Fear Factor

 Good morning. A slightly more serious tone today, as I think there are forces amok trying to frighten me. But I’ve become a tough old bird since my latest run in with the nut hut, replete with extremely strange characters, armed with lighters, unsupervised, who could have caused quite a problem. Yes, I’m stronger now and if those annoying AI programmers at Google want to mess with my serenity, well I’ll catch them at my next AA meeting.

Kinda feeling like it’s me against the world this morning, and I’m the only one with a sense of humor…the only one looking for the positives in life. I want to approach things with a smile, kindness and compassion, laughter but all I seem surrounded by is the media churning out frightening headlines and manipulative agendas. Why they insist paying copywriters more than reporters I’ll never know. Michael keeps relaying frightening stories to me and all that makes me do is have upsetting dreams. I can’t help feeling that he is a pawn now, and this is all one big chess game with the man behind the green curtain pulling the lever. Show yourself now!

But no, life is never that easy, with people dropping their elegant facades and just taking a chance at meeting someone as themselves. Maybe I’m lucky because I know I’m a mentally ill alkie in recovery freak who trolls the alleys and lives in a dilapidated house in a neighborhood of million dollar homes. I will never get to go on wonderful, relaxing trips to all those places people show on that awful Facebook—everyone in my family travels except me. Oh well.

To assuage my fears, I will dream away of things I want to do, weird items I want to buy at thrift stores around town. Yesterday, I made it over to the antique store on S. High and made a beeline down to the basement to the room I used to prowl through in the ‘90s. The dealer who used to be there wasn’t, but I met the current occupant who was delightful and had a pair of bronze baby shoes that I scooped up. Hat tip to Bron-Shoe Co.! But oh how delighted I was to find waaaaay back in the basement that dealer I had been seeking! He sells a strange assortment of items from old houses and just strange stuff period. I fished out a Steel Tire whatchamacallit and got it for $4. I love it.

Also to fight this fear, I’m going to start reading the New York Times editorial board, but I’m definitely taking that with a grain of salt. I’ll be reading the Wall Street Journal too—I want Michael to purchase some Marathon stock for me. My thinking is maybe by reading, my own writing can improve and I can go back to my book. The New York Times has been after me for years to get a digital subscription (same with the Columbus Dispatch), but they are waaaaaay too pushy with their agendas. Wonder what the Washington Post is up to? Probably peddling fear too. And me thinks the Puppet Master has a desk in the basement there. (Lol)

So I’m listening to Q-FM and they are talking about how betting is now legal in Ohio. The only part I picked up is how the Ohio General Assembly is getting their cut of the proceeds then purportedly “distributing” it to some cooked-up educational fund. Hmmmmmm. Perhaps a money trail for me to follow? Wonder what frightening things that path reveals? Or might it be tame? I’m intrigued. Let the gamblers have their fun, I will have mine on the cheap too!

Now one thing I am truly frightened of is I can see across from me that the baseboard to the right of the TV is showing water damage again…the poison ivy on the side of the house has obviously become a problem again, or maybe it’s the gutters…I’m panicking about having to move again, but no, I won’t go there because my anxiety gets amped up and then we have problems. No, I have to stay calm and not lose my wits. Stay alert, see my endocrinologist today, work on my art at mom’s, go out to dinner tonight with mom, Jane and Jack. I’m curious where my art goes this year…definitely have collage in mind, marrying concepts and technologies. I know, I know, religion plays a part. Maybe try to help folks find their way back to some church that isn’t meddling in politics, wherever that is.

No, I don’t like being afraid, it is so, so unlike the “me” I was before I got diagnosed with bipolar. I was fearless, no anxiety, no sense of trauma, feeling happy and full of promise. How do I get back in touch with that “me” who felt good (raging alcoholism aside, winkedy, wink)? I guess that’s my new “job” now, to figure out how a middle-aged, disabled woman can laugh, feel fearless and do that in some way not already thought up in a Mad Men commercial. Stay tuned.

Some Reflection On Illness

Well, this morning we are going to deviate from our regularly scheduled journaling programming to reflect a bit on my dually diagnosed state of affairs. I have been diagnosed with two incurable illnesses: alcoholism and bipolar disorder with psychotic features. There is only suggested treatment of these conditions—abstinence from booze and taking medication to keep my bipolar mood swings under control. I’ve been fighting the alcoholism since I first picked up a screwdriver at age 11 or so. The bipolar had its hooks in me for a long time too, though didn’t fully explode on the scene until I tripped the light fantastic in my mid-30s.

