I had therapy today and of course the topic was my manic episode. Apparently while bi-polar depression most commonly appears in early adulthood, it can show up at any age. I am still hoping for an isolated incident but I’m told that 90% of people who have an episode will have repeat episodes. However, apparently they aren’t all that common. He said that if you had four episodes a year it was considered rapid cycling. So that’s not bad, especially when my impression was that you’re on a constant rollercoaster of emotions. But again, I’m hoping it’s an isolated incident. If it does occur again I’ll at least know what it is.

The thing is, I felt great while I was like that. I knew something was wrong and that I was not myself but I was on a high and I couldn’t really be bothered to care that something was wrong. I knew I should have been zombified from the lack of sleep but I wasn’t, and that was a good thing. I liked having the energy. I was more creative and I was in less pain. However, the longer it went on the more I was degrading. I could see that, I just didn’t particularly care. It was getting harder to restrain my impulses and my thoughts were all over the place, skittering away from me any time I tried to pin something down. My inhibitions were down. Then there was the physical toll with it driving my blood pressure so high.

If it is bi-polar I should expect a major depressive episode next. That’s the not so fun part. I was going to quit the meds now that I’m level and so I didn’t take it last night. The Doctor thinks I need to take it at least through my upcoming trip. I am about to go home for a visit. My grandmother just turned 93(!!) and Mother’s Day is coming up. My brother wants us to go visit her together. I dread the trip up there and back. It’s a long way and it kicks my ass every time. Once I’m there it’s always nice to be home among the trees and river. It’s Spring and the bloodroot, fritillary, mayapple and other early flowers will be blooming, or so I hope. I may have missed them, especially the bloodroot, but we’ll see. I wish I could mash up the environment of my home town and the people of where I live now. My hometown is gorgeous, with all four seasons, forests, rivers, wildlife and rural charm. Unfortunately it is populated by hillbilly rednecks. Don’t get me wrong.. hillbillies are good people. But they tend to be close minded and I have never fit in there. Where I live now is absolute horrid weather, at least for me, and it’s crowded, but the people here are nicer. Go figure.



The last week has been bad. I finished the antibiotics for the sinus infection but I’m pretty sure it’s coming back so apparently it was worse than I thought. I’ve also been trying really hard not to let myself sink into depression but it feels like quicksand sometimes. I haven’t made any progress on my writing. So here I am, forcing myself to write something, even if it’s just about how I’m feeling. I don’t know how to force myself to snap out of it. If it were something you could learn, I’d have become a master at it by now. I think you have to wait for something to click, except “wait” isn’t right. Waiting is passive and you can’t be passive if you want to get better. Every day you have to force yourself out of bed, force yourself to get dressed, force yourself to go to the store, make appointments, go do something outside. Eventually you get snagged on something and can slow your descent, then start to pull yourself out of it. Then you start over again. It’s fucking brutal.

I need an adventure.

Just rambling.

I am trying so very hard not to let myself sink into depression again but it’s difficult. Yesterday I was on the edge of tears all day but they only escaped a little bit. I’m having a difficult time with the section of the story I’m writing and that combined with the depression has been clawing at me. All the doubts and pain and my broken heart want me to give in but I am doing my best not to let it. As I write this it makes me tear up again. It always does when I’m feeling bad so my instinct is to just not write. Like now, after staring at the screen for five minutes. But I think of it as bloodletting, to release some of the pain. I wrote a poem about that once.  I just pulled up the file for it… I hadn’t read it in many years. I’m not sure I like it any more.


She drips words,

bleeding ink from

tattered fingers,

mumbling madness

onto desolate paper,

and ripping fragments

from her soul.


She shares silent cabala

of cryptic language

with psychotic muse,

and lunatic laughter

within whispering walls.


She breathes poetry,

eats cannibalistic verse,

and unravels her

unrevealed imaginations

with enigmatic nightmares.

