batman, bipolar, chronic illness, dentist, diabetes, drugs, insulin, medicine

daily drugs

the pills are morning, noon, and night. i can swallow each line of pills at once. 😀 the big bottle is prescription mouth wash that i’m using to help my gums while i go through this insane amount of dental work i’m having done. i’m fixing all the urgent/necessary work done in a couple of months. i’m so bipolar!  i went years without taking care of them and now i want to get EVERYTHING done at once.

the gray thing is an insulin pen, with a fresh needle next to it. you unwrap the needle and screw it onto the pen. you dial up how many units you want and give yourself the injection. it’s so much easier that having to take the insulin out of a vial with a syringe everytime.

the Batman band aid is for a cut on my toe. lol all that stuff is sitting on my old painting table, hence the huge mess!


daily drugs


blank spaces

when i first started painting i thought everything, absolutely everything, i painted had to cover the entire canvas, i joined deviantArt and saw that a lot of artists whose work i like often left blank spaces in their paintings. i honestly thought it was very daring. i commented on it to someone who had a painting like that and i think he was chuckling at me when he replied, “i’m not the first person to do that, you know.” i felt kind of silly, but decided to try it. i was learning to do things differently, to break barriers that i thought were absolute. the first time i did it, i actually felt daring!

after that i started to do it a lot. i even moved on to painting minimalist works. that actually is kind of daring. this is one of my favorites….

Back Camera

i started thinking about it, and realized that i had a lot of blank spaces in me. there are huge spaces of time in my life that i remember nothing about. there are a lot of things that happened yesterday, or the day before, or last week or a month ago, that i can’t recall. it’s disturbing to think about.

when i was drinking heavily it happened on a regular basis. i’d wake up at home, in bed with my clothes on, not even remembering leaving the house to go out drinking. it was terrifying.

i’m sober, maybe not quite, but i only take the things that are prescribed for me. but there are still these big spaces. some might attribute it to my substance abuse damaging my mind and causing these losses of time. i wouldn’t rule it out, but i think i have a different explanation that feels more like the real culprit.

my mother was abusive. some of the biggest chunks i’ve lost are memories of my life, both as a child and as an adult, that relate to the amount of hell she was putting me through. there are other traumatic things that are hidden from my memory; but sometimes things break free and make me feel even more damaged. not surprisingly, i have PTSD.

i think embracing the idea that i have to step back and see ways to do things that i didn’t realize were possible let me start to let go of the weight of the blank spaces in my memory. i’ve been disassociating for almost my entire life. but now i need to move on, let go, break free from the past.

i think i’ve done enough digging through the past, during the 20 years of therapy, that it’s time to leave the wounds of the past in the past and continue making new memories. 🙂



o boi i’m manic!

i had a sneaking suspicion that i was starting to be manic.

i’ve been waking up earlier than usual.  i’m not eating as much as i usually do. my anxiety is out of control. but most of all, i’m happy! everything is so crisp and bright.

it feels exactly like crystal meth. i should know.

the question i’m trying not to think how long this will last. it could be awful if it dropped me backed into worse depression right away, but it could be mega horrible if it goes on too long. i really must enjoy being in the moment!

omg, the way i really knew was waking up and remembering that i spent $250 on watercolor paints! they’re very nice paints, but shit! that’s just so stereotypical. lol



meds suck. i’m much better with them, but i wish i could just dump them all down the toilet.

they make me gain weight!! everybody knows that, but it doesn’t make me any less pissed off about it. i don’t even know who i’m pissed off with! my doctor is trying hard to make a cocktail that doesn’t make me feel fat, and even worse, feel stupid.

i know i’m not stupid, but when i started taking a lot of meds (1994) my memory started getting worse. it’s so bad now that i sometimes feel like i’m sinking into dementia. the meds make everything so vague and distant. memories drift away. i listen but i don’t really hear. i always wonder why things happen because i can barely remember my own name. andrew has to tell me things over and over.

i have a lot of trouble putting words together or doing anything thing that requires intense concentration. i talk to myself a lot. andrew says it sounds like i’m mumbling all the time. sometimes i think the meds make me even stranger than i am otherwise.

i feel like some of them are working against one another. i take ritalin and i also take xanax. doesn’t it seem like they’d just fight it out between each other and eventually do nothing? uppers and downers! i have a big drawer full of prescription medicine bottles. it’s so full it barely shuts. for some reason i can’t make myself put them in pill boxes so i have to rummage through all of them every morning and evening. such a dumb way to do it!

i love my xanax, my risperdal is really works to keep the psychosis under control, but it makes me puff up like a balloon. i could go on and on about what meds i take, when i take them what they’re for how they feel what are the side effects of each one. i just end up sounding like the addict i am.

i wonder why they give someone who’s a known addict and has overdosed many times, all this scheduled, heavy duty drugs? they never discuss it. and fuck, i need and want some of the drugs they give me…the ritalin, the xanax, the sleeping pills, so many sleeping pills! muscle relaxants on and on.

i’m obsessed with my meds, the addictive ones and all the others, too. when i start to run out of anything i immediately panic.