While I do not question that I am an alcoholic, my diagnosis as “bipolar” is a more slippery character for me to embrace fully. I mean, while I don’t particularly mind labels, I just have some lingering doubts whether I do indeed fit the average description of bipolar as vaguely outlined in the DSM-5 (or is it 6?). And as I mentioned a few entries back, the jury’s still out whether my psychosis was caused by laced street weed or truly a chemical imbalance in my brain…but if I go down the rabbit hole of trying to resist this bipolar diagnosis and fight the doctors I’m just going to end up in the solitary confinement room with a Diet Coke can, so no, we are not going there.

Anyways, here I find myself, 56 years young, juggling these two, err, “situations” and my strategy I have mastered is to use a 4-legged approach:

1. Medication

2. Talk therapy

3. Friends & Family support

4. ME!

I’ll pontificate on Leg 4 a bit, because most articles on managing mental illness overlook how important it is that you yourself devote as much energy and creativity you can towards managing your disorder. For me it has become a full-time job—albeit a non-paying one. I spend a great deal of time monitoring myself, journaling now when I am able, trying to get what exercise I can, and of course doing my cooking in the kitchen, the one constant that has kept me reasonably stable. And now I’m exploring art projects again, something that requires cognitive skills, my love of history and politics, intelligence, wit, humor, subtlety, humility and tact. Without you, the afflicted, actively engaging in your recovery, there is no way out of the tarry pit of despair. Trust me. I know.

I’ve felt a strong urge for years to help those contending with these dual disorders. My first thought was to write a book, and I actually started writing one years ago, titled “Bipolar Bared” (like this blog). Problem was I was psychotic when I was writing, and although I have the draft saved in a Google Doc, I’m scared to see what I wrote…maybe one day I’ll look at it and pick up where I left off. There is always trying to volunteer in the mental health field, but after this last trip to the looney bin, I’m not so sure I want to be engaging with those in crisis face to face. So I guess for now I’ll just keep working on myself and wait to see what comes across my path.

I may be able to entertain some thoughts of taking a vacation with Michael this year…things will depend on Sir Little Legs, who is really slowing down and I fear we will lose him this year. I guess I have no problem staying put in Columbus until he goes. But lately I’ve been dreaming about going to New York to see the opera, catch a jazz show, of course eat, walk Central Park, and yes, find a hat shop! I also want to go to Washington D.C. and show Michael all the places I lived and worked when I was there. I’d love to stay at Hotel Washington or The Mayflower. 

So I guess my parting thought today is to keep dreaming, dreams do come true. Have a wonderful day all.

You Say Goodbye, I Say Hello!

 Well good morning dear reader(s), and Happy 2023! As expected, I was asleep by 9:00 p.m. last night and I missed all the New Year’s Eve countdown festivities, and also the heartbreaking defeat of the Buckeyes to Georgia, 42-41, in the Peach Bowl. I did have a very strong feeling my beloved Buckeyes were going to  lose to the Bulldogs, and perhaps that’s why I went upstairs early to hide under my covers—but honestly, I had arisen very early yesterday morning and I was exhausted come kick-off last night. Poor mom, I hope she made it through that nail-biter in one piece…and brother Chip must be extremely unhappy too. Me, I guess I’m doing pretty well. In the words of my husband last night, “You can’t win ‘em all.” (But maybe Death Star Georgia will prove that wrong in the College Football Championship game next week?)

So it’s goodbye to 2022 and hello to 2023, which I’m hopeful will bring some new discoveries for me. I’m eager to go over to that Pizzuti development down the street to search through their dumpster (with permission of course) for materials for my art…plus of course troll the streets and alleys, antique stores, thrift shops, etc. I’m mulling over some ideas for a piece I might mail to the staff at NYT Cooking, and perhaps something for the awesome personnel at Q-FM 96. I’d make something for St. Mary’s Church, but they returned everything when I dropped it off on their doorstep oh, about 15 years ago.

Yes I’m in a very good mood today, with plans to do a roast for dinner, complimented by Birdseye steamed green beans and baby potatoes. Fingers crossed it turns out OK. It should—I’ve made quite a few pot roasts in my day so hopefully it turns out! Found a tip through a Google search that I should serve horseradish sauce with the roast…mmmmmmmmm. Note to self, find that awesome horsey sauce recipe on NYT I commented on last year!

