[.l.o.s.t././.i.n././.t.r.a.n.s.l.a.t.i.o.n.]

Since I’m terribly bad at updating here – and elsewhere, for that matter, I’m giving those of you who care yet another way to peek into some of the corners of my dark life. Hopefully, I’ll get back into the regular routine of updating Plurk on a semi-daily basis. However, given the enormous tidal wave of . . . stuff . . . that’s hit my life of late even that may turn out to be a feat in and of itself. Things have been so chaotic and topsy-turvey that even my much beloved Bipolar World Cafe has gone by the wayside where my regular participation is concerned. Some things occupying my time are good, whereas others I’d ask that this cup be taken from my lips, to get Biblical for a minute. Anyhow, below is a mini-timeline of my Plurk posts. Enjoy!

A friend of mine, Rob, pointed out in a recent e-mail that I actually hadn’t updated this thing with any real news in some time. So, here I shall make an attempt to do so, although with everything that’s happened in the last few months it’s not going to be an easy undertaking.

Business is dead slow right now, so I’m looking for another full-time gig. Right now, I kind of don’t care what I end up with as a full-time gig as long as it’s not boring because I’m heading back to school this fall at least part-time (if I can’t find a way to finance a full-time run of it). I still plan on keeping the business going while in school, though. And maybe that’s crazy, but I am a master at insane undertakings.

Halloween made five years sober. Yay. I made it into 2009 not in the hospital – which I wasn’t sure if I would be or not because I was fighting off a pretty nasty MRSA infection. In other medical news, I was diagnosed with RA after months of testing and re-testing and wondering what was going on with me. It’s painful, yes, when it flares. I’m trying to find a manner of pain management for the flare-ups that isn’t as crazy as what was first tried: methadone. I withdrew from that just before the MRSA attack – and probably picked up the MRSA in the hospital, as irony would have it.

I’m taking care of a friend of mine who is terminally ill with bullous pemphigoid, which is a rare disease. Very rare. She was taken to the Mayo Clinic when she was first diagnosed so that they could study her. Anyhow, that aside, I’m taking care of her because there’s nobody else to do it. Some days are good, some are bad. But that’s the way these things go. 

I got into a huge fight with Kevin. Meh. I’d explain part of it but right now if I did, I think my head would explode from frustration over the situation. Speaking of frustration, I’m still trying to help Leon out, but that’s not going so well. I hope that changes soon enough, though.

We’re moving soon and looking for a new place. Suggestions are welcome, although I think we’ve already settled on a place. We haven’t filled out the apartment applications or anything yet, so it’s not set in stone. If we go with the place I’m thinking we’ll go with, then we won’t need to get the gym memberships that we were thinking about because this place has a GREAT in-house gym, a sauna, a theraputic hot tub, tanning beds, a HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE pool (part of which is heated!! T3h y4y!!), and more.

Life’s pretty quiet. All’s well between Steve and I. B’s moving to St. Louis (that’s the sad part) to get married (that’s the good part). I’ll miss him. He’s become more like a brother and less like a roommate.

I’d written a rant a few weeks ago which I still have saved in my "Drafts" folder, but somehow it seems irrelevant now. Meh.

The equation in the subject line explains pretty much it all, though my dissappointment probably doesn’t come through quite so well. Oh, well. I was looking for a good romp in the sack with my hubby tonight, post the Trinala show on SL, but as he’s currently puking from King Bacardi Select, I don’t think that’s going to happen. Oh, well. God knows I’ve got cigarettes, right? And I can stay up trying to figure out why the code on the Bipolar forum broke when we tried to reapply the chat room module to it. So I guess I have distraction . . . and distraction is always good when you were expecting sex and then find out you’re not going to get it.

About the stitches . . . Last night I tried not to use the running boards on my Explorer to get into it. Bad idea. I ended up hurting the soft tissue on my left ass cheek and on my left deltoid on down a bit and cutting open a half inch deep by half inch wide gap into my knee. Now, I could’ve gone to the hospital and had them stitch it up, but I’m a certified First Responder, which means I know how to at least stitch people up. So I did it myself at home, after we went out for dinner at China Cafe. I didn’t yelp or scream like I thought I might. I whimpered on the first one, but after that I was conversationally keeping my former Army Medic husband informed of my progress in a casual tone. When I was done he said I’d done a great job and that I was truly hardcore.

