Not Good Enough

Have you ever been told that you’re not good enough? I have on multiple occasions. Some by family members, ex-manager, and ex-lovers. But, they were wrong. They know nothing about me. They don’t know what I struggled through all my life. They don’t understand the surgeries, the scares, the suicide attempts, the rape, the abuse that I endured. I came out of it all on top like a hopeful star. I survived when others didn’t. Not many would have survived if they were in my shoes.

Today, my husband looked at my arm and freaked out. He thought I was cutting my arm again. It’s actually swatches of lipsticks. Brown, red, pink, and nude lipsticks. It does look like I’ve harmed myself. Especially with the blood-red lipstick swatch. No, I told him what they are as I rubbed my fingers over it to show it’s fading. Next time, I need to use the makeup remover so he doesn’t freak out on me.

Let me be clear. What someone else is going through will be different from what I went through. I can’t lump all of us together. There are much worse things out there which people endured and survived. Sometimes, the pain is just too much for one person to bear. I understand. I’ve been to the lowest of the low. The dark of the darkness. There is still that part of me that wants to lash out on the world, but she’s contained in a dark corner, eyeing me with her dark eyes, dark hair, and dark makeup. She hates that I silenced her. The rage and anger are still there, but it’s quiet. Even though she’s still there and around me, I no longer care what people think or say about me. I know my truth. I own it proudly. I survived the most unthinkable situations and rose to say, “I’m not done yet, bitches.” That part of me won’t let people tear her down anymore. Instead of the self-loathing and self-hatred, she’s learned that there are people who are just plain jerks. They don’t understand what they don’t have. They probably never will. But, karma is a bitch. She’s a nasty vile creature, lying in waiting. I’ve seen karma come out to play in many situations. It maybe slight, but she does just enough to prove she’s there. That in itself is sweet justice.

I’ve lived in fear for so long that I allowed those people to maintain control over me. Why did I let them do it for so long? Because, I was scared of them. I became the little girl all over again, hugging her teddy bear, wanting it all to stop. The little blonde girl with curls and dark brown eyes was so scared. Now she’s quiet as well. The monster and the angel are both quiet at the same time.

To the people who told me I wasn’t good enough. You’re right. I’m not good enough… Not good enough for  you to insult, humiliate, bully, or badger anymore. I am the sexiest woman alive for my husband and he’s all who matters. I’m here to turn him on, not you. Thank you for dumping me, because I found someone who stuck by my side, when he should have left on multiple occasions. I found someone better than you. He is better than good enough. He’s a fucking angel, and I have no doubt that he’ll rightfully earn his wings when he passes away.

To my dad… I AM fucking good enough! When you pass away, I’ll be dancing the night away on a cruise ship to a big adventure.

I want to thank from the bottom of my heart, my Uncles Larry, George, Hank, Denny, and Jerry for stepping up to the plate. More importantly, my late Uncle George. He taught me many things about religion, English, and math. He taught me how to fish the proper way. He even cooked for me. He taught me how to become a decent human being and a proper lady. I miss him today. So if people ask me about Uncle Aaron from book 2… There ya go… There’s my Uncle George in black & white print.

I remember the feeling of being alone. It’s a terrifying concept for me. But tonight, I look around and realize that I have a family. My kids love me. My husband thinks the world of me. And I have two mothers living with us who make me laugh. I can laugh without crying. It took me many years, but I have my shit together. We can’t compare journeys because everyone’s life story is different. I won’t let anyone degrade another human being in my sight. I will stop them and correct them immediately. I am not a gossiper. Nor do I care. No more toxic energy around me. Starting with the deletion of multiple people from Facebook tonight. They need to be permanently blocked from my life. No more! I’m taking back my power. Let me be a fierce bitch that I am.

And to the person who wanted to insult another writer for not editing their tweets when they post their WIP’s on Twitter… WTF do you think a WIP is? It’s called a work-in-progress for a fucking reason. Don’t discourage new writers. Why? Because, there’s always a bigger asshole like me who will call your ass out. A work-in-progress will have errors. Just like my blogs. They have tons of errors. Do I give a flying fuck? Nope! I’m doing my thing and enjoying my power for once. I will speak up for people now. Like I’ve said, I don’t care what people think or believe. I am still a human being, trying to survive this shit hole planet. But there are amazing people out in the world. Let’s celebrate the nice people, not the mean ones. Be good to each other, spread love and positivity. Think outside of the box.


Memories & Fear

When YouTubers say, “I’m getting death threats.” It makes me feel sad for them. Nobody should threaten anyone. But at the same time, a piece of my mind doesn’t believe them. Maybe it’s because of the borderline. I don’t trust many people as it is. I want to talk about fear.

I didn’t have a great childhood. It often angers me when I think about it. Fear for me is hiding in a closet, waiting for the next fight that could turn deadly. Fear for me is not knowing if you’d see your best friends at school the next day. Fear is hearing the sounds of bullets being loaded into the chamber. You hear it, and your mind goes back to that time. Seeing a man who was supposed to be your protector, walking out the door with a rifle in his hand is fucking scary. You never experience fear until then. The eyes change, their demeanor change. This was supposed to be my safety net. To be used against another person you love very much. You don’t forget shit like that. And you screaming for them to stop. “Please don’t kill my mom!” That’s fear.

I don’t know what makes people do evil things. I can never understand it. And so your mind fractures to protect itself. You see things like that, and you can’t recover from it. No amount of therapy will help. It lessens the pain, but it still hurts. My mind did fracture. It went into protective mode. I blacked out. It’s like it’s from a movie but it wasn’t. It was real fucking life. I don’t allow guns in my house because of it. I know that guns will fall into the hands of people who don’t deserve to own one. But they can have one because they refuse to seek mental help. That should scare you.

I did drugs and spent my time drinking the pain away. There are years that I can never get back. People say that I was fun! I’ve also hurt people along the way that I don’t remember hurting. You throw in Bipolar Mania and it’s a deadly concoction. My brain functions differently from others. Now that I’m on medication, I still hear the buzzing in my head but the voices throwing me into mania are silent. And you throw in borderline which tells you “RUN! Run for your life!” That part of my mind is also silent. The run and protect yourself side is silent. That part of my brain fight-or-flight mode stayed on for many years. Mania gave me the audible and visual delusions. I had a conversation with Elvis at some point.