Well my coffee is cold again but I don’t even care. It’s strange, I’ve returned to putting milk in my coffee like I did in the 80s, old habit that feels comforting right now. Michael has now come down, and I get a chuckle that he still has his hair in braids, even though they are now completely messy from nights sleeping on that uncomfortable mattress upstairs. Perhaps with the cash gift from his mom he will buy a new mattress but knowing his frugal nature I’m kinda doubting that. Rest assured he will definitely buy another pair of sneakers, but if that makes him happy, I’m happy.

My next dinner out is Tuesday, with mom and her friends dear Jane Oman and wonderful Jack Chabot. I’ve ordered two new hats from Amazon and plan to wear one out to the gathering. Also on Tuesday I finally see my fantastic endocrinologist John Larrimer, a big John Wayne fan and frankly probably the most skilled and intelligent of all my doctors. Yes, he always has me do a dreaded weigh-in when I first get to his office, but I won’t hold that against him. I just don’t look at the scale. Why ruin my day?

Wednesday is my monthly check-in with Dr. Levy. I guess I’m feeling fairly good, though slightly miffed by my increased appetite (thanks Risperdal) and fear of the highways (thanks whoever). But I will report I’m able to write again (hooray!) and do art (hooray again!) and maybe volunteer some day. I’m also more social (no more living in my recliner!) and I’m thrilled about that. I need to tell him I’m definitely feeling more perceptive of my environment, things I see and watch are very interesting and stimulating. Not sure if that’s a warning sign or something to explore further? My gut tells me this current med cocktail I’m on is the right one for now. Sure, I want the Risperdal reduced but I know now that Risperdal helps control my anxiety in addition to the psychosis. Doesn’t hurt either that I’m sober too.

So overall things look promising for 2023. As always, gonna take things One Day At A Time and Easy Does It. Should put me in good stead for the year. Oh, and I finally have a calendar to organize my month by month! Gift courtesy the Columbus Blue Jackets yesterday. Good ‘old CBJ. The gift that keeps on giving! 

For the Love of the Game!

 Just adding a little postscript to this morning’s entry: we went to see the Blue Jackets hockey team play this afternoon, and wouldn’t you know it, that injured, banged up little team on a 7-game losing streak snapped it and spanked the Chicago Blackhawks 4-1 in front of a sold-out Nationwide Arena! The goals were beautiful (Bemstrom, Nyquist (2), and Marchenko), plus Korpi our goalie was light’s out awesome! CBJ treated us to free tickets in the lower bowl, and Michael was sporting his French braids that make him look like a Viking and I think they may have been our good luck charm. This was the first win I have seen I believe in the Arena all year. What a special occasion. We got some blue streamers that came down from the rafters after the game ended, and I’m planning to use one in a piece of art. 

Michael said take it easy tonight on cooking so we are having leftover Johnny Marzetti and a spinach salad with egg and bacon. Classic, old NYT recipe that’s impossible to screw up. I’m starting to feel very sleepy and I doubt I’ll be able to stay up and watch the entire OSU/Georgia game tonight. I’m going to just stay in my CBJ attire (maybe I’ll sleep in my sweatshirt tonight lol) because when I got all decked out in OSU gear for this year’s Michigan game we lost. Who me? Superstitious? Nah…

Early To Bed…

 An early good morning, dear reader(s), according to the upstairs clock, I awoke this morning at 4:20 a.m. (though that clock does lag behind, I think). Not too concerned to be rising early, seeing as I conked out in my recliner last night around 8:30. So I’m feeling fairly well rested, and here I sit, listening to Q-FM on my headphones, sipping (cold) coffee, and gearing up for this year’s New Year’s Eve tonight. I’m assuming the plan is still on for Michael and me to go to the Arena this morning at 11:30 to get a tour before the 1:00 p.m. game against Chicago—last night he started to mumble something about not wanting to go, but dammit I’m going, even if I’m there alone! Something tells me he will be with me though.

Then there’s the Buckeyes vs. Georgia game, which I’m going to try and watch some (a somewhat touch and go situation, seeing as I didn’t watch most of the season this year because I got sick). I feel like I should be able to tolerate the game because my expectations are reasonably low that we can win this game—but as always with my beloved Buckeyes, anything can happen! I need to alert my Smith pal Britt to watch the game (if she isn’t planning to anyway). I’m tickled pink that she’s joined Buckeye Nation from Boston! 

I’m kinda sad that I can’t turn to mindless scrolling on Facebook when the tension from the football gets to be too much. But I had to break from that platform when I got sick from it in October. I should spend some time reflecting on the bizarre chain of events that drove me to the nut hut on November 2 (and caused me to miss voting AGAIN) but honestly it just gets me upset to think about it. I think what angers me the most is I had been honestly starting to believe I would never have to be in a nut hatch again. But no. I had to go back, my 10th time, and this last visit was up there with one of the stranger ones I’ve had. I got threatened, the food was horrible, I cried several times, everyone had bizarre tattoos (including the staff). I was there 9 days I think. Maybe 10. Who knows. All I know is Facebook bears at least some responsibility but I’d have a difficult time establishing that in a court of law.