Right now I don’t feel so damn hardcore. He’s puking and since the toilet backed up – AGAIN - while he was puking, guess who got to clean up the mess? And he’s still puking. He said he’d let me know when he’s done so I can go back to plunging the night away.

And then I think I’ll just stay up and code away my dissappointment and frustration. Why not? I’ve got enough cigarettes to hold me until morning when I can go get more. So . . .

I hear snoring coming from the bathroom. So, he’s definitely done puking and while I’ve tried to get him to drink water, he wouldn’t listen to me on that. So he’ll have a head splitting headache in the morning. And if I leave him in the bathroom, asleep atop the toilet . . . Nah, I can’t do that. I’d better wake his ass up and get him to bed. Even if I can’t sleep, why should I keep him out of bed and let him sleep on top of the porcelain king until he wakes up for himself and stumbles into bed, where I won’t be.

And we were talking about having such fun, too. I really can’t express my dissappointment in all this.

You know, and after something that was said by him about another SL user and how good she gave blow jobs, I feel really low on the totem poll. I’m wondering what my incentive is. For anything.  

(ephemeral) 

I’m calling all angels.

Actually, what I’m doing is calling my prayer partners and praying with them before I call back. If this is what is meant to be, then it’ll happen. I’m praying for wisdom and for my Higher Power, for calming and peace. I’m praying that I’m shown where I’m supposed to be, that I be given direction, that this spirit of fear be removed. I’m praying for God’s perfect will, that the Lord will open doors that other men would shut. I’m praying for discernment. I’m praying for being led down the path that my Higher Power would have me.

Mama, Audi, Kevin, Mike in The Valley, Blanca, and Hendrik for praying with me over the phone and taking time out of your day to back me up. Thank you to those I e-mailed because I didn’t have your numbers fr praying for me and with me in regard to this, including, most especially, Eldon, Gary from Western Trails, Laticia, Angela, Terry, Mr. Rosson, Glen, Beryl, Chris, Chase, Reverend Larry, Brian, and everyone else.

Thank you to Hendrik for the business advice that you gave me. It really made a lot of sense and hit home. You’re right. I need to keep it simple, I need to be direct, and I need to be firm. Most of all, I need to not worry about it because if God wants me to have it, then I’ll have it. All I need to do is walk through the process as wisely as I can and let go and let God. We do the work, and God does the rest. It’s not up to me, it’s up to God.

I think I’m going to do a fear inventory over this before I call or e-mail anybody at Alfresco.

(ephemeral) 

My last appointment that I got weighed at was Monday, March seventeenth. I just checked my calendar to make sure of the date. I got weighed yesterday and since that date I’ve lost almost thirty pounds. I’ve been dropping through sizes so fast it’s crazy. And I’m sober, so I know it’s not because of anything crazy messing with my neurochemistry and metabolism. The seventeenth is when they gave me Depo, and while most people gain weight on it, there’s a small population that loses weight on it – apparently I’m in that population.

I don’t think it’s thyroid storm because I’d be sick and that’s nasty, although I’m still – duh – on thyroid medication and taking it daily. But even with it, exercise, and watching what I eat like a hawk during the past three years that I’ve been on thyroid replacement therapy I haven’t lost any weight. If anything, I’ve fought to stay the same or gained weight. So . . .

Really, I’m not complaining about the weight loss. It’s nice to be able to wear clothes I haven’t been able to touch since, oh, three years ago or so. It’s nice to be looking better physically. And if I exercised more, I’d probably be even that much better off for it. I just haven’t had the time.

(ephemeral) 

So, as of a few hours ago – around lunchtime, Central Standard Time – I completed twenty-nine reolutions around this bright star of ours known as the sun.

This year has been rather interesting. I got married in this last turn around our celestial star, which I of all people didn’t expect, but at the same time I’m the last person complaining. And, to make it even better, my Dad loves him! My Dad has never liked anyone that I’ve dated, but he’s given this one his full approval, love, acceptance, and respect. He even calls him "son" – which is a major sign of just how much Dad’s come to bring Steve, my husband, into our family – fucked up though it may be.

And Steve’s family has fully accepted me, too. I have more family! It’s strange. They’re great people, too, and I’ve liked every single one of them that I’ve met. I really love his Mom and Dad. They’re so awesome.