Eh… it was published and was in one of my collections. But it seems like the word play was more important than the meaning. Style over substance. I think that’s why I don’t really like it any more. It was fine in the first two stanzas but I think I got carried away in the last.

When I started to  take control of my life again things started to get better a little. I started a business that is doing pretty good considering. Of course I’ll have to figure out the tax thing at the end of the year but I’ll worry about that then. I started working with the rescue a bit more. I started writing. That gave me hope and a something to work toward. Beekeeping is another. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned that on here or not. I’ve only had hands on experience once so far but I loved it. I’ll be getting a hive soon and can’t wait to start with them.

I have a headache and it seems I’m not getting much done today so I’ll hope for better tomorrow. Later I have to go do cat lady things for a woman I’m helping out with. Other than that, I’ll cuddle my own cats, maybe watch a movie, and read more of “Cibola Burn”. Anyone else reading/watching “The Expanse”? Best damn scifi show since BSG. Can’t wait to see what Amazon’s going to do with it S4.


I’m still struggling with the depression but I’m trying. I wrote this a couple of weeks ago but never got around to posting it. I received word that a lifelong friend of mine died.

When I was fourteen I met my friend George. I first saw him staring at me at the carnival. I had just moved to the town and was alone, walking the carnival circuit. I saw a big biker guy working one of the rides. He had this intensity to him even then that drew me to him. When I first noticed him, I froze for a moment. I remember I was wearing a Harley Davidson shirt with the neck ripped out so it hung off one shoulder, “Flashdance” style. (I’m dating myself but yes, this was the 80s.) It’s funny the things you remember. We didn’t speak. He just stared, and I was shy so I didn’t approach him either. Then I saw him in town and a few other places, always stopping to stare at me but not speaking. Finally I saw him at the County Fair. I was there with my brother and stepmother and we were about to leave. I was heading in one direction of the fair and he was heading in the other when we passed. He turned and came up behind me and said “I see you everywhere I go but I still don’t know your name.” Fourteen year old me thought this was romantic. He was three years older than me, a big biker/teddy bear of a guy. He was good looking but a little heavy, with dimples, biker boots, a leather jacket, a great smile and a shitty attitude. I think I may have written about him before. If so, bear with me. I had a crush for a while, as did he, but we didn’t get together. We became friends and sort of dated a little, but more friends than anything. I used to run around with him and another mutual friend named Scott. There were nights spent drinking and nights spent running and days spent hanging around.

George stayed a friend. When I broke up with my first serious boyfriend and fiancée at 22, George cut the engagement ring off my finger. I remember him asking “Do you wanna keep the finger?” while laughing with this demented expression. George was always funny. That was probably his best attribute. He briefly got a gig doing stand up comedy in Baltimore. I’m not sure what happened but it didn’t work out and he never tried again. George helped me move into my first apartment after breaking up with David and while moving I remember him in the bathroom singing “Roxanne”. It had gotten to be somewhat of a running joke between us and I got the giggles so bad I couldn’t breathe. He lived with his grandmother and I picked him up from there many nights. We fought once in a while, but always made up. Sometimes he would crash on my couch, or other times he would come wake me up to go do something ridiculous

He came to think he loved me, and was charming and persistent in trying to get me to be with him, but it wasn’t working. I don’t know if he actually did love me, but he thought he did. I remember him singing various songs to me, riding motorcycles, and being in a riot in Pennsylvania with him. I remember being angry with him one night and screaming at him from my balcony. My apartment was on the second floor and I remember flinging everything I had of his off the balcony and then throwing two liter soda bottles at him. He could do that to me… make me so angry that I would see red and lose my temper completely. I had quite the temper back then too. I beat up a girl at the carnival one night. We had history that’s not really relevant, but I had been after her and she had been hiding from me instead of facing me. George was with me that night. We were hanging around a little before I had to go into work. When I saw her at the carnival I laid into her and I really beat the crap out of this girl. The carnival workers jumped on me and two of them pulled me off her. They had me on the ground with my arms pulled back when this girl’s husband came after me. He had his fist drawn back and dropped down on his knees to hit me as I was pinned, when George stepped in and told him to back the fuck off. (Yeah that guy was a giant pussy, trying to punch a girl who was pinned down.) Then we ran before the police showed up, with me high on adrenaline and victory, and George trying to get me out of the carnival without getting into another fight with some friend of this woman who thought she might try to avenge her. It was not my finest moment, I admit. I was young, wild and pissed off.