I remember crying in my husband’s arms, “I just want the voices to stop!” and this… “I’m not like this!” The voices became so loud, I couldn’t listen to music. “Don’t you want to kill yourself? Why are you living? You’re not worth it! You’ll never be good enough! You’re so weak!” Shit like that, I heard on a daily basis. That is fear. Fear of letting your mind win. Then you return to therapy and you’re put on medication. Before being on medication, it was like my husband was trying to shine a flashlight down a dark tunnel. I was hiding at the other end of that dark tunnel. A scared little girl who didn’t want to leave. You pray to God every night for the noise to stop. You pray to God to live. You beg God to make it stop. My husband took me by the hand, and he brought me through that dark tunnel. “It’s going to be okay. I  know you’re not like that. You’re scared, but I’m here.”

I’m stable because of my husband. For the first time, I can see the light. He saved me from myself. He was the only person who realized something was really wrong with me. My husband took a leap of faith by taking a chance on me. I let borderline, anxiety, and bipolar control majority of my life. I stayed in autopilot until I met my husband. “You’re not going to stick around! We’ll make you leave too!” But he stayed. My husband helped me get my life back on track. It feels nice to walk in the sun and feel human again. I almost became that dark creature who sat in the corner. That creature who was filled with so much rage, anger, and fear. That creature is not the real me. It’s a facade. It’s a delusion created by my fractured mind.

I look at all the things I survived, and this Christmas, I realized just how lucky I am. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be alive. But I thank God that I am. And trust me, I’m not a very religious person at all. I don’t go to churches, and I probably don’t pray as often as I should. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s all just a scam. Maybe we’re all controlled by aliens. Little gray men with a button. I’m joking! But it makes you think though. 😀

I wished for one thing and only one thing in my life. I often dreamed of what it would be like to have a family when I was that scared little girl. What would it be like to have a normal father? What would it be like to have a father who cared? What would it be like if everyone filled their roles as siblings and spouses? I never had that as a child. If I did, it was short-lived. Now I have that, and it feels amazing. I’ll always have borderline, bipolar, and various forms of anxiety. That part of me will never go away. I’ve learned to channel them for when I need them. It’s hard with bipolar because that bitch loves drama, and she loves to have fun. But when the depression hits, oh man! It sucks donkey balls.

The mood stabilizer that I’m on is working still. I don’t have bouts of mania anymore. It’s like you crank up the volume on a stereo to the loudest setting possible, and then you mute it. You hear all the instruments playing, the singing, and all of a sudden, silence! It’s the best feeling in the world. I can still hear the static, but it’s silent.

As for actual people calling me names… Dude, really? Nothing anyone can say to me is worse than my own mind. You can’t hurt me because I already survived the worst things ever imaginable. I survived my father. I survived a rape. I survived bullying in school. You have nothing else to add that I haven’t heard before. I’m stronger than what I used to be. Now I’m pissed with myself for not being in treatment and on medication sooner. I wasted so much of my life. But had I not waited, I wouldn’t have met my wonderful and patient husband. Having borderline, you tend to lash out at everyone. It’s a freakish beast that can be deadly if left untamed. Now my borderline has turned into a kitten. A cute, fuzzy kitten. The rage is gone. The noise in my head is gone. From the bottom of my heart, I’m so thankful that I met my husband. He saved me from myself. “Oh, love isn’t enough!” For the most part, you’re right. But love is what saved me from self-destruction. It forced me to work on myself. It helped me take a magnifying glass to myself and fix those issues I dealt with for so many years. Sometimes, love is enough.

The Salem Witch Trials…

If you remember anything about USA history, you’d remember the Salem Witch Trials. A very long, long, long time ago in a place called Salem Massachusetts, there were these little girls; accusing innocent people of being witches. Women and men were hung in the courtyard because of these little girls. The year was 1692… Over 200 people were accused and 20 of them executed. People lost their lands. Their names would be forever documented as witches. But technically, we were STILL property of Great Britain. So, you can’t really come for the USA because she wasn’t a country yet. Remember, we didn’t earn our independence until 1776; almost a hundred years later.

Let me set the tone… People didn’t have roads. There were no street lights. If your ass wanted to visit someone, you had to bundle everyone up and take a horse and carriage to visit anyone. Creepy things happened at night. You had diseases and weird shit popping up from the forests. Have you ever visited our woods at night; especially, the Appalachian mountains? I don’t recommend it for the faint of heart. If you’re easily paranoid (like I am), don’t visit the woods. I’m telling you that I’m fully medicated, and I still hear and see shit that is beyond all logic and reason.

What does this boring story have to do with anything?

Once again, The Salem Witch Trials are happening. Everyone is being accused of sexual harassment. Anyone in her path are GUILTY by the court of public opinions. It doesn’t matter which side of the coin you belong to. More and more women are coming out of the woodwork, accusing men of atrocious actions. Do we take their word as gospel? Do we believe them? It MUST be true! We should take her side, no matter what! Yeah, but don’t you remember the Salem Witch Trials? Where a team of young girls accused people of being witches? Nothing bad came from that, right? If the allegations are true, then these people need to stand trial by a jury of our peers. But, it doesn’t matter because that person will be tainted for the rest of their lives. Why is mostly men? I don’t believe for a second that there are women in high positions who are innocent. I’m sure they abused their power as well. Except, men are most likely, never going to report it out of pride. Or, human resources don’t take them seriously. It’s a sad situation all around. Men are less than likely to come forward out of fear, shame, and humiliation. If you’re firing at one side, you need to fire at the other side. Preachers, politicians, directors, actors, and whatever professions are receiving the shots… But, they’re all mostly males?

