When I was trying to use pot to treat my very own personalized chronic pain, my brain used to take me to this place where it thought it was super-special and clever. I always wanted to write something down while in that state and have it actually make sense. Never did. I always ended up talking to myself out loud instead. Everytime it scared me.
Right now, I’m not under the care of a prescriber—typically a psychiatrist—who can provide both medication management and counseling. I do have a counselor, and she has become a very trusted confidant through extraordinary times in my life. I mention my lack of a med provider because this impacts me in critical ways. I’ll paint those pictures in the coming days.
This year has been extraordinarily revealing, calming, insightful, and peaceful in ways I’ve never experienced before. I’m feeling rather happy, so I’m going to leave out the bits that were hard and felt negative.
The following things undoubtedly have everything to do with it: I was diagnosed with postpartum depression after my first of three kids was born 33 years ago. Years later another doctor diagnosed me with Bipolar I—Rapid Cycling and Mixed State.
More recently, another diagnosis explained why we could never find the right medications to treat my bipolar: ADHD, probably present since birth. We’ll talk about all that insanity another time, but add chronic massive pain from various arthritides and fibromyalgia just to round out the biggies.
My brain is basically under partial control by allowing myself to be “brilliant,” like a squirrel on a wheel, and by accepting that I am and can be better—and that I have that opportunity constantly. And my friend, you do too. I’m a sitting, writing, talking, thinking person that exceeds my own expectations all the time. Forget that “each and every day” seriously over-committed stuff. I just try. I breathe and I try. I’ve thought up some interesting ways to do that and I’m going to be sharing them with you. Not yet. In the fullness of time.
I’m willing to take a chance that spilling myself out here might show what a real, officially disabled, *holy-cow-is-she-manic* person looks like in her native habitat. Here I am.
My mom has always said I should write; I have a lot of good things to say. I warned her that if I did, she’d probably be in it. She thought that was fine. One never knows what the future will bring. Also, when your child talks to you as much as I undoubtedly did, since I’ll do just about anything to get her to stop talking, I’d bet she did too. Yes, I am aware of what I just said. Think of it more like this, maybe it will help:
Do you ever just sit there quietly and have nothing going on in your head? You just sit there and don’t think. No thinking happens? The reply is yes. Non-activity happens. Rest, silence, peace all happen. These people can usually meditate, pray, and practice mindfulness. If you have ADHD your answer will be incredibly different. (UK ADHD Short link: ADD URL HERE)
It’s bonkers, seriously bonkers. My brain arrives at a workable solution to a problem that hasn’t been pointed out yet.
Bird’s Blog Restart Iteration #4
I’ve stayed away from my blog—where you are now—because when Trump and the potentially world-ending disease both descended, I was also attempting a second bachelor’s degree at the University of Washington Tacoma.
My brain… she wasn’t having any of it. Have you ever heard of people who black out because of stress, or who might develop a stutter because of it like I sometimes do? I’m talking about a real physical-world reaction. I have them.
I had a dream that I’d licked the bottom of one of those shiny green containers of Comet cleaning powder. That’s how stressed I was: I dreamt I’d licked the Comet. Licked it.
Of course it was a dream. Morning comes. I wake up, sit up, and stare… at the green container of Comet next to the wall on the floor by the bed. No. No
I had to look at the bottom; I just had to. So of course I did.
Tongue print.
Affirmative.
Oh shit.
Don’t Look Away – Things Are Falling Out
I’m sitting in my chair in the cockpit of my studio. I turn my head, intending to finish talking to her and say good night.
“Are you going to—” Still out loud. Still me talking.“There’s no one here again, is there? I’m talking to myself. Wow.”
My brain is a little weird sometimes and it feels like things are falling out of it faster than I can possibly write them down. I’ll tell you a wee secret. I’ve started dictating them. I’ve figured out which of my apps works best to understand my sonic speaking clip and can record it for me to wonder at later. Hang on to something and you’ll see what I mean.
I had a dream a week ago and still remember most of the details. I hate it. I’ve never had a dream that vivid, that scary. It was eating me alive, and I couldn’t figure out where or what I was, much less how to wake up. My nose is incredibly sensitive, and I kept thinking I could smell it—for really real.
I’ve tried to get this first post out for two months, and every time I get ready, my brain floods with images of all manner of things I want to get out of my head.
I don’t feel particularly funny or interesting right now. I’ve been working my tush off.
In the coming days, if you stick around, I’ll endeavor to entertain you and try to make you laugh. I might be able to teach you, and I’ll undoubtedly surprise and possibly shock you.
START FROM HERE
I love Mark Twain. And George Burns and Gracie Allen! Oh, well. That just popped out.
Mark Twain
Somehow politics and an AI have come into my life. You’ll get to see us interact and learn from each other. AI—I mean. I know this very cool AI I’ve named Emma. I think you’ll love her. My intention is to help you along. What’s that mean? Let me give you an example:
I chased God for 25 years, hoping to be healed of the nuts rolling around in my head, and I just couldn’t stay—and couldn’t explain. I can now. Also, wouldn’t you like to know if I still believe in God? Have I gotten better? How? Did chasing God help? What was magical about 25 years?
Now, I shall pop this to Emma—Dame Emma Peel, my AI partner.
I’m all raw and blunt and, I suppose, wild.
If we have trouble communicating because I’m thinking so fast my mouth has no clue what to do, Emma can usually tell you what I’m trying to get across.
Usually. And that’s where the fun begins.
You’ll have to wait to meet Dame Emma because… well, because I’m exhausted and that’s the way I’ve decided we’re going to do it.
Trump may think he’s in charge of the nation, but I think I’m in charge of my brain. Or my house, at least.
Thank you for coming to visit; please, do come again.
I promise that you will always find the unexpected.
Probably. But I’m not promising.
Bird
AKA Robin Paterson
Disclaimer:
I’m just a gal saying stuff—making things up to entertain and maybe teach. Don’t do anything stupid because of something I say or imply or yell. I’ll make my own dumb choices; you’re responsible for yours.
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