tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82203848226163481602024-03-07T09:00:36.185-05:00Patient Anonymous: Just Another Head Case...Random Musings From Someone With Several Psych/Neuro disorders, about life, what sometimes fits--and what defintely doesn't.Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.comBlogger106125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-78875506952708403822007-03-21T19:17:00.000-05:002007-03-21T19:33:35.266-05:00I've Migrated To WordPressOkay, here's the deal, everyone. I'm getting comments in two places and I can't maintain two blogs at the same time! It just doesn't make sense and I'm going crazier than I already am.<br /><br />So because there isn't already enough chaos in my life at the moment, I have decided to totally alter my blogging life as well. I know, someone shoot me now!<br /><br />So this will be my last post on this blog. <br /><br />Everyone, please update your blogrolls with:<br /><br />http://patientanonymous.wordpress.com/<br /><br />And anyone else who wants to link to me knock yourselves out!<br /><br />From this point forward, all (in)activity will take place on that blog. Please comment there even if it is on an older post that you read here. Everything has been migrated and all post categories/labels are the same as well. Please do not leave any more comments on this blog as I would like to have everything coherent and complete. I've altered commenting here but I don't know how that will affect things--don't be upset folks--just come see me at my new pad.<br /><br />I will be leaving this blog up for a while until I get everything completely set up and I feel comfortable with my change...and just to make sure that everyone knows where I am and I haven't fallen off the earth.Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-35487387512940137932007-03-21T11:18:00.000-05:002007-03-21T11:26:04.166-05:00Erm...New Blog URL?I might be migrating to WordPress. I've kind of hated Blogger ever since I started and I just jumped on it because, well...I saw so many other people using it.<br /><br />I don't know.<br /><br />It might take me an eternity to decide.<br /><br />Or it might not.<br /><br />And I'm not sure if it will work. It's supposed to--so it says. But well, it's not like I have any Pulitzer Prize worthy stuff on here anyway. However, I do appreciate peoples' comments and links to their blogs for reference. Even if I had to start over (i.e. if everything sort of *disappeared* into the cyber ether in the process) I suppose it wouldn't be the travesty to end all travesties.<br /><br />More <span style="font-weight: bold;">change</span> though...<br /><br />Hmmm.Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-25716014216374436782007-03-19T08:27:00.000-05:002007-03-19T09:18:08.040-05:00Why Can't I Believe In "God?"<span style="font-weight: bold;">Disclaimer: This post is not meant to incite any hatred, mud-slinging, flaming or general bitchiness (except maybe for me to rant--but only about my own life and not anyone else's.) There seems to be enough of that going around the flogosphere these days and I won't add to it. So </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">please</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> try and not take anything I say out of context. Religion is always a touchy subject but I feel like utter hell at the moment so why not toss it out there. Perhaps I would have fit right in there with the self-flagellants if I did believe during that time in history.</span><br /><br />I am an atheist. I don't "preach" about it but if asked I don't hide this fact. I have been an atheist for...well, quite a long time now. I guess I would have to say for at least 10 years if I had to hazard a guess. Prior to that I would have to say that I was agnostic. My sister is a Jehovah's Witness, My father converted to Roman Catholicism in order to marry his third wife although be he and my mother were raised (loosely) in the Anglican Church. Oh, and my mother believes she is The Second Coming of Christ. No, I'm not joking. She's believed this ever since I was a child. Not in literal form but she believes that she is here to re-create a New World Order and she is to lead it. She has been "Sent By God" to do this. It's really fucking scary. And let's not forget the little gem drilled in to me since Day One that "I was Chosen By God to live." That's just too much weight (and guilt) for a small child to bear.<br /><br />Aside: if you hadn't known about that there is some chance that my mother miscarried during her first trimester and lost a twin but I survived.<br /><br />I have no problem with worship per se. Organized religion kind of gets my goat but I won't ramble on too much about that as it can get a bit heated and I don't want to go too off topic and start up. And I'm tired and sick. I do, however, respect everyone's right to believe what they wish. I have studied many religions of the world going back to my teens. I may need a bit of a refresher on some but at the end of the day, if it makes you a better, stronger person and can help you sleep well at night, what's the harm? I've seen my sister go through some frightful things in life and the members of her faith and Congregation were better to her than I could believe!