As for Dan Johnson… If it were me being accused of a crime, I would fight with everything I’ve got to clear my name. He didn’t. People commit suicide for various reasons. This was the same guy who called Michelle and Barack Obama, monkeys. This dude was a bad dude. But he was protected under a religious cloak. He made people nickname him the next “Pope.” He wanted people to call him Pope. Dan Johnson was also a Republican. But in his suicide note, he said he suffered from PTSD because of 9/11. This is the same guy who wanted to strip away healthcare rights; especially, for the mentally ill. So that people like us don’t receive the proper treatment or help that we need. You’d think if you suffered from PTSD, you would champion for our cause. You would help and not hinder us. There should be mental health facilities popping up everywhere and more doctors to treat us. Affordable medications for us so we can live a stable life. But no… He used a serious mental illness to gather sympathy for him.

A lot of men commit suicide because they can’t face their family or their peers for the stuff they’ve done. There are documentaries on why men and women commit suicide (Golden Gate Bridge documentary). Their reasons are vastly different. But… PTSD doesn’t make someone a racist, homophobe, bigot, and an asshole. I can’t use my PTSD to excuse my actions. It doesn’t work that way.

Do I feel sympathy for the Dan Johnson? I can’t defend someone who was blatantly racist, homophobe, and bigot. I feel for his children and grandchildren. They will never understand why their dad or grandpa did what he did. They will never get the respect of the truth from his own mouth. I feel sympathy for the accusers, because they will most likely, never have a jury before their peers. Now they’re demonizing the young women, he molested. “They better charge them!” No, they have a right to a jury before our peers. They will never receive his side of the story, but we can hear their story.

Did you know if you hugged someone who could be considered assault? If you so much as touch someone… That also could be considered assault. Think of all the teachers who hugged us over the years. Think of all the teachers who picked us up off the ground, dusting us off from falling off the swings. Think of all the teachers who grabbed our arms, dragging us to the principal’s office. All of them could be convicted of assault. That’s how crazy it is.

For the women who were violently raped by anyone in a position of power, my heart goes out to them. When you suffer from something like that, your brain shuts down and goes into protective mode. You’re fighting for survival. You don’t think to tell anyone because you want to live. I’ve been there. It may take those women a day or a century… People of power can ruin your lives. No matter what you say, they always have a group, surrounding them to protect them. “This person is a father, a leader, a great person!” I’m sure they are, but they did this! You don’t know what goes on behind closed doors. What we see is nothing compared to what others experienced. We’re telling you this person is not a great dude. We do need to make the accused face trial. How many years? Rape can make a person, weak for decades. It takes away your dignity, self-respect, safety, and a part of your soul. That’s what rape does. It makes you feel dirty and disgusting. And you can’t trust people after rape. You become scared of every little thing. So, you lock yourself up in a house. You make the delivery person leave the pizza at the door. You scrub your skin until it’s raw. And you scream your pain without anyone listening. You check the doors and windows a hundred times a night, convinced someone will break in and do it again. You don’t want to go outside, but you have to because you need groceries. So, you park your car in the front row, or wait until one is open under the cameras and lights. You lock your car door with the keys in one hand and the phone on speed dial in the other. Before you get into your car, you check the backseat because you’re convinced someone is hiding there. That’s what rape does to people. It takes away everything. It shatters you into a million pieces as you hope to glue yourself back together again. So, do I believe them? Without a doubt, I believe them. It takes women many years to come back from the brink of death and despair. And an “I’m sorry for the women who think I did this,” is a blatant slap in our faces. Face your truth. Face your peers. Face a jury. If you want to clear your name, that is what you do. You own it… All of it.

So, don’t tell me that I should have worn this or that. I was in three layers of clothes when I was raped. Don’t tell me I shouldn’t have been there either. I had a right to have fun without worrying about someone raping me. And don’t tell me to get over it. I’ll take as long as I need in order to heal from it. Teach your sons and daughters to keep their hands to themselves. I can’t fire just at the men because women rape, too. Nobody should have their dignity stripped away into nothing. The person I accused also committed suicide. I never saw my justice. So, with my biases, I know what those young girls who accused Dan Johnson are going through.

Life Without A Dad…

There are times when I become so jealous of others who have this wonderful father. I become bitter and angry even. It’s hard to listen to people talk about their dads. It fills me with a sadness and heartache that words can’t begin to express. I even become a little jealous of my kids who are lucky enough to have their dad. He does so many things for them. It just gets hard sometimes to watch. Like why couldn’t my dad be like him? What did I do wrong as a kid? Why did he leave? Why do others get a dad, and I’m stuck with nothing.

I don’t know if it would be worse if he was dead. Sometimes, it feels like he’s dead. The “good father” died a long time ago. But, my dad is still alive. He just chooses not to acknowledge me. He discarded my siblings and me because it became “too hard” for him to live with his guilty conscience. The shit he did to us, left us with holes in our hearts. My older siblings still are dealing with his abandonment today. Each one have their own set of issues, besides myself. It’s cruel to do that to a kid.

I couldn’t count how many times he canceled because of “work.” We’d sit up all hours, waiting for him to come. He’d never come. How many sport events, musicals, or events he was supposed to be there, but he never showed up. We would give him advanced notice, but he still wouldn’t come. It hurts. The man I grew up with was an angel and a demon. I remember more abuse than the good times.

This is true in my second book. The part where Rosalie looks out a window, and she sees a father and daughter bonding together… That was me as a little girl. I’d watch my best friends have these relationships with their fathers. They would laugh and play with each other. I remember this sock hop we went to for Girl Scout’s. All the fathers were there, dancing with their daughters. Where was mine? I don’t know. He was gone by that point. The father dressed up like John Travolta from Grease, and he looked the part. The girl and the father danced the night away. They were laughing and having fun. I remember feeling so alone, lost, and jealous of the girl. So many father-daughter things were required from the clubs or schools, and I couldn’t attend. If I did attend, my brothers or uncles would step in.

I was lucky that my brothers, who are older than me, stepped in. Mainly, the oldest brother. My Uncle Larry bought my sixteenth birthday cake. My Uncle George taught me about politics and religion. To think and ask questions. And how to play games like Monopoly, poker, and Scrabble. To think! Uncle George often corrected my speech and papers for English. Even today, I still struggle. He taught me how to fish the correct way. How to bait a hook. Even with all of that, it still didn’t feel the hole. That pain in my heart never left.

