If and when you get a chance, go.  I'm actually headed to Mehtaphor this coming Thursday, provided the trains are running, and the world isn't set on it's ear again.
His skills, combined with that passion would make him an excellent Iron Chef.
Finally, as I said, he is truly a beautiful person, inside and out, and this is not only what I feel, but what others have told me about him.  As I've said before, I've followed his career since 2009, when he was on NIC the first time.   Throughout the competition, as the contestants were eliminated I saw them display a variety of emotions, from sadness to rage.  When, however, Chef Mehta lost to Chef Jose Garces in the final battle, his reaction was one of the most gracious I have ever seen.  It impressed me.
That's one of the reasons that, when I found out back in August, that he was returning this year, I decided to support him, and when I asked him to follow me on Twitter, I was beyond pleased that he did.  I had the pleasure of meeting him in September, and as nervous as I was, he took it all in stride.  He even followed me outside Graffiti when I left that night, and thanked me again for coming.
  This will probably embarrass him, and if it does, I apologize, but he is, as I like to say, a real person, very humble, completely without guile.   The best example of this is something that happened last week, when I was having a very bad day, and I asked him for a few encouraging words.  He took the time, not only to tweet me back, but say something that made me feel a million times better.  I am happy to call him a friend.
  Okay, so these reasons aren't exactly unbiased, but they are honest.
I wish all the competitors good luck on the show, and I look forward to seeing how it all unfolds.
Happy watching, everyone!n

A Brief, Personal Update

Sorry I haven't been blogging, or even writing these days. I've not really been in a mood to write, even as Nanowrimo is again upon us once again.  My heart isn't in it, and that's probably because...
I've been back in rehab for the past two weeks, and just found out I'm there for at least another ten days.  I'm not sure how I feel about this.  Sure, the groups help, the individual therapy helps, there are days when I actually feel like I've Learned Something, whatever that may be, but let's be frank.  I won't be in Rehab forever, I won't have all the constant supports around me in my life for more than the next week, at most, and I wonder most days, how I'll get through.
I'm also on a new med, Delpin--(which, after getting the RX filled and staring at the bottle for a week, I am finally taking).  It's too soon to tell, of course, if it works.  It's not very comforting to know that not many of the doctors or therapists I've spoken to, have heard of it.  As always, we'll see.
I suppose the bottom line is, I'm still here.  I've lived with my depression for thirty years now, and if I'm truly honest, not all of it has been horrible.   It's just with Winter approaching and everything else....well, I think you know.   Then again, maybe I'm stronger than I think I am.  Maybe.

So many things to say...

https://twitter.com/walters_furry/status/256443771678511104/photo/1

*Sigh*.   So, it's the eve of my birthday(and no, a lady never tells her age) and five days before I go back to rehab again.  I'm torn between thinking I'm a loser and knowing I'm doing the exact right thing for myself.  I need to get away, to do some thinking, and most importantly, do my work so I can better take care of myself and be the person I'm supposed to be, content, healthy and well.

  We'll see.

I've been thinking a great deal about everything, and yesterday my cousin sent me a bunch of old photos of our family.   I found the one of myself and I know there are a lot of things I want to say to that kid, so here goes.

-You're beautiful

-You're smart(smarter than many kids your age, and yes, this will be a problem because there weren't many programs for gifted kids back then)  You'll feel different, but you'll be alright.

-Some bad shit is going to happen to you, and it's not your fault.  It'll feel like it is, but it's not, really.  Trust me.  I wish I could have told you that then, but I'm telling you now.

-It's not your responsibility to make everyone around you happy.  They need to do their work.  ----Take care of yourself, have fun.  You're four, for God's sake.  A four year old shouldn't worry like you do.

-Half the things your mom is going to tell you are wrong.  You're not weird, strange, abnormal.  You are you, and that's fine.

-Keep making up stories in your head.   In a few years, you'll start to write them down.  It will serve you well.

-Keep singing.

-Finally, it gets better.  It does, and it will.

-l love you, kid.  

Well, that was cathartic.   As I begin another year, and I start again, I'm not going to make any sweeping promises to myself that everything will miraculously turn around.  But, I'm going to do my work, and more importantly, be proud of the fact that I'm strong enough to do it.

  A few weeks ago a fairly new friend of mine told me I was brave, and that blew my mind.  When I asked him why, this is what he said.

Jehangir Mehta ‏@jehangir_mehta

@walters_furry you are up each day and do what is expected of you, whether you want to or not. That is being brave in my eyes

After thinking about this for a while, I agree.  Thanks again, J.

I''m going to do my best.   

Wish me luck.

Look! A Post that Actually Sticks to What I Said the Theme of This Blog Is!

This is not a happy post, so you have all been warned.  If you're not interested, or if you don't care to read about the set backs and trials of being a writer, or the drawbacks and struggles of living with depression, then you're welcome to leave now, I'll wait.