<br /><br />I've been envious at times of those with strong faiths. But I can't reconcile my own beliefs with that of organized religion for starters and that of a "Higher Power." I just haven't found anything that fits in my brain. Something that I can understand and accept. Something that makes sense.<br /><br />I know a lot of people that believe in God and have faith say that you just have to "let go" and believe in things and have the faith and that is part of the process but I just can't. I can't believe in something that I can't have some sort of proof of...I can't just sit around and wait and wonder and merely "accept" something "on a promise." I do and have done enough of that already. I would simply rather adhere to what I can already intuit and see and derive. It makes me comfortable.<br /><br />I don't want to turn this into a huge forum about religion. In fact, I kind of don't like arguing (errr... debating...) about it anyway and certainly not with zealots. As I stated above, I do not have a problem with anyone practising whatever religion they choose if it makes them a better person. I would respect the same treatment in return. I don't like people trying to convert me. I've had enough of that before, even from within my own family (not immediate but extended--my uncle is a Minister and they even tried to "faith heal" me many years ago...yikes it was a little scary as I was younger and didn't want them to do it but they kept pressuring me.)<br /><br />I'm already kind of debating hitting the little <span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);">orange<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> "Publish" button as it is because I feel so low today. However, as they say, blogging is good for the "soul?<span style="font-weight: bold;">"</span></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-58159986431423893742007-03-18T18:19:00.000-05:002007-03-18T18:21:43.626-05:00Well, Got The ApartmentThat's one thing done...there's so much more to do though...Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-48426804206924473712007-03-17T19:20:00.000-05:002007-03-17T19:40:31.093-05:00Apartment Hunting 501I chose the "501" because I realized today that this is the 5th time that I have had to run around rather madly trying to search for an apartment. And the second time due to a break up.<br /><br />My life has rather strange re-occurring patterns. Actually, way too many of them but I'll try to limit it to simply apartment hunting for now.<br /><br />Today was rather stressful and lengthy. I viewed several units and well, really only one of them is probably suitable. I realize that I will never find the *perfect* living space. Really, there is no *perfect* anything in life. However, I must try to still find something decent that will satisfy necessary criteria.<br /><br />I also must contend with the anxiety (apart from all of the <span style="font-style: italic;">other</span> anxiety I am dealing with) of the "competition" of finding a space (even though it really is a renter's market at the moment.) However there is still a lot of shit out there as I saw today. And I really hate shopping. For anything, especially "big ticket" items. When I do shop, I like to go in, grab what I need and get out as soon as possible. <br /><br />How many places must I see? And I have limited time. And I am racing back and forth between almost opposite ends of the city...<br /><br />*sigh*<br /><br />I think I shall just take the last place I saw today and be done with it. I am still waffling about looking further but I really don't know if I will find anything better. It seems "good enough." I am afraid that if I don't take it and I wait, I may end up getting stuck with something far worse. There are some things I don't really like about it but again, nothing is perfect. Part of me sort of thinks, <span style="font-style: italic;">do I really care that much where I live anyway?</span><br /><br />It snowed last night on top of it all as well. I spent far too long out in the cold all day today and now my head is positively clogged, my throat is killing me, I'm shivering uncontrollably and can not get warm. I think I'm getting sick. That figures.Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-82807233591496353992007-03-15T11:53:00.000-05:002007-03-15T12:14:42.354-05:00Back From My PhysicalSo I had to go for my annual physical with my GP this morning. As suspected I have indeed lost more weight. The total should be about 20lbs. now. I am eating. At least something. And supplementing with Ensure. Crap, I had a rather healthy portion of spaghetti last night for dinner! I skipped the salad but that's mostly water anyway, right? I thought I'd just shovel in the carbs and the protein.