My dad, when he would come over for visits, was a very intimidating man. I would stress out when he’d come over. Then, my mom would have to deal with my wrath after he visited. I was a very angry and upset little girl for the longest time. Why did he do the things he did? Why? I’m supposed to be your child! How could you? How could you do that to my siblings? What did we do to you? Why were you such a damn monster? Why did you turn into that hideous beast, we were so scared of? I still suffer from nightmares today. I can’t make those go away. If I think about him, I’ll have another nasty nightmare. One where he tries to kill me. But he did threaten to kill us. That’s the scary part of it all.

I can’t bond with him now. I won’t let my kids visit him. They’re better off without him in their lives. They know he will make promises and break them. They don’t even know him at all. My oldest son is almost 12. He’s only seen my dad maybe 3 times in his life. And that’s when my oldest son was still a baby. My daughter has never officially met him either. He was there when she was born, but he hasn’t seen her since. It’s been 5 years since my dad’s last visit. They just assumed he’s dead. That’s sad. Even though my father isn’t the same father as he was 20+ years ago, there’s still a huge part of me that doesn’t trust him. I don’t trust anything he has to say. I don’t care what he has to say. Yes, he’s apologized… But, I still have nightmares from 20 years ago. A grown woman, still hiding from him.

I won’t let my children be alone with him. I don’t trust him. I don’t believe him. Actions speak louder than words. And his prior actions tell me to protect my children at all costs. You don’t leave the sheep alone with a wolf. My children are my world. Even in my most manic states, I always protect them first. That’s what you do when you’re a mother. Even if it’s from yourself.

But there are reasons why I’m glad I didn’t have my father.

  1. I didn’t have someone yelling about my clothing or makeup choices.
  2. I didn’t have to bring a date around to meet my father.
  3. I didn’t have to worry about being perfect all the time.
  4. I didn’t have to listen to his insane religious rants.
  5. I didn’t have to worry about being beat to death.
  6. I didn’t have to listen to his insane political rants.
  7. And I didn’t have my head filled with lies about people, whether we are different gender, sexuality, race, religion, or political affiliation.


My father wasn’t the best dad to have. But in other ways, I’m glad I did have him. Why? Because he taught me what kind of man to look out for to avoid.

As for my children, their father (my husband) is beyond excellent. He has compassion, love, and empathy. He hugs and kisses our children at night. He reads them a bedtime story. My dad never did that. He plays video games and board games for hours with our children. My husband keeps my children and myself safe at night. And I’m lucky enough to have someone who is willing to deal with the damage my father left behind. Even my husband wants to throttle the man who abandoned and abused me.

My mom asked me a question… “Are you going to show up for your father’s funeral?” The answer is no. I’m not interested in anything he has to offer. I’m not interested with being forced to the back row by my wicked step-witch. I’m not interested with my witnessing my name or my siblings’ name purposely left off the flyers as his children. My dad was evil, but my stepmom is much, much worse. She continues to be a liar and master manipulator. I don’t care about his money. I just don’t care for the man, I know nothing about. We’re complete strangers, and I’d like to keep it that way. My real dad died many years ago. The man that he was, died a long time ago. I grieved over that man. Not this man. This man is still evil, and I’m still afraid of him. He can say that he found God all he wants, but I don’t want any part of his God. That religious manipulation did me in. The way his family cornered my sister for a damn exorcism… I’ve never forgotten that. She was scared, terrified, and upset. You don’t do that to people with mental illnesses. You don’t lie and tell them they are possessed by demons. The demons he created himself.


Kicked Around The Field

Social Anxiety, Borderline, and Bipolar can be a bitch. As soon as you get a whiff of disgruntled people, you’re out of there. I’ve been on an emotional roller coaster ride for the last two weeks. Today, I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. That “mixed” state along with the ability to open my hands due to arthritis. My hands swelled, and I couldn’t open them until today. Like someone poured hot lava into my hands. Working 70 hrs a week, just isn’t for me. I’m a needy bitch. That’s Borderline for you. I can’t go a day without seeing my husband and kids.

I’d travel two hours to work and two hours home. I’d also work a 10 hour shift every day. I had to leave for my sanity. It would be different if the warehouse was in town, but it wasn’t. I don’t like being stuck in a car for four hours. I just don’t. I get chills, I can’t breathe, I clutch the door, and it’s just a mess. I can’t relax in a car. I just can’t. I don’t enjoy being on the interstate at all. When my husband said, “You’ll have to drive it.” I freaked the fuck out. I just couldn’t do it. So, I left that temporary job. I had to go. I couldn’t take it anymore. I spent the last three days asleep. I couldn’t keep my eyes open longer than a minute. So, eyeing the computer screen to write anything, just wasn’t working for me.

Tonight, my daughter crawled in bed next to me. Her little hand laid on my arm while she was sleeping. It’s a way to make sure she feels secure. I do that with my husband when he’s off work. And I see so much of me coming out in her. It’s scary. She needs to feel constantly secure as of late. I stay by her and rub her back. She’s only five, but she’s really tiny, and she’s the youngest of the four children. The only girl I will ever have. Most of the time, she’s exceptionally confident. Samara can be emotional. Really emotional. I get her. I understand her. I have to calmly tell her everything is going to be okay. I tuck my demons away to deal with hers. It’s a weird switch that turns on. Even when I’m depressed, I can tuck it away and perform the role of mother.

Another thing I wanted to point out… Don’t skip on your medication. That’s why I feel so mixed tonight. I forgot to take my medication. I took it just now. “Dammit! I forgot to take them again!” I think I’m going to buy those reminder lids from CVS. It tells you the last time you opened your bottles of medication.