I remember being at the apartment I lived in after that one and George showed up one night. He was drunk and was at the foot of my stairs proclaiming his love for me –loudly and at length. He had someone drop him off at my place specifically so he could do this. I had to drive him home again because I would not let him stay the night. I remember being scared for him and hunting for him in the graveyard late one night. He had left his truck on blasting Ozzy’s “No More Tears” and had wandered off into the graveyard. I was so worried. I remember him trying to get in my pants at the gravel pit, standing in the moonlight with his pants pulled down. I turned on the car and drove away, leaving him there like that, and giggling like a banshee. I remember taking him to his friend’s house and being absolutely furious with him when I realized what was going on (activities I wanted no part of). I remember spending time with his son, who had developmental problems. I have so many memories of him. I could go on like this for a few pages telling George stories. My best friend used to say that we’d be in our rocking chairs and he would still be after me.

We did finally have a serious falling out. It was about ten years ago and we lost touch after that. He got involved with someone and I got married and moved out of state. But if I had run into him again, I think we would have greeted each other as the old friends that we were. So now he’s dead. I don’t know what the cause was. A friend of mine that was unaware of my history with George let me know and it hit me pretty hard. I let Tara know, and that was even more pain. God I miss her. I don’t know how much more of this I can take. RIP George. I’ll always remember you fondly.


I’m really struggling with depression lately, which is why I haven’t updated. I’m trying very hard to not let myself sink to the bottom, but it’s hard to try to swim while fighting it when you’re on your own. I miss my mom, I miss Wendy, I miss Tara. I miss lots of things. I try so hard to give myself goals and to work on achieving them, and I was making some headway. But now I’m sunk again, and it’s pretty bad. I struggle with the urge to self harm, but I am not at that point. It is discouraging that the urge is back though. I haven’t done that in a lot of years.
I guess this is a bit of a release valve. Nothing literary, or even well written for that matter, but it helps with the pressure.
just a bit.


From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

~Edgar Allan Poe



Fireflies and Twilight

I’m feeling quite melancholy tonight. I try not to think about these things but sometimes I get overwhelmed. I mean other than my normal depression. Sometimes I just get filled with such sadness that it takes my breath away. I keep hoping to see lightning bugs, or fireflies, depending on your part of the county. I haven’t seen them in years. I remember chasing them when I was little, and it’s something every child should be able to do. I remember being maybe five, and having a firefly in a jar. I smeared the phosphorescence on my fingers so that I would glow too. I showed my mother and she told me that I shouldn’t do that. I asked why, and she explained that it hurt the insect. Of course I cried, but I never did it again. I don’t think I even caught them any more after that because I felt so bad and was afraid of hurting another one. Five year old me wanted to glow like the fireflies and I never thought about the insects being harmed.

Earlier tonight I thought I saw a light flashing on the edge of my garden, but no. It was just someone’s house light flickering through. Everyone knows that bees are in serious trouble, or they should. It’s still not being taken seriously enough here in the US, but people are at least aware of it. This year there are hardly any. People are aware of the plight of the bees because we rely on them to eat. What people may not know is that fireflies are in trouble as well. There’s no big money being made from fireflies, and we don’t rely on them to eat so they are relegated to backpage news. However, while bees help us to sustain our bodies, fireflies do the same for our souls. Seeing the flash of fireflies in the night with the sound of frogs and insects singing is a peaceful experience. It’s quiet, but beautiful and it will move you if you have a heart.