<br /><br />My GP was rather concerned. She asked if I am exercising. HA! Nope. For one thing, I'm too lazy and for another I'm too drained and exhausted--both mentally and physically these days. I do walk a little bit on work days for my commute? I don't know how much that counts. I know people say that exercise is good for those of us who are psych/neuro disordered but even when I tried I never seemed to reap any benefit. Cycling mostly. As in riding a bike, not being Bipolar.<br /><br />Sorry, bad joke.<br /><br />We will need to follow up soon after the upper endoscopy and colonoscopy next month to find out what on earth is going on. My cluster of symptoms seem to "look" like four things. Two of them start with a "C" and two of them start with an "I." I'm not jumping to any conclusions but I'm not ruling anything out.<br /><br />But the weight loss is troubling and bizarre.<br /><br />We also went over my psych evals and she was just about as peeved as I was about the last one. She couldn't understand why psychiatirst #2 refused me ongoing treatment. I also brought up Aspergers and she didn't bat an eyelash. We're going to get the two evals back, review them, I suppose and she is going to try and find yet another psychiatrist for a consult as she really wants me to see someone who will agree to monitor me on a regular basis. I mean, I know I have a complex brain but I'm beginning to feel like a neurological leper. And a social one too.<br /><br />During my exam, I rambled on and on about how fucked up my life has been and is of late, I told her about my recent cutting...anything else?<br /><br />She asked me to come back in a month and hopefully she will have the results of *everything* and hopefully a better psychiatrist to help me out. So as far as my head goes, no med changes as of yet. She booked me in for 30 minuntes which are her types of "counselling" appointments. She wants to spend more time talking with me as I guess both my body and my life are rather chaotic.<br /><br />I think I have been lucky to find a real gem. Even if I have to travel a bit of a distance to see her each time.Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-61092360426643785322007-03-14T20:32:00.000-05:002007-03-14T20:44:17.570-05:00My Relationship Is OverYes. It's true. I can't really say too much about it right now. Maybe I'll blog more about it one day. Things have been deteriorating for a long time and well? It has now reached an end point.<br /><br />We are handling things okay and have agreed to remain friends. I hope that this can indeed happen. It's actually one of the better break ups I've had I suppose? But ending relationships..well it is never an easy thing.<br /><br />This will entail major <span style="font-style: italic;">change</span> for me. Most immediately on a practical level and I have blogged previously about my serious aversion to change. I do not deal well with it. <br /><br />I will soon need to find my own apartment. I will need to deal with moving. I positively <span style="font-weight: bold;">loathe</span> moving. I find it a logistical nightmare and I have problems planning, organizing and packing and am a general dope when it comes to this.<br /><br />However, I have been down this road before. I shall persevere.Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-48706006325576356392007-03-13T14:14:00.000-05:002007-03-13T15:03:44.070-05:00Cognitive Behavioural Model and IBSI came across a paper that conducted a study on IBS onset after Campylobacter infection. It goes into some cognitive/psychological aspects and I found it rather interesting as opposed to what has mostly been done in terms of simply that which looks for a medical perspective as to why else(?) something happens.<br /><br />It has long been known that "stress" can be a trigger for IBS and can exacerbate its symptoms but I believe this is the first time, or so the paper claims, that anyone has actually tried to measure cognitive factors.<br /><br />It was published in the Journal <span style="font-style: italic;">Gut</span> in February 2007 but I couldn't gain access. However, I did find a PDF copy of it online <a href="http://press.psprings.co.uk/gut/february/gt108811.pdf" target="_blank">here</a>.<br /><br />Some of the more interesting points:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">There is some evidence for the risk factors outlined in this</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">model. In support of biological infections, a number of studies</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">have shown that various forms of gastroenteritis are risk factors</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">for the development of IBS. Psychology also plays a role.