The little things are bugging me as of late. Like, I don’t enjoy people of authority making jokes about “crazy” people. It doesn’t sit well with me. It becomes a teachable moment. I have Bipolar, Borderline, and Anxiety. I naturally attract others with the same disorders. That’s a given. I’m constantly defending others in front of management. I tell them, “You don’t understand what you don’t have. And it isn’t cool to make fun of us ‘crazy’ people.” And I don’t understand how someone could  be a feminist but make a video about “licking the windows” as if it’s a big joke. You either are for all aspects of minority, or you aren’t. I don’t get how one can be so damn hypocritical. Don’t joke what you preach against. It makes everything you rally for a lie. And wow! We have a makeup palette that continues to further making Bipolar a huge fucking joke. “Depresso.” What an assholy eye shadow palette. Maybe it’s just where I’m in a low moment. This time of year, I’m always down in the dumps or depressed. I loathe Christmas. I want to throat punch Frosty and Santa by the time December ends. And I can deal with some movies from the Hallmark Channel, but after a while, I want to scream. Where’s the darkness? Where’s the evil side of things? I give my husband “the look” when he turns that damn channel on. While he’s at work, I’m turning it to Destination America or the Travel Channel. I’m interested in Andrew eating gross shit. I love hearing ghost stories. I’m so intrigued with death, it’s bizarre. I’m morbid.

If you know your kids are getting scratches from some unforeseen force, why stay there? You wouldn’t allow a person to hurt your kids. Why let some ghost/demon scratch your kids? I don’t get it. I don’t care if it’s my castle in the sky. If that fucker is haunted, I’m out of there. Which brings up another thing… Even though I’m fully medicated now, I still see shit that isn’t here. I still hear voices that aren’t here. I watched a woman walk into my old job and stand there in the aisle. The problem… she’s dead. How do you know if they’re dead? They glow in a blue or white color. I’ve seen some wicked and cool shit. I’m still wondering if it’s still a part of Bipolar. But when you have someone say, “I see her too,” and you know they don’t have Bipolar… I’m just saying. I’ve seen some wicked shit that my sister and nieces have also seen. My husband has heard footsteps and even he tells me, “I believe you.” It can’t all be part of Bipolar, can it? I don’t think it’s all a lie. I don’t believe my brain is playing a cruel joke on me. Now others are seeing what I’m seeing. And do you ever get a bad vibe about a person? Like there’s something “off” about them that your head is telling you to stay away from them? I get that with certain people from time to time. Not all, but a lot of people.

Meh… Maybe they just need to up my meds… I do see auras, I do have premonitions, and I can’t go into old houses/places full of history. I can hear the past and see it. It makes me want to stay in my house and hide. It gives me too much anxiety.


New Job?

Anyone love AC/DC? Malcolm Young died today. The co-founder to AC/DC. Thoughts and love goes out to Angus Young and Malcolm’s family. Another crushing blow to rock. Tom Petty died last month.

Today is Saturday and my only day off. What have I done? Sleep! I now work for a warehouse. This is something I’m used to doing. I’ve worked at another warehouse for 8 years. So, this is like going home for me. They have the same concepts as the other one. Both are for major online companies which I’ll leave their names out.

First, a customer orders something online. You find clothing, makeup, jewelry, game systems, coffee, or what have you. Well, as soon as your payment clear, it goes into this magical bucket in online space. The order drops into what we call an order picker’s scanner, and that picker picks that item for you. A picker’s rate can be anywhere from 120 items an hour to 250 items an hour, depending on which company they work for. Some warehouses are hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter. But if you’re picking, you don’t notice it at all. You’re always on the move. After the picker picks that order, it either goes on a cart sectioned off in bins or a tote. Most of the time, that order goes in a tote. Then the tote goes on a large conveyor belt. Now if you suffer from Bipolar, this is a job for you. It kills two birds with one stone. It keeps your mind busy, and you get to shop until you drop. I LOVE picking items. I find it a challenge. But I forgot to tell you that you walk at least 20 miles a day. That’s the downfall to picking. Your feet will be sore as fuck. Your legs will hurt. You will be tired and exhausted. Good for people who have anxiety as well. You’ll be so tired that you can’t think of anything. I’ve had blisters on my feet. Eventually, your feet will become used to it. I suggest getting a pair of good running/walking shoes and cotton socks. Compression socks if you have arthritis.

When the tote/cart comes down, it goes to an order packer or sorter. From there the order goes into cubicles and we wait to pack it out until the other items join that one item. Normally, it’s a single item and we put it in boxes or plastic bags. After we package the order, we put on another belt that goes through a tape machine or the shipping label is slapped on the plastic bag/box. Then it goes down another belt, where it’s sorted by date it’s due out. Then the  order goes on a semi-truck for delivery.

Where am I at? Since I reign supreme, I’m what they call a “problem solver.” This means that there was a problem with the customer’s order. I go in and fix the problem and find the missing pieces to your order. I can do it all. I’m a jack-of-all trades. I can pick, pack, and ship. So, they put me there. Time is money, and I’m sure you as a customer wants your order on time. There are times where we had to send part of the order out and notify the customer that the other part of their order had to be canceled or diverted to another warehouse if we don’t have that item. The customer gets a refund for their missing item or waits.

I can move really fast. Here’s the thing about picking. Normally it’s one floor, but other companies use 3 to 4 floors. Those floors start either in numerical or alphabetical order. Great for people who suffer from OCD. It’s in order. The picking area looks like a football field with floors stacked on top of floors. If you’re afraid of heights, not a good place to work. I’m terrified of heights, but I focus my mind on the customer and their order to combat it. Like I’ve said, it’s a LOT of walking. And you can’t go slow either. Time is money. People paid a lot of money for their order. They want it to be correct. It looks like you’re working for an over-sized library. I scan the item out of bins where items are stored based on numerical/alphabetical bins. It’s a holding area for popular items.

Well, you don’t need a gym membership if you’re a picker. You go in overweight, six months later, you come out skinny. You’re always walking. You can’t sit on the floor because it’s a safety issue. Others will run your ass over. You have to move really fast.

The warehouse I’m working at, I can take my headset and listen to music. I’m jamming out and picking away when I’m solving problems for orders. I move up and down all four floors for that order. I’m like a junkyard dog. Remember, I used to pick over 2000 items in one day. I still have it in me. I can do circles around pickers. That isn’t me being arrogant, that’s just me being an asshole picker. I want to make sure that customer gets their order on time. I have no time for bullshit or talking. Also at this warehouse, we have heat in the winter and air conditioning during the summer. I love this job so far. It keeps my mind busy. I don’t have a million thoughts running wild. When I get home, all I want to do is sleep because my mind stayed so focused on the job itself. I’m awake for five minutes and then I drop. I’m out until the next day. Of course, I shower. But man, the sweat stuck to my body is disgusting. I’ve already dropped another 10 pounds. I have enough time to eat and sleep. I never eat at work because it’ll make me sick. I drink plenty of water. They always have water tanks in the pick aisles with ice-cold water. It’s all fresh water, not tap water.