I’ve also had a few old, but very close friends randomly appear back into my life. One was my best friend – and the most unexpected of all, Mr. Mason. Another was Miss Nicky. S. John was definitely the coolest by far. Erin was awesome to hear from again. Ken rocked because he’s just so damn awesome and I’ve missed him soooooo very, very much. There were others, but these by far stand out the most. I’m so glad to have you guys – and gals – back in my life again!

During this year with the stellar movements of the sky and earth in balance, there was Misery Journey, of which I am not sure that I have spoken of. Shortly after getting married I got to take a now former friend back home to Tacoma from Austin when she lost her job at Apple – with the promise that her or her parents would give me enough gas money to make it back. Well, her parents did, but she having Borderline Personality Disorder and being a kleptomaniac stole about half the money they gave me to get home on and thus left me in a major bind. I made it to California, because before I’d left I’d already planned to make a side trip there to visit with my ex-roommate and close friend, Jason. He cleaned me up, got some Starbucks in me, took me to the best sushi I’ve ever had in my whole, entire life (and I’ve had A LOT of sushi), and got me good for the road back home. Because of him, I made it back with under twenty bucks to my name. I didn’t eat or stop to rest on the way back, either. He saved my ass, though. And during that twenty-four hour respite, he showed me some beautiful things. California IS beautiful. I must give it that.

In this last year, this past tour in the sunshine, there have been some really bad things that have happened, namely two – and both have been in the past two months, funny enough: Steve and I lost our daughter; I nearly died last week from an accidentally medically-induced medicine overdose that sent me into grand mal seizures for a few days. One day longer, said the neurologist at the hospital to me after reviewing my EEGs, and I probably would’ve been toast.

My sponsor and I decided after much talk that since my last ‘relapse’ was what I thought it was and what she’d spent the last few years trying to convince me that it was – a suicide attempt driven by my ex. I used a lethal dose and it didn’t kill me, so now March first is my pseudo-sobriety birthday and October thirty-first of 2003 is my actual sobriety birthday, meaning that soon – very soon – I’ll be coming up on five years. Hella cool. So in my previous revolution, instead of making just one year, I actually hit my four. This is going to make things interesting come Birthday Night. LOL.

(ephemeral) 

The deeper you stick it in your vein
The deeper the thoughts, there’s no more pain
I’m in heaven, I’m a god
I’m everywhere, I feel so hot

It’s not a habit, it’s cool, I feel alive
If you don’t have it you’re on the other side
I’m not an addict (maybe that’s a lie)
It’s over now, I’m cold, alone

I’m just a person on my own
Nothing means a thing to me
(Nothing means a thing to me)

That’s from K’s Choice’s Not an Addict. I woke up on my alterna-sobriety birthday in the hospital recovering from a medication overdose initated by a well-meaning doctor. That, after two days previous of being totally out of it and very near death, was the first day I was aware – me – again.

Happy pseudo-birthday to me.

this post is brought to you by small letters because it is not a happy post.

this post bears the "friends" tag. rather it should wear the tag "ex-friends", "betrayal", "backstabbing", or some other such thing as the tag "friends" is in and of itself a lie because this post is about those things . . . about someone who used to be a friend. and while i’m one of the most forgiving people you will ever meet and will give you chance after chance after chance after you’ve fucked me around and hurt me bad, this person gets something very few people have ever gotten from me: the axe.

i guess the era era ended between this person and i a long while before this. no, actually, it did end. but i guess i just found a nice, clean line of demarcation to simply walk away from it, to begin the silence that should have begun a long, long time ago.

so, without further ado, i bring you song lyrics that when and if you play the song itself – which i highly encourage you listen to it as it’s a great song – it embodies the emotions that washed over me when i stepped up to this line of demarcation.

the eels – "guest list"
album: "beautiful freak"

are you one of the beautiful people?
is my name on the list?
wanna be of the beautiful people . . .
wanna feel like i’m missed.

hey – you – with the walkie-talkie,
i know my clothes are not right.
i wish i had my own walkie-talkie
that reached to god every night.

everyone needs to be somebody.
everyone needs to find someone who cares.
but i don’t know if you know what i mean
‘cause i’m never on your list.

are you one of the beautiful people?
am i on the wrong track?
sometimes it feels like i’m made of eggshell
and it feels like i’m gonna crack.

everyone needs to be somebody.
everyone needs to find someone who cares.
but i don’t know if you know what i mean
‘cause i’m never on your list.

i’m never on your list.