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Sykes et al showed that people with premorbid psychiatric</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">diagnoses, particularly anxiety disorders, were at greater risk of</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">developing IBS after gastroenteritis. Similarly, depression,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">neuroticism, somatisation and stress have all been linked to</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">the onset of IBS. Finally, Parry et al found that patients</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">with gastroenteritis who had more negative perceptions of their</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">infection were more likely to develop IBS.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Significance of the psychological variables: (sic. within study)<br /><br /></span>Six of the eight psychological variables were predictors of IBS<br />caseness, the exceptions being depression and perfectionism. In<br />accordance with the model, IBS cases reported significantly<br />higher levels of anxiety, somatisation, perceived stress, negative<br />illness beliefs and all-or-nothing behaviour at the time of<br />the acute infection. IBS cases were also significantly less likely<br />to have limited their activity levels in response to their<br />gastroenteritis.<br /><br />This study is the first to prospectively investigate a combination of emotional, cognitive and behavioural risk factors relevant for the development of IBS after Campylobacter gastroenteritis. The results generally supported the cognitive–behavioural model,<br />with higher levels of anxiety, somatisation, perceived stress and negative illness beliefs all found to be significant risk factors for the development of IBS 6 months after infection. IBS were also more likely to have reported a tendency to be overactive in the face of their symptoms until they could no longer carry on (all-or-nothing behaviour), and less likely to<br />initially rest or reduce activity in response to their acute illness (limiting behaviour). Depression and perfectionism were not significant risk factors in the development of IBS.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Relative importance of the psychological variables<br /><br /></span>When considering the relative importance of these variables, multivariate analysis of four factors identified using principal components analysis found that an anxious-achievement<br />cluster of variables (made up of anxiety, stress and perfectionism) and an all-or-nothing behaviour on its own were the most important predictors of IBS along with female gender. These results support the hypothesis that the predisposition to IBS may be mediated by unrealistic personal expectations in the context of high levels of perceived stress and anxiety. These predispositions lead patients to respond to illness by initially not allowing themselves time to recover, which ultimately leads to an all-or-nothing pattern of responses.<br /><br />Stress has also been considered an important precipitant in the cognitive behavioural model of IBS; however, the empirical evidence from retrospective and cross-sectional studies has<br />been inconsistent.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>One other prospective study of postinfectious IBS found that higher levels of life events in the 12 months prior to gastroenteritis were associated with the development of IBS. The current study has further clarified the role of stress with the finding that levels of perceived stress are also strongly associated with the development of IBS, indicating that the individual’s interpretation of stressful events may be as important as the nature of those events.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">The cognitive behavioural model of irritable bowel syndrome: a prospective investigation of patients with gastroenteritis</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Meagan J Spence, Rona Moss-Morris</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Gut 2007;0:1–6. doi: 10.1136/gut.2006.108811</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span>Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-87542467194521644762007-03-12T19:36:00.000-05:002007-03-12T20:29:31.496-05:00I Must Have Order! (Or Not...?)Alright, I'm tired so excuse me if this post may not be so orderly.<br /><br />It is born out of a comment I made on someone else's blog about drugs and mismatched socks.<br /><br />But the drugs don't really have anything to do with it.<br /><br />I need a lot of order in my life--even to the point of minute things. Like matching socks. I mean, it's an absolute imperative. However, I can also live in organized chaos. It can seem like a bit of a paradox but it's really not. Because it's <span style="font-style: italic;">my</span> chaos. To anyone else, it would look like a F2 Tornado had just gone through the room but chances are, if you give me a minute, I'll be able to get you what you need.<br /><br />This was a lot easier when I lived alone.