We are in peak season. I’m ready to bust it out. We are working 50 hours a week, but I’m working 60 hours a week. I love it! I’m already in OT by the time I hit Thursday. We’ll eventually go up to 70 hours a week after Thanksgiving. We don’t have Thanksgiving off this year. We do have Christmas off. It’s time and a half for Thanksgiving.

As for my pain, since I have psoriatic arthritis, I tune it out. I turn into a different person once I hit the floor. It’s so weird. It’s like I flip my hat on backwards and become a vulture. Thirsty to solve problems and help customers with their orders. I never see the customer because they order online, but I enjoy making sure they have what they ordered on time. I may feel sore, tired, and feel like I ran a marathon, but I love it! Like really love it. My stomach is tightening up along with my arms. Let that weight fall off my body. Others are saying that I move too fast. I don’t care. I’m losing weight and getting paid to do it. I started out at 267 pounds. I need to lose half of me. I’ll let you know how much I’ve dropped in a few months. It’s my elliptical, treadmill, and weight machines all rolled into one job. And the runner’s squirts do exist. It lasts for a couple of days. Drink plenty of water and eat bananas to combat this.

My mind and body benefits from warehouse work. Shop until  you drop! Run for your money! 😉 And I’m getting paid a lot more money than the previous warehouse. Even as a production lead, I’m still getting paid twice as much as I used to make at another warehouse. And as for my plaque lesions? They are disappearing quickly. They’re off my hands now. And the ones on my knees are disappearing. It’s like my body is repairing itself from the exercise, I’m doing. I probably weigh less than 267 pounds. That was my last check-in in the beginning of October. I have no idea how much I weigh now. My husband said that my face is slimming down again along with my stomach. And my thighs are firming up. Remember, you gain weight from muscles before you lose the fat. I feel more muscular than flabby at this point. It’s going to take a while for the rest to drop. It won’t be an overnight fix. This is what depression is like. It makes you not want to do anything. I love the way my body is starting to take shape. I’m starting to get a thigh gap. It’s awesome! When your panties start falling off your ass, it’s time to go shopping.

One more thing, you can wear capris, shorts, or jeans. You can wear tanks as long as it’s an inch wide. So far, I’m soaking my shirts. Since it’s wintertime, I’m doubling my shirts. I’m bringing in the money, and my kids are adding to their Christmas lists.

Borderline Setback…

In case you’re wondering, I suffer from a healthy variety of mental and physical illnesses. When you say Borderline, people think you have DID or dissociative identity disorder. Nope! Not even close. It doesn’t mean tomorrow, I’ll become a completely different person or an alter. It is also a very critical mental illness. The only movie I think that comes close to borderline are Girl, Interrupted and possibly Gothika. It really isn’t that accurate of a portrayal. I don’t know, I’m flip-flopping today.

When you say mental illnesses, they think “future serial killer” or “killer.” Or they think you lick the walls or windows all day with no mind. As soon as you mention, “I have a mental illness,” people are either supportive, or they want to get as far away from you as they possibly can. Or… the third option; especially, with my dad’s side of the family and my dad… They believe you are plagued by demons. It really isn’t a brain malfunction. You need to be exorcised and that will cure you. My older sister and brother also suffer from Bipolar. Only one of them is diagnosed, the other is in denial. But anyway, my dad and his family literally tried to have an exorcism performed of my sister at a funeral. They cornered her, suffocating her while quoting biblical scriptures. To many, this would be funny. And even I admit that it was a little funny. But when my sister started crying and asking for help, I got her out of there. She was really upset. She’s older than me by 7 years. She has the mind of a 16-year-old, where my dad beat the shit out of her. Her mind isn’t all there. She’s slowly coming out of it. But my husband and I got her out of there.

If you’re religious, don’t do that to someone who is mentally ill. You’re not helping us. I appreciate your prayers, but I’m not possessed and neither are my siblings. The torture that our dad did to us as kids and the genetic disposition, did us all in. 3 of us have Bipolar. It isn’t the end of the world, but it’s a battle against the ignorant. I’m not possessed by any demons. I’m not an evil person. I can’t even kill a bug without feeling guilty. I’m more of a danger to myself than others. Like Pink’s song. “Don’t let me get me.” That’s me. I’m a hazard to myself. Aaand I have kids! 4 of them. How are my kids doing?

Well, my kids are doing great despite having a “crazy” mother. They keep me afloat. They keep me going, and they inspire me. They are better human beings than most people I know. They are extremely sympathetic, loving, loyal, and awesome people. I never did great in school. I’m a flunky to be honest. My oldest son is being tested in the “gifted” program for social studies because of his grades. He almost made the honor roll, but he scored a C+. He was a few points off from the honor roll. Our second son is finally on the honor roll. This is the kid with social anxiety. When the teacher told me he’s coming out of his shell, and he’s doing beautifully. When she told me that, I cried. I worry about my kids all the time. I literally balled like a baby. My youngest son has scored high in every category at school. They don’t have grades until next year. I fell to my knees. These are my kids! They come from this crazy ass. And for Halloween, my daughter seems to catch every crack in the pavement. My oldest son held hands with his baby sister to make sure she didn’t trip over her feet again. I teared up. I didn’t think I could create a beautiful human, let alone 4 of them. As for my daughter, we are complete opposites. She is beautiful and somewhat graceful when she isn’t stumbling over her feet. They all use their manners. People were shocked that my daughter was already saying words like, “I’m perfect, I’m fabulous, I’m amazing.” I build her up as much as I can. I know what it’s like to have someone beat you down into dust. She looks in the mirror and says, “I’m so pretty and beautiful.” She can run in toy heels. I can’t wear heels at all. She’s all about makeup and dresses. She’s all about dolls. Hair, nails, and makeup. We are total opposites. But I can respect our differences. She’s an amazing little girl. And she is the most social human being, I’ve ever met. She’s always happy.