(ephemeral) 

So . . . spinal taps aren’t fun.

I’ve been through one before. The techniques have improved, though, as I got to witness today, while watching my baby going through one while I held his hand. That sucked. Let me tell you. I hate watching people go through pain that I can’t take away, but I’m not God or any other diety . . . at least last time I checked or. if I am, I haven’t been notified, so I’ll take it that, nope, I’m not anything of the sort. Nor would I want to be. It’s too much responsibility.

But I digress.

 
I watched my baby go through a spinal tap. And it sucked. They found a high level of protiens in his cerebrospinal fluid. Not good. Now he’s got to see a neurologist in the next few days to determine what this could mean, but none of it sounds really good right off the bat, at least with the reasearch that we’ve been able to do on our own thus far.

I’m praying for rain. I’m praying for tidal waves.

(ephemeral)
 

Thank you to my hubby and to my best friend, Kevin, for reminding me that I’m not useless.

As Kevin pointed out, what’s most likely going on with me is that things aren’t happening for me as fast as I’d like or the way that I’d like. There’s me . . . trying to wrest back control when I am powerless. In A. A. you learn a lot of things: personal powerlessness, surrender, humility, acceptance, letting go, boundaries . . . That’s just a small number of the myriad of lessons I’ve learned so far – and sometimes have to revisit.

Like right now while talking to Kevin he pointed out to me the above about things not happening "my way". This means I need to surrender them to my Higher Power and stop trying to meddle. My job is NOT to fix everything, but to do what I can and only that – the next right thing, as it were.

I’m powerless over a lot of things right now and that makes me feel ineffectual. 

But I have to realize that it doesn’t mean that I am ineffectual. As Kevin pointed out, if I were ineffectual, things wouldn’t be where they are now. I wouldn’t have made any headway anywhere, or, if anything, I’d have already relapsed. 

So, ummm, yeah.

I need to surrender. Again. I keep revisiting this one this year. Heh. And I need to remember where "you" end and "I" begin. And I need to keep in mind what personal powerlessness is and what it does and doesn’t touch in my life.

 
(ephemeral)
 

Not only do I feel useless, but I feel like I’m pissing someone off without meaning to. Great. Watch me fail all over the fucking place.

True to addiction, huh? Everything gets going good and you find a way to tear it apart. You can’t have nice things.

There goes the committee. Spin, spin, sugar . . .

(ephemeral) 

The last month’s happenings . . . in NO particular order:

• Road Trip From Hell 2007
• PTSD resulting from the aforementioned Road Trip From Hell
• Hanging out with Jason Goddard
• Hanging out with Calic0
• Mr. Bacon is back
• Drama on the business front
• My sole sibling is . . . I love him. If he gives my Dad a heart attack, though . . .
  
• Preparations for meeting my husband’s parents
  
• Meetings in other cities

I think that’s the short of it.

(ephemeral) 

Wow . . . that was powerful stuff there. I mean, really. I can totally relate to the emotions there.

I can’t thank you enough for sharing that with me. I started crying soft, mellow tears. Someone got it. People around here haven’t been through the death of a parent. I’m the only one of my friends who’s had to deal with anything like that. The closest that anybody’s come is losing a grandparent at like three or four years old before they could really form a relationship with them, so even they don’t even really have a clue what this is like.

Most people have been like, "Why is this so hard sometimes, especially near the anniversary? It’s been so long? Move on already?" Heh . . . I wish it were that simple. My Mom died tragically, too. She had a brain hemmorage as a complication from systemic lupus and I was the one who walked in on her convulsing right before she died and tried to figure out what was going on. I called 911. I did what they said. I couldn’t save her before they got there. I was the one who held her while she died. I was sixteen. I’d been taking care of her solely since I was thirteen, putting my teenage existance on hold, sacrifincing any hope of being ‘normal’ – whatever that means – because my father was an absentee parent so the responsibility fell on my shoulders as the oldest.