There is something about twilight that has always sang to me. The fireflies are part of it, but it’s more than that. It’s a period of “in between”, a time of no time at all really. It’s not day and it’s not night. It is the transition, the shifting of universes, the curtain fluttering between acts. Everything has a blue tint that muffles the world, but it can also accentuate things. It’s like if you’re with someone, that person is a bright cut out against a cloudy sky. Maybe if I ever experience it again I’ll find the words. It sharpens my senses but smoothes my soul, providing me with a clarity that is hard to find otherwise. It makes me hyper-sensitive to magic and things that don’t exist under the blaring sun and that are hidden under the darkness of night. The natural world takes a deep breath

and exhales.




I should be writing a book but battling demons is messy work. Goodnight.


“I slept under the moonlight and set my soul free, caged within jars like fireflies”.”
― Prajakta Mhadnak

Not my president

Right now I am stunned and absolutely sickened that Trump is being declared president. Fuck the electoral college. Hillary was far from perfect but I trusted her not to start a nuclear war or to ruin the environment. Trump’s anti-science stance is unacceptable. We have been making tremendous progress on renewable energies and now his plan is to send us back to the 1970s. The man is putting a climate science denier in charge of the EPA. This is unacceptable. Scientists have pretty much come to a consensus that climate change is driven by our activities. I read an article on National Geographic a few days ago that sourced multiple major science organization studies. Across the board, 97% of scientists agree. I don’t care if it’s inconvenient. It’s the truth and we are already seeing the results of it.

Nature and the environment are critically important to me. They are a big part of who I am, and have been throughout my life. I have always had an affinity for and a connection to the natural world, more so than to humans. To see this man reverse what little progress we’ve made to mitigate climate change is abhorrent. Other countries are ahead of us on renewable energy and it’s something we should be leading the way in, but our country has been dumbed down so much that they will gladly let other countries pull ahead of us. “Make America Great Again” is utter bullshit. It’s already great. He wants to undo any regulations put on he and his cronies businesses. Fuck the environment, our water, other species, the ocean, they want to use it up for a quick buck and let someone else worry about the consequences. It breaks my heart.

I’ve seen multiple articles about emboldened racists chanting about white power and the wall (which is never going to happen) in high schools, while there has been an outbreak of racist graffiti including swastikas boldly paired with Trump slogans. This is what Trump has created with his unadulterated hate. I hate to think of the damage this man can cause in four years. Not to mention the supreme court. I wish Democrats had won the house so we could be as obstructionist towards Trump as they were towards Obama, but we are always the party to try to play nice. Well we need to quit playing nice and fight back the way they do. Supreme Court nominee Garland has been waiting 215 days now for approval. That is unacceptable. Republicans are not the only ones to get to nominate judges. No. I am glad there are protests all over the world over this orange piece of shit taking office. There are multiple petitions to use the electoral college to put Hillary in office using the popular vote. I doubt they’ll go anywhere but it’s worth a try.

Meanwhile, Trump has multiple court dates coming up. So if he gets convicted of fraud and racketeering, then what? We just ignore it? They tried to impeach Clinton, who was a damn good president, for lying about his sex life. That’s somehow worse than this misogynistic, racist, illiterate, incomprehensible old fat man who can’t speak without lying? I don’t think so. He’s a fucking con artist and nothing more.

I have seen multiple people on facebook that are worried about their kids. Their kids are scared and they don’t know what to tell them. At first I thought this was maybe a bit overkill, but after giving it some thought, I can sort of understand. They are trying to teach their kids to be good people, what’s right from wrong, and then this man gets elected president? No wonder they’re confused. God forbid if you aren’t white. Then I have LGBT friends and relatives who are devastated because Drumpf and Co plan to roll back the equal rights gained under Obama. I am so very demoralized right now and needed to vent. I could go on but I think I’ll go pet a kitty instead.