As for me, I resigned from my job for another high-paying job. When you tell me that my job comes before my health, I have to leave you with your ignorance. Never ever tell someone that shit. I value my health because if I’m not well, I can’t be around for my kids and husband. They mean the world to me. Your “heart” model isn’t working for your workers. That isn’t a company I want to work for. When you put an employee’s physical and mental health on the back burner, you shouldn’t be in business. And I don’t enjoy working for a micro managed company. When someone sits behind a desk and dictates what each store should do, when they’re not in the first line of attack. Sorry, not a job for me. I found a job that’s double the pay and a whole lot less stress. When you fail to treat people like humans, there’s a problem.

No, I won’t reschedule my doctor’s appointments.

No, I won’t reschedule my psychologist and therapist’s appointments for you.

No, you don’t tell me what I should do. You ask me if I can do it. I’m not a child. I’m a grown woman with four kids and a husband.

If you can’t be honest with me upfront, I will NOT work for you.


No amount of money is worth jeopardizing my mental or physical health. I’ve done those jobs. I won’t do it again. Because at the end of the day, I have four kids who need me. Me being dead would destroy my kids. You try explaining to them why you think my mental and physical health isn’t important. They will hate you for taking their mother away from them.

Luckily, I found a much better company to work for, better pay, and less stress. Just to be clear, it wasn’t Jeff that was the problem. His underlings were the problem. They are getting ready to back-stab him soon. They are trying to get him fired. I feel for Jeff. Fuck people like that. And there are catty people in every job. Not just the one I experienced for three months.

One more thing, sexism is real. The guy that got hired the same time as me was making more money for the same experience. What’s up with that shit? Because of my gender, I was paid less than him. That’s bullshit. I was oblivious! Not anymore. We need equal pay for equal experience. If you are wanting to pay me less for my gender, fuck you.


That’s what I feel right now. Suffocated. I have ideas for manuscripts or books that I should be writing. I also have books that I should be reviewing. “You can’t write a book unless you read a book.” Good idea! But how many books should you read? How does Stephen King write so many books in a year? In his Goodreads, he doesn’t seem to be reading a lot of books, if many at all. Is there a certain amount of books that one has to read in order to write a book? That question lingers on in my mind. Probably a stupid question, but a question that’s plaguing me. I’ve read 66 books so far for 2017. I still feel like a slacker. I had the overly ambitious goal of reading 150 books this year with no DNF. Well, I DNF’D two books so far. Those goals are blown.

How do those goals make me feel now that I failed them? It makes me feel like a sack of shit. Like I haven’t accomplished anything. A Borderline trait. A Bipolar trait to have unrealistic goals. I hate them both. Now it’s November, and I’m panicking. Anxiety trait there. I’m trying to accomplish everything and nothing is working in my favor. I’m way behind, and I know it. I’m trying to be a great mother, wife, writer, reader, and content editor. Not to mention, I’m trying to be the best night shift supervisor in retail outside the home. I feel like the dam is about to break soon. I don’t have time for a mental breakdown. I seriously don’t. The problem is lack of sleep. Some days are better than others. Some days, I’m wide awake and nothing helps. Not even the Depakote. I have a therapy appointment coming up soon. I need it! A lifetime of therapy is what I need.

I did well this week so far. I still have this tiny bit of doubt that I could do better. I guess I’m expecting to wear my super cape and do it all. I took the kids Trick-or-Treating last night before work. My legs throbbed at work of course. We walked for a few miles last night. The kids were happy and scored enough candy to last them until next Halloween. At work, we had to take down Halloween and put up Christmas. That lasted all night long. It kept me occupied and my brain from bouncing off the walls. As long as I keep my brain occupied, I’m okay. It’s when I sit down and reflect, when the trouble begins. A brain that runs non-stop and a mile a minute. I curled up next to my husband after we took the kids trick or treating. I didn’t want to go into work. I wanted to stay home, curled up next to him. We watch the Hallmark Channel around this time of year. Corny Christmas stories, but my husband loves this holiday. I’m coming around and warming up to it. I still don’t care for Christmas as much as I love Halloween.

The stack of books keep on growing. I have Angie Thomas’s new novel, “The Hate U Give.” I also have Jane Austen’s books ready to read. I’m actually reading “Sense and Sensibility.” I finished reading Voyager and Little Women. I loved Little Women, and hated Voyager. Lithium… Lithium has been around for a long time. It’s one of the most trusted and tried medications. The author neglected to mention Lithium. It was around in 1968. It’s still around today. Just the blatant disregard for the mentally ill, ticked me off. “Oh, there’s nothing we can do!” Like, who gives a fuck about you! Maybe, I’m being callous but that’s the way she made me felt. And if I read one more, “The Chinaman,” I was going to scream. I have no intentions on finishing the series after Voyager now. If I do, it will be at the bottom of the pile along with Fifty Shades. I’ll finish them way in the future, but not now. Not with that many better books coming out.

I chose to participate in NaNoWriMo. It stands for National Novel Writing Month. It starts every November. As a writer, it is my goal to meet 1,667 words a day to make a total of 50,000 words. Well, I met the goal today at 1,723 words. It is a first rough draft and it looks ugly. I’m battling my OCD with wanting to correct every line. It’s a mess, and I hate it. This novel is a stand alone. It will include mental health because that’s my permanent platform. At least one of my main characters from every manuscript will have a mental illness of some sort. Whether it’s my own or someone else’s. Since I have a lot of “issues,” it will most likely take after my issues.

The brain is a fragile thing. The way it responds to trauma. It’s a major organ that sometimes it just doesn’t work well. Like if your blood doesn’t make the proper white or red blood cells. The way a tumor can grow in any part of the human body. The way a pancreas can not make the proper insulin in a body. The brain can malfunction as well. No part of the body is immune. We would like to believe we are invincible, but we aren’t. We are human, and we’re only here for a very short time on earth. When something eats at me, it’s hard to let it go. Classic borderline trait. I’m like a Pit Bull. I lock my jaws on it and refuse to let go. I’ll shake it and shake it until it’s dead. With the last incident, I manged to let it go a lot sooner than what I thought I’d do. I’m making progress. Normally, it used to take me weeks or a month to let something go. I managed to do it in a day. That’s a huge step forward. I’ve learned that I can give people second chances. That’s hard to do. Especially, for someone with Borderline. I used to shut them down and did whatever I had to do, to get them away from me. It’s trying to keep that rage under control. To keep my mouth closed when it wants to fly open.