She was abusive. Nothing was good enough. I struggled to please her. I tried to be perfect. She was Borderline and Narcisistic. She tried to live vicariously through me. No matter how much I achieved, it wasn’t enough. How many people in my position could’ve maintained a 3.95 GPA, taken college courses on top of it and maintained a 3.75 GPA there, gotten a hardship license, taken care of the household duties – including the budget and shopping and housework, taken care of a learning diabled and diabetic younger brother’s special needs, and their mother’s illness? Somehow, by some miracle, I did it for three years. At the end of it I had a nervous breakdown.

I was angry. My dad, when she died, came back into our lives like he’d never been gone at all. I hated him with such vehemence as he tried to control us with rules and regulations so overbearing and strict that they were insane. In the end he ended up sending us to a boarding school in Connecticut – until I attempted suicide after being raped there and checking myself into a psych hospital for it. And I learned to hate more deeply.

I knew depression. I couldn’t cry. I was comforted by few things at that time. Rain, dark winter days, thunder and lightning, deep gray clouds that promise storms . . . Yes, those things, too, lent me a measure of peace and calm for some reason. Perhaps it’s because they seemed to understand somehow, inherently.

I got diagnosed as Bipolar then, at sixteen, while at the psych hospital. The treatment seemed to help stabilize things over time, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t have to do a lot of work on my own as well. I’ve always been a writer and kept journals and I found that especially then it was a huge theraputic tool to put pen to paper. I wish I still had those journals, but an ex of mine threw them out. I still write . . . It’s something that keeps me sane, I guess you could say.

So . . . thank you, again, for your candidity this morning and the things you said to me on the site. They really hit home and meant a lot. How much I don’t think you know. And I truly appreciated what you sent me in e-mail, too. Hopefully this doesn’t come across as too self-absorbed . . . sigh I guess it’s just where I am today, thinking about all this shit with my mom. It’s finally come to a head and swimming around my mind in some strange mass I can’t seem to shake. :P

This, too, shall pass . . .

(ephemeral)

 I just need eveything to stop for just one moment.

 And then in that moment I need some serenity.

(ephemeral) 

All day
Staring at the ceiling
Making friends with shadows on my wall
All night
Hearing voices telling me
That I should get some sleep
Because tomorrow might be good for something
Hold on
I’m feeling like I’m headed for a
Breakdown
I don’t know why
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know, right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know, right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be
Me
Talking to myself in public
Dodging glances on the train
I know
I know they’ve all been talking ‘bout me
I can hear them whisper
And it makes me think there must be something wrong
With me
Out of all the hours thinking
Somehow
I’ve lost my mind
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know, right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little impaired
I know right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be
I been talking in my sleep
Pretty soon they’ll come to get me
Yeah, they’re taking me away
I’m not crazy, I’m just a little unwell
I know, right now you can’t tell
But stay awhile and maybe then you’ll see
A different side of me
I’m not crazy I’m just a little impaired
I know, right now you don’t care
But soon enough you’re gonna think of me
And how I used to be
Hey, how I used to be
How I used to be, yeah
Well I’m just a little unwell
How I used to be
How I used to be

Matchbox 20 – Unwell

(ephemeral) 

Just in case you failed to notice, it didn’t happen, anyway. It’s not like it was ever really going to have happened in the first place, anyway . . . sigh

Yeah, I guess I should’ve said something a few months ago – like August or whatever – of last year when the finality of it all just imploded upon itself and it was crushed like . . . fitting? . . . so many little bits of white powder that were ready to be snorted and wished away.

Heh.

I think I found the gist of . . . No. Let’s not go there. It’s really not fair to anyone if I do.

Yeah, I’m going to end up having more messed up dreams where I end up waking up crying again, huh? Okay, it’s time to not think about this any more than this and just put it away for the time being.

(ephemeral) 

[23:33] ephemeral_ether: so, two klowns are about a barback
[23:33] ephemeral_ether: lol
[23:34] ephemeral_ether: two klowns serve drinks REAL well, you could say
[23:34] ephemeral_ether: with four klowns you WON’T remember what you’re serving.
[23:35] ephemeral_ether: which is why i couldn’t believe my shrink recommended i talk to four klowns a day, haha
[23:35] ephemeral_ether: funny stuff
[23:35] ephemeral_ether: but i never do
[23:35] ephemeral_ether: laughter is the best medicine

(ephemeral)