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.


It’s amazing what working on a book will do to clear the mind. I looked at my second main character and thought to myself, “She’s so much like me. A reactionary. Act now and think later.” That’s what I did. The medicine has finally worked its way through my system. I’m back to the normal level I’m supposed to be at. Now the trick is to keep Borderline at bay. When things don’t go my way, I stew on it forever. I obsess about it forever. Well, not today. I won’t give it the power today.

I’m going to take this as a teachable moment. 1. Take my medicine before talking to others. 2. Don’t let it bother me. 3. I was already cranky when I woke up. Due to a husband who stayed up all night long. Not an annoying stay up all night. He was working on his train puzzle while listening to YouTube Model Railroaders. 4. I had to find my son’s shoes. 5. I didn’t eat.

This is my teachable moment. I went to my place of calm and solitude… My books. My place to escape reality. I watched a younger version of me reappear. “Oh, girl… You’re a mess!” I remember those feelings. The need to scream. The need to choose colorful words to get my point across.

What happens with Borderline is that you get so angry and filled full of rage. Then you blow up like a hot air balloon. Anyone in the path will get hit. Not with fists, but with words. A colorful vocabulary of words. And then… The guilt. The guilt that leads into instant depression. But not today. Depakote finally cycled its way through, and I feel drained. Like I don’t have a care in the world. That’s how relaxed I am. My husband is walking on eggshells. He’s waiting for the dam to break. Nope! Not today! I’m laughing for a change. TooWanda! I probably spelled that wrong. Remember “Fried Green Tomatoes?” I love that movie. When she crushed that car in front of her. That satisfying moment of release. I’m fine now. I’m in fact, laughing. There is probably a TooWanda in all of us. Some are just more vocal than others.

I still have a job. It isn’t the end of the world. Normally, it would feel like the end of the world. That “I’m worthless” feeling. Nope! Not today! I’m laughing at myself. At how irrational I was. How stupid I was. Let it go and move forward. I found comfort in my fantasy world and in the arms of my characters. I think I know which character to give my Borderline to now. Should it be this character or that character? Nah… This one nails it to a T. She’s getting it. I love her to pieces.

You can always bounce back from a bad morning. It doesn’t mean the rest of  your day is going to be total shit.

Bad Day, Again…

Not a fuck you to anyone reading this. But a fuck you to a company that don’t live up to their end of the deal. I rambled on like a lunatic at 8 am this morning to a moron who didn’t understand his contract with a huge company. I tried to get a job that pays a hell of a lot more money than what I make now. Well, egg on my face. They left me an email, stating that I was eligible. They even called me to come in for the next stage of testing. Well, egg on my face. I called them to set up the next stage of testing. But this time, they told me that I was ineligible. All I saw was red. Like my main character, Jeannie sees in book 3. The walls were red, hubby turned red, and the floor was red.

Insert foot into mouth. I was mad, really mad. Why bother leaving me an email or a phone call, telling me I was eligible? And my temper flared. For the first time in months, my temper came out of hiding. I thought I had Borderline Personality Disorder under control. Nope! My husband sat there with his jaw open as a string of colorful words escaped my mouth. I was hot! Red hot! It made me even more upset when the man on the phone refused to listen to me. I had to get my point across.

We can chalk this down to a bad learning experience. We can blame this on my Scottish/Irish/British/German/Czech/Cherokee heritage. We can blame this on Borderline. You lose your temper and then the tears come because you just fucked yourself. I was ready to fight. I was that mad. Well, I don’t think I play nice with others at this point. I should go live out on a mountain and be Grizzly Bear Adams. We can blame it on the fact that I didn’t take my medicines yet.

I don’t like it when people tell me, “You’re eligible,” and then three days later, “You’re ineligible.” You were surfing on this high that felt so damn good, only to be flattened like a pancake. More like steam rolled into the concrete. It made me that upset, and that pissed. My kids were at school when this transpired. My husband heard it all. He was shocked to say in the least. I went so many months keeping cool and calm, only to lose my shit in five minutes. Well, I won’t be getting that job now. Good job, Jen. Good. Take a bow for losing your temper. It’s probably a good thing that I didn’t get that job anyway. I’ll just continue to be a pauper and insignificant. That’s the way I feel. It hurts. “You’re not good enough.” You bust your ass off at a dead-end job, and nothing works the way you want it to go. You don’t feel like doing anything now. Depakote or not, it’s a crushing blow to the ego and your heart.

We can blame PMS, too. Not a time to fuck with me at all. It’s gross, and I hate that part of being a woman. I think after you finish having children, that part should go away for good. Like you’re given an option. 1. Do you want to continue to bleed to death? 2. Do you want it to go away? I’ll take number 2.

And do you realize, I hate it when people snap their fingers at me? This happened the other night at work. That’s where the “pauper” inspiration came from. Snap your fingers at me again, mofo! “Your temper, Jen.” Ugh! Maybe I do need to be locked away for good. Stay in a hole somewhere, strapped to a gurney with limitless medications. That’s what I feel.

And to top it all off, I’m pre-menopausal. I get hot and cold in one day. I’m sticking my head in the freezer one minute, and freezing to death the next. And now I’m up to 2 periods a month. I’m a raving bitch at this point. I can’t stand myself. I have 3 blankets. I’m elbowing my husband to move over in bed. I’m not handling this stage of my life well. I want to cry and scream at the same time. Depakote doesn’t do shit for that. I thought of shaving my head again. I’m having a bad day. You can probably tell by this post that the medicine hasn’t worked through my system. I better call the doc to up it. 500 mg just isn’t working.

Lab Results…

Anemia, again? My red blood cells are a bit low. No need for blood. It’s normal for me due to suffering from psoriatic arthritis. All the other numbers look great except for my low red blood cells. The medication didn’t cause this. I was already like this. I do feel a bit sluggish, but overall, I feel great. So, I’m supposed to be taking an iron supplement, and I haven’t done it in a while. The pharmacy sells Ferrous Sulfate to combat this. I’m supposed to be taking 2 of them a day, 325 mg. It seems like a lot of iron. I’ve always been anemic. That’s happened all my life. It should have been the first red flag for autoimmune diseases.

So no, Depakote is innocent this time. I can still take it. I just need to take Ferrous Sulfate now with it. You may have heard of Hemolytic Anemia. It’s one of my smaller autoimmune diseases that I have. We’re trying to prevent a blood transfusion. People can have it for years without knowing about it if it’s minor enough. This is my baby autoimmune that creeps up from time to time. It doesn’t control my life, like psoriatic arthritis can. Many have it a lot worse than me. Mine is minor compared to theirs. So, I’ll take the Ferrous Sulfate today. If I need a transfusion, I’ll have one. They recommended for me to check with my PCP first. So, another blood draw. UGH!