but i wonder, who would i be without them? what things could i do that i can’t now? what about being free of the shitty side effects? how quickly would i deteriorate into total insanity without them? would i get psychotic and do awful things? would i kill myself?

i take them when i’m told to in the prescribed dosage. is this the way it’s supposed to be?


lady gaga and my mania

i’m sitting at my desk trying to be patient, waiting for the pain meds to kick in. i had surgery on my left hand a couple of weeks ago. i just took a long nap and missed my the time when i was supposed take my percoset, by an hour. my mind wanders back in time to 10 years ago? maybe not that long. i can’t remember.

i was sitting in the room my husband and i share, my half was my “studio” and half was his gaming room. it was 3am, the loneliest time of night. peter (husband) pushed the door open gently, so as not to frighten me (anything unexpected could throw me into a panic attack). and asked me to turn down lady gaga. i hate lady gaga, but alone with my mania and anxiety, she seemed like the door to a party, another thing i hate. but it seemed like the thing i desperately needed. action! people everywhere, loud music, coke all lined up and an imaginary drink in my hand

i hadn’t taken my meds for at least a week. everything was out of control. i stayed up all night drawing, drawing with colored pencils. pages and pages of partially finished drawings lay in piles on the floor, all around my desk. i was sweaty and i hadn’t changed my clothes in days. i gritted my teeth and pressed down so hard on the pencils that the sharpened tips broke off over and over.

his eyes were squinty and he shivered in just his boxers.he asked me if i was ok. i didn’t know if i should laugh, scream, or cry.


self medicating

i am sitting at my desk, rocking my chair up and down in time with the music.

i think of the past, maybe 8 years ago? 9?

i was sitting on the floor of the room my husband and i share, half art room, half gaming room, counting pills. when i feel panicky, this is what calms me. i have a very large prescription bottle full up with  klonopin. they’re smallish, white, scored, uncoated tablets. i took three 2mg pills a day. but counting them made feel more calm than the drugs themselves.

but maybe that’s not true because i stumbled around the house all day forgetting where i left my water bottle. i had to have cold water at hand all the time. if it took  me too long to find it, i headed right back to the fridge to get another.

klonopin was my friend, my nurse, my recreation, my obsession. i had bottles of it tucked into secret spots all over the house, even in my car.

ironically, i’m self medicating with my meds.


true story 3

i am at my desk, doodling, waiting for the doctor to call. i let my mind wander.

i stepped out of my tattoo artist’s San Francisco house. the cars were parked tail to hood, tail, hood, and so on up the hill. my leg throbbed and there was blood seeping out of the bandage. i was stoned and high on endorphins .  rain drops fell out of the sky, slowly.

i didn’t see my car.i walked up and down the streets around his house. panic was making my throat dry. my leg hurt, really bad. really really bad. i tried to remember what the houses around my parked car looked like. no clue.

i started crying. pretty soon i was sobbing. the tears poured down my face, dripped right off the end of my nose. i didn’t care. i didn’t give a fuck about anything but driving home in my warm, dry car.

i stopped at the same place i kept walking past over and over. finally i had to admit to myself that i was positive that it was where i left my car hours ago. then i saw the handwritten sign on the garage next to where my car should have been.

No Parking!  You will be towed! No exceptions!


a true story 2

i’m drinking my third cup of coffee this morning and my mind wanders.

i was sitting in my psychiatrist’s unpleasant waiting room, shuffling through the same magazines that were always there when i remembered scamming my primary care doctor for a bottle of vicodin. i thought i had done so well that past week.

i closed my eyes and tried to recall taking the pills. i got a total blank. i sat there panicking, waiting 45 minutes for him to finish with his previous patient, who also had to wait 45 minutes since the doctor decided to take a long lunch.

i don’t know if i hated him or myself more.

anxiety, bipolar, substance abuse

a true story

as i sit here finishing the entire box of cornflakes, my mind wanders.

i hate the way i behaved when i worked at the stock brokerage. my boss overheard me telling some people that i injected insulin in my neck. i told them bout how my throat closed up and blood ran down my neck while i contemplated calling 911.


they made me go

never send your kids to summer camp. they made me go. it rained, there were ticks, wolf spiders and melted ice cream. my first panic attack. jumping off the diving board, or not. fourth of july, archery. i wasn’t strong enough. i pulled and got nothing. there were other summers, like the one when the horse i couldn’t ride stood on my foot. all of that, for nothing. isn’t that the way it usually happens?

ATC color in the dark

can you see in the dark? i couldn’t, and i still can’t. careening from bed to broken nose. the psychiatrist was apologetic, we agreed that she should be. another day another tiny plastic kidney shaped vomit receptacle. this time it was my turn to apologize. clown pants in the waiting room, i didn’t care.

ATC feathers for ms. cd

i still don’t (care) and i never will. it only makes me care a hundred times more about the rest. i didn’t get any rest for the last four makes me wonder why no one ever knew. i didn’t, and i guess that was enough.

ATC creeping rustthe last time there were four, and now it’s five, or nine, including one more that made it ten in advance. skinny spider wires hold them together and i wonder why.