Have they gone?  Alright, if there's anyone left, here goes.

Let's start with this, a small sampling of the kind of reaction all my submissions have gotten over the past few years.  Understand, a very small sample--I have at least one hundred more rejections-
DateTitleOrganizationStatus
04/29/2010AbsolutionPalooka - PoetryDeclined
08/19/2012All Saints DayFiction Fix - FictionIn-Progress
07/31/2010CrossroadsThe Associative Press - PoetryDeclined
05/16/2010CrossroadsHayden's Ferry Review - poetryDeclined
06/05

/2012Full HoneymoonLinden Avenue - Flash FictionDeclined
05/29/2012Full HoneymoonFlash Fiction Online - OTHERDeclined
07/15/2012Mikusinski-Poems Crossroads, Part One, and InterludeBlue Lyra Review - PoetryDeclined
06/10/2012PoetryA Few Lines Magazine - PoetryDeclined
05/31/2012PoetryOstrich Review - PoetryDeclined
06/28/2012Poetry SubmissionThe Boiler Journal - PoetryDeclined
06/25/2012Poetry Submission42 Magazine - PoetryDeclined
06/18/2012Poetry SubmissionHyphenate Magazine - PoetryIn-Progress
06/15/2012Poetry SubmissionBurningword Literary Journal - Poetry SubmissionDeclined
06/14/2012Poetry SubmissionCactus Heart Press - PoetryDeclined
10/08/2012Therapy/Travel AgencyParadise Review - PoetryReceived

Depressing, right?  I honestly don't know what these people want anymore.  And no, I don't submit everywhere.  Honeslty, looking for places to submit is work, in and of itself.  I'm not going to submit to a magazine that accepts horror lit, or abstract poetry, or magical realism', whatever that means--and I probably should know what that means.  

  I've been writing all my life, I can't imagine not writing something at least once a week, if not once a day.  Yesterday I wrote that my faith sustains me, but to be honest, it's writing, and thinking of stories, talking about stories and characters with my friends who understand.   Honestly, I think my biggest problem, and what holds me back the most is worrying what other people think.  I've heard so much, 'write for yourself' and that's what I do, for the most part, but the question remains, "If I'm writing for myself, and no one else wants it, how do I get what I want, what I've always wanted, and that is to be published?"  Ugh.  Therein lies the problem, I suppose, but what I need to work on is just being happy that I am writing, will continue to write, and that, published or not, I am, was, and always will be, a writer.   That's the truth.
   As to living with my depression, things have gotten really difficult lately.  Maybe it's my birthday fast approaching, maybe it's the fact that I recently got closure(and not good closure) to my twenty one year relationship, maybe it's the aforementioned rejections.   The medication I hoped would work gave me terrible insomnia and blurry vision that I couldn't tolerate.  I don't know what will help lift the weight this time, but I am headed back for another two week stint in rehab.  That's what helped the most, and I hope that I can do good work on myself as I did before, and I can figure out a better, more profitable plan for myself.  Wish me luck.

The Vast Indifference of What, Exactly?

This is one of my favorite songs of Warren's, and it perfectly describes what's going on in my life right now.  I've always considered myself a Person of faith.  I was raised strict Catholic, and it was never a problem for me.  In other words, as long as you lived in my parents house, you would get up for Sunday Mass.  When we were teenagers, even if we got in late the night before, we'd either get up for Mass, or drive ourselves to the Sunday night Mass.  Mom would wait dinner until we got home.  It was just how things were.  Unlike many kids my age, I didn't mind.   I liked going to Mass, hearing the readings, listening to the sermon.  For me, the rituals, the remembered prayers, and most important, the reception of the Blessed Sacrament gave a feeling of comfort that I didn't and couldn't get anywhere else.  

My faith was the one thing that sustained me during bad times and made me feel even better in good times, in fact, it helped me to hope for things to get better.

  When I broke off my engagement two years ago, for good reason, many things changed, and not just the obvious things, like the direction of my life, and all the plans I'd made over the past year, but my life view, period.   My faith in everything began to slip. I lost a lot of friends, and shortly after my relationship ended, I lost several family relationships that have not been able to be salvaged at all, one being my brother, who refuses to speak to me.

I started to wonder where was God in all this, if He cared at all, and on my darkest days if  He even existed at all.

  I'm sure some people, friends and acquaintances who are agnostic or atheists, might be happy for me to hear this, would tell that I'd finally woken up to the 'truth of things', that I've dropped all my fairy tales and illusions.  I'd love to party with them, but my heart's not in it. Something is missing, because, as I've said before, I need something to sustain me.

*Edit*  Something happened a few hours ago that makes me lean more towards keeping faith.  I spent some time in church tonight, praying, but I'm still not sure.  Like Fox Mulder, I want to believe, not in aliens,but in a God that truly loves me.   So many things are uncertain though.  We'll just have to see.

To be continued, I suppose.  As always, feedback is most welcome.