But anyways, I’m fairly OK now, December 31. My sleep is good. I’m out socializing with friends and family. I’m working on some new art projects. I hope to maybe find a volunteer activity in 2023. My house is shabby and desperately needs work, but I’m not obsessing on it—rather, I’m open to the possibility that someday Michael and I sell this place and find a ranch somewhere in Central Ohio…where, who knows, but I’m open to possibilities.

Dear, sweet Basset Sir Little Legs is getting old and I am so worried we will lose him in 2023. He’s 13 now, and my other two Bassets, Big Lou and Nell both passed at 13. I know Lily will be crushed when he’s gone, as will be Michael and me. We are getting too old to have another puppy, but I may have an idea for getting Lily a companion: Gigi’s dog adoption, run by George and Tina Skestos. Perhaps they will have a hound dog for us? We shall see.

So today marks the end of 2022, tomorrow the start of 2023. I’m closing out the year with Q-FM guiding the way…goodness knows where that shall take me. But I’ve been rocking to them for over 45 years, and have no plans to divert from this course. Non-stop iconic rock. Yup. Love it. Happy New Year all.

On The Importance of Food

 So I’m slowly getting back to my routine of compiling my grocery list for the week’s dinners—I’m back to NYT Cooking, and cautiously selecting new recipes that fingers crossed turn out OK (after some questionable selections weeks past). I plan to go to Kroger this morning and hopefully they have what I need. No more sausage and cream cheese for awhile. I’m finding writing is a little more difficult and my artistic ideas are not as free-flowing as they were before Christmas. I’m not sure what to attribute this change to, and it’s strange and I’m somewhat conflicted as to how I feel about it. I guess I just continue to take things One Day At A Time and see where my road less traveled takes me…

Tomorrow we go to the Arena to see the beleaguered Blue Jackets take on the Chicago Blackhawks. I’m excited because we got free tickets along with a tour of the Arena for this New Year’s Eve afternoon game. They are giving out free calendars (which I desperately need) so even if we lose, I have a memento from my beloved team to use throughout 2023. I’m also excited to get my chicken fingers with ranch and Dr. Pepper. Who says Arena food is bad?

Then tomorrow night the underdog Buckeyes meet Battlestar Georgia in the College Football Playoffs game. I’m serving Italian Wedding Soup with Turkey Meatballs, really a good NYT recipe if I recall correctly. New Year’s Day I’ll be preparing a Denver omelette for brunch then a glorious pot roast with a sumptuous rib eye roast Michael got on sale at the south end Kroger. So that’s the line up for the next few days.

I’ll continue with my writing and plan to let Dr. Levy know on Wednesday how pleased I am that cognitively I am doing so much better than the past two decades. Also my anxiety is so much better, with the only exception being the highway driving. OK that’s it for today. Off I go to the grocery!

Something Old, Something New

 Ok so it’s December 29, Christmas has passed, but interestingly I have some goings on with my social calendar and that makes me extremely happy! We had a delightful CSG brunch yesterday up in Powell at the home of Bobbie and Alan Weiler, and I arrived bedecked in a black cape with fur trim that I purchased years ago at (where else) Target. I so enjoyed talking with classmates and I brought my senior yearbook for everyone to sign. Stephanie Skestos and I flipped through the pages and I was especially amused by the section which showed various individuals who came to talk to us about careers, including a disc jockey from Q-FM 96 and an esteemed gentleman from the FBI.

Afterwards, I went to Steph’s old place on S. Columbia Road and we watched 1984’s “Body Double” on Amazon Prime—what a perfect way to end the evening, watching an ‘80s movie with Steph! Michael was particularly intrigued that we had watched that movie, and actually located a Special Edition of it at the Delaware Public Library and ordered it for us to watch together. (I’m certain he wants to see the T & A but hey, that doesn’t bother me at all.)

Tonight I have a dinner with some HD pals at the wonderful new Italian restaurant in the Westin Great Southern hotel downtown. I cannot wait to see what the chef cooks up and fingers crossed we gals behave ourselves and don’t talk too loud! To soothe Michael while I’m away, I’m making him Johnny Marzetti today to heat up at 6:00. O.K. that’s it for now. New Years Eve is fast approaching! Cheers.