When mood stablizers don't.

Sometimes it's a struggle to want to keep doing simple things, like breathing. Mostly that occurs when my bullshit threshold has been overrun and I start realizing how useless I really am.

The friends I have here all have significant others, so I'm just a third wheel and in the way. I don't want to spend too much time with them because I know they have lives and don't need a walking reminder of how things can go so wrong.

The friends I left back in Tulsa have enough problems of their own and I don't need to bother them with how lousy I'm feeling down here.

Joe's busy trying to get his stuff unpacked and organized into Kris' apartment. I get one email a day from him and they're mostly just updates on how his search for work and adjustment to Columbia is going. Not even a hint of affection in them. He may not be putting things in writing, but I can read between the lines. Maybe he's being cautious because he's emailing me from a profile on Kris' computer, but it may also be I'm just being slowly dropped.

If I just disappeared or died... would anyone really notice? Or care?

No, this isn't some online suicide note... I'm not in that bad of shape yet. However, when I get depressed, I just don't have privacy enough to work through the mood because I don't want to expose those I live with to what I'm living with. I don't want to have to explain to Alex why I'm feeling like crying and I know Fred doesn't want to deal with it. I could go down to my car, but that has a danger all it's own - if I do get bad enough, what's to stop me from starting it up and driving off a bridge? I don't want to be a danger to anyone else.

Some people...

There are days where I wonder if I'm sane and the rest of the world is nuts. Last night was one of them. It's 2:00AM, I'm trying to get some sleep and the noise is unbelievable. The neighbor guy and one of his pals are sitting not six feet from my front door downing beer after beer, playing with an electric guitar and arguing over whether or not "Grim" is a good name for the baby if it should be a boy. The reason they are outside is because his SO and her mom are inside arguing over whether or not mom should go to the hospital. I come wandering out in my pajamas - you'd think the sight of a 220 pound woman in leggings and a T-shirt with a cigarette dangling off her lip would put the fear of something in these people, but it doesn't - so they get me to referee. I get a list of mom's symptoms: pain in chest radiating down left arm, inability to lift left arm or open left hand, taste of copper in her mouth. My suggestion is go to the hospital, it sounds cardiac related.

Then I get asked about the name for the kid. I advise dad to consider not only how the name will be received in the schoolyard, but in the workplace. Daddy to be's drunken buddy points out that it shouldn't matter what your name is because if an employer doesn't hire or promote you because of your name, you can sue.

Of course, the curse of being a tech has reared it's head again. Before mom started feeling bad, she was asking me to diagnose an issue with her system. Seems it was left on during the last big thunderstorm and now doesn't power up. Wanted to know if I could fix a system that's about 8 years old on the cheap. There isn't a tech on the face of the earth that can fix an 8 year old system on the cheap because the parts just aren't there anymore, short of pulling them out of another museum piece.

And for those of you needing a groaner: Pickle Suzuki - for the best dill in the Metroplex. I kid you not.

I just don't get it

I keep looking and looking in the mirror, but I cannot for the life of me see where the words "computer nerd" are tattooed on my forehead. Apparently, everyone else on the damn planet can read them like they're written in neon. I was outside smoking one afternoon last week when a neighbor asked if I knew anything about computers. For those of you that might have stumbled across this and don't know me from Eve, that would be like asking George W. Bush if he knows anything about hosting Ivy League keggers.

She had a computer and monitor but lacked a keyboard, mouse and power cables. Well, like most hardcore geeks I had spares. Ten minutes later I was able to set her up and start her system, only to discover that it would not boot into Windows, not even in safe mode. Worse yet, the system was running Windows Millennium Edition, the bastard child of the Microsoft family - which means there's no such thing as a command prompt in order to try and troubleshoot why it wouldn't bring up the operating system GUI. I told her I'd ask around and see if my younger brother could locate someone with a licensed copy of Windows 98 or ME that was no longer in use and fix it for her.