As for the Bipolar side of things, I need to work harder at making my goals smaller and more achievable. And to save money. I want to shower people with gifts. Stop that! I’m working on it. Maybe not try to read 150 books in one year? Maybe let’s try 10 books a year? Something small and not extreme. But I love books! I want all of them! Okay, I’m obsessed with books. I think owning 300 books a bit too much now that I look at my shelves. A lot of them, I haven’t read yet. So, the only books I’ll buy are the ones I’ve already reviewed for the year. No more new books until I’ve read all the ones on my shelf. This month, I’m working on Jane Austen’s novels and the Bronte sisters. Hopefully, I can read Agatha Christie novels by the end of this month. I’m on page 20 of Sense and Sensibility. So far, I don’t like Fanny. She seems like a real witch with a b. It’s just the beginning. My opinion of her may change later on in the story. Does she improve? It reads like I’m sitting down in a room, listening to women gossip about people. That’s my impression of Sense and Sensibility. Maybe it’s just me?

As for Depakote, I need to talk to my psychologist. It’s out of the neurologist’s hands. I think I’ve lost more weight, but I’m not sure. I’m taking my Ferrous Sulfate for the low red blood cells. Hopefully, that gets rid of the dark circles under my eyes. I feel better physically. Mentally, I need to stop freaking out. If I read 75 books at the end of the year, good. If I don’t, then I need to let it go. I read 66 more books than most people. Not a lot of people read books these days. I read 25 books last year. I doubled last year’s goal. That is something I should be proud of now. I hope I can not freak out if I don’t meet my goals.

Dr. Evil Migraine

Oh! It was worse this time. I took my Depakote like I normally do. Yesterday, or in my case, last night, I was so sick. It started at the front of my head, down the left side, and down my neck. Then I had a separate headache on the right side and in the back of my head. I stood up, but staggered around like I was drunk. I was a mess. I couldn’t see anything because it went blurry. And the other thing is that I couldn’t deal with lights at all.

I dimmed everything down. I had to lay down last night. But the nausea kept me in the bathroom. I cried. It didn’t want to end. I took Tylenol and that helped some, but it was still ongoing.

I know I took my medicine yesterday. I took my Depakote today. My neurologist told me to call if it gets worse. Well, I just called a few minutes ago. I don’t know what happened. I have been trying to slowly wean myself off of caffeine. Maybe that had something to do with it. But I had caffeine yesterday. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to keep me from dying.

This migraine took me by surprise. Stress? I wasn’t stressed out. Any change in diet? Nope! All the same. What about PMS? I’m at the end of it. If there would be anytime to hit me with a migraine, it would be at the beginning of my cycle. Maybe I’m wrong. I slept well. I just woke up with a nasty migraine. It feels like someone took a hammer to my head and smashed it a dozen times.

I’m still going through it, but at least I can type and read now. I don’t trust my driving still. I had to call in last night. I was that sick. I’m almost over it, but it still feels like it’s there. If that makes any sense. Like any minute, it’ll flare up again. Ugh!

Bipolar is in check.

Borderline is in check.

Anxiety is not in check. I’m worried about the damn migraine from hell. Will it end? Will it stop? What if my brain blows up? Stuff like that. Let’s be a broken record of worries, shall we? What if they didn’t catch it? What if I have a brain aneurysm? It’s a tumor! Yep… I hate you, Anxiety because you’re a nasty, evil bitch.

“Stop obsessing!” I can’t help it! That’s why I’m in therapy. That and other major issues.

Family & Friends

I explained the entire situation to my family and friends yesterday. Well… They wanted to stomp some ass for me. I’m sitting here thinking, “No, no! Don’t do that!” and “Let it go.” Here, I’m the one in therapy. Now for the complete situation since my head is cool.

I was told to call a company that I used to work for this past Friday. I still have that message on my phone. When I called them yesterday, they told me I was ineligible to return to that job. After they emailed me and after they left a message on my phone, stating that I could return. How was I ineligible? Why did I leave in the first place? I left because I was pregnant with my daughter over five years ago. I DID leave them a note, stating that I had to quit due to a high risk pregnancy. It wasn’t the type of job most women could work while pregnant. The fumes alone are too dangerous for a pregnant woman and her unborn baby. So, I gave a two-week notice. Well, the person I gave the notice to decided not to inform anyone. He told me he did. I took his word for it. Stupid me. I never had a quality, productivity, or safety issue with this company. I was at work on time, came early, and stayed late. I’m on a lifetime ban from this company for being a no-call, no-show. Even though this is a “no fault” state. Even though their headquarters don’t do lifetime bans on no-call, no-show. It’s just this one office that institutes a lifetime ban.

I was really nice until the guy called me a liar on the phone. I kept my cool until then. Then, I lost my shit. Now I’m definitely on a lifetime ban. I was furious at the time. A judgment of error on my part.

My family wanted to rush over there and defend me. It’s okay. I shouldn’t have lost my cool in the first place. It’s over now, and it’s time to move on. It isn’t like I don’t have a job. I’m still a night shift supervisor. I still deal with people. I’m going to be okay. I appreciate all my family members and hubby for worrying about me. I think they need the therapy more than me. Ha ha! But, I’m going to be okay. I have another therapy appointment on November 12th. Things I could have said. “I’m really upset right now, and I’ll call back at a later date.” When you’re in the heat of the moment, you don’t think things through. At least in my case, I didn’t think things through.

If the company is that badly mishandled, why would I want to work for them? I’m not the only person they did this to either. It isn’t the end of the world. And I really enjoy the job I have now.

The goals for therapy. 1. Continue to work on BPD. 2. Work on Anxiety. 3. Learn other techniques to handle stress. 4. Keep working on my mood charts. 5. Talk about other medications.

Eat and take medications before entering an intense conversation. It was too much for me to handle.