Sunday, she came knocking on the door. She was cleaning her closet and wanted to know if my daughter wanted any of the clothes she was going to donate to the second hand store across the highway. My daughter ended up with a whole new wardrobe, allowing me to get rid of a lot of things that were well past their prime. My brother decided that in exchange I should also install for them the CD-rewritable drive that I had just pulled from his computer and replaced with a DVD-rewritable drive in exchange for the clothes.

Monday, my brother came up with a discarded operating system and license for their computer, so I installed that and the new CD burner for the lady. She was thrilled and stayed up late playing games on the computer. Tuesday, I'm having my trying-to-wake-up cigarette and this neighbor now wants to borrow my mop, my vacuum cleaner, a pack of cigarettes and some blank CD-R media so she can try the new burner. WTF? Do I LOOK like a fucking Wal-Mart store? An hour later, her husband was having trouble loading up a game on the computer so she was back up to get me to fix that and complaining that she hated having to knock on my door because my phone was busy. Well, I keep the computer online to monitor email because I have resumes out (and I'm sure not giving her my cell number). So, fix the game install and she wants to know if I can go look to see what cable her mom's computer needs. Keep in mind that I'm still wearing the T-shirt and leggings I wear as pajamas. That's right, folks... I haven't even had time to get showered or dressed before this all starts. I ask if I can take 15 minutes to get myself together and her reply?

"Well, hurry up. My mom has to leave for work in 90 minutes."

The thing is, this isn't the first time I've run across someone that wants to be your best friend within a day or two after meeting you, then tries to borrow everything your own or use your abilities to their advantage. My best defense is the word "no", which is something that doesn't come easily to me. One thing mental health professionals warn against is social isolization but if I'm going to have to deal with people like this and have to contend with the hostility when I do get fed up and finally say no, isolation really doesn't sound like that bad an option to me.

Some nights, it doesn't pay to go to bed

One of the nastier side effects of being bipolar is what the doctors refer to as "racing thoughts". In common terms, the mind just doesn't shut down so one can get a good nights sleep. This is why so many people with bipolar affective disorder tend to have odd sleep patterns - they either sleep for very short bursts several times a day, take medication to help them sleep, require some sort of sound in the same room where they sleep (radio, TV, white noise generator, snorer or rhythmic breather) or they sleep just enough to avoid psychosis (if they're lucky).

For the last week or so, I've been rolling snake eyes when it comes to sleeping. The relaxation method I had come to depend on in order for me to be able to grab two or three bursts of sleep a night is no longer available to me - he moved to Missouri in order to try to qualify for the University's spring semester in order to finish his degree. I can't fault him for trying to better himself and I hope he does qualify and is able to complete it sooner than he expects. I just need to figure out a new way of drowning out what rolls through my skull in the wee small hours before I end up a guest of the local mental ward is all.

Welcome to my nightmare

Hi. I'm a 42 year old woman that was diagnosed with bipolar affective disorder about 5 months ago. What you'll find in this blog is my adventures in obtaining treatment without the benefit of an income or health insurance. In other words, welcome to the wonderful world of what passes for public mental health care in Dubya's home state, Texas.

You'll also stumble on my day to day struggles with the little things in my life, like living three adults stuffed into a 500 square foot apartment, job hunting, dealing with a kid that's now old enough to go out drinking with me (if I was still able to drink, that is), working through medication side effects... all the little joys that come with my condition.

You may even come across my views on any number of subjects, ranging from politics to the new TV season to the latest cars rolling off the assembly lines around the world to "should a video game be banned because it's too violent for children". (By the way, if the game is on the shelf, rated "M" and mommy or daddy buys it for Junior, then Junior goes on a killing spree - this is not the fault of the game company. That is the fault of the parents that didn't have the stones to stand up to their offspring and say, "This is not appropriate for you and you can't have it.")

So, I do hope you enjoy the ramblings of an old broad that's not playing with an entirely full deck. Feel free to comment if you choose. Welcome aboard the crazy train.