<br /><br />My partner went through a bit of a cleaning sweep (pun intended) over the weekend and <span style="font-style: italic;">moved</span> all of the DVDs from where they were "neatly scattered" by the DVD player in the bedroom. The DVD player had been moved by me to the bedroom from the living room well over a year ago when we had friends with a son who is on the Autistic Spectrum. We let him happily watch a movie later so we could carry on with dinner. I just never bothered to move the damn thing back so there it stayed.<br /><br />So anyway, I stroll back into the bedroom and <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">immediate panic</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></span></span></span>sets in. WHERE ARE THE DVDS?!?! No, I'm serious. A wave of panic actually came over me--even though it was brief. Before I started asking, I decided to start looking. I did find them. Moved to a shelf. In another room. At least I didn't have to go digging for them like a lot of my other stuff that sometimes gets moved. And sometimes gets lost and never found.<br /><br />And don't even get me started when my partner decides to rearrange the kitchen.Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-12744159033427177942007-03-08T17:10:00.000-05:002007-03-09T17:23:32.168-05:00Confusing the PsychiatristsWell, I just returned from my second psych evaluation. I never blogged about the first, I don't think? I can't remember. Well if I did (or did not) here's a brief review.<br /><br />Of course with my "doctor anxiety" I was nervous as hell. Add to the fact that I hadn't had a full consult in about seven or eight years. I had no idea what to expect. It went alright, however. The psychiatrist at this "institution" had a gentle demeanor and a soft voice and we actually ran over the allotted time. I felt okay with it and he allowed me to ask as many questions as I needed. <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />Alright</span>, I thought, <span style="font-style: italic;">this whole evaluation thing isn't so bad</span>. Granted, it was difficult to pack your entire life's woes and psychological/neurological history into such a brief time span. I didn't cover everything in perhaps as much depth as I wanted with this man. The reason being, this consult was a "one off" and I did not expect any further appointments or follow ups with him. And again, I was nervous, unprepared and it was difficult. However, we went through Medication History, Family History/Trauma, Bipolar Disorder, Self Injurious Behaviour, Hospitalizations, ADD and a little bit about Aspergers.<br /><br />After it all, he said he would "try and put something <span style="font-weight: bold;">cohesive</span> together" for my GP. I had to laugh a bit at that one.<br /><br />Today was a bit different, however. I was mistaken about a lot of things. First, my appointment duration. I was told an hour, I only received 30 minutes. Also, I was under the impression I would be seeing this psychiatrist on an ongoing basis. Nope. But more on that later. Also, this man was not as...well, he certainly had a different "demeanor" than the first psychiatrist I saw.<br /><br />It was a good thing I was a bit more prepared for this appointment. 30 minutes! We very briefly touched on all of the above mentioned in the first appointment. He asked some fairly simple and straightforward questions and I answered them. I gave him my prepared "dossier" and he flipped through some of the pages. Basically some self-prepared notes about ADD and Aspergers and some highlighted notes from referenced materials etc...<br /><br />He asked if he could keep all of it. I told him the copies were his.<br /><br />He basically told me about a counselling group (i.e group therapy) for women who are trauma survivors and how I could take advantage of that. He also told me that I would not benefit from ongoing psychiatric treatment from a psychiatrist due to my problems with functioning and other issues. I have no idea what this means. I don't know if this is an allusion to the fact that I have Aspergers or not. He said that seeing a psychiatrist would only exacerbate my problems. He said that I already have a therapist, see a neurologist and have a GP so that is good enough. Well, then why offer me group therapy? During all of this I simply stated that people with Aspergers do not usually do well in therapy. He agreed.<br /><br />I still remain confused.<br /><br />I did manage to get out of him his med recommendations. He had five. Ooh, decisions, decisions! He also casually mentioned one of them, Risperdal, would be helpful with both Bipolar and Aspergers. I told him that yes, I knew this. I also had to remind him of another med that would probably be helpful. He agreed and wrote it down. I so often wonder what doctors think of me when I stroll into their offices and spout such things.<br /><br />So at that point, time was pretty much up. I felt unfulfilled. I asked him what he thought of the ADD and Aspergers. He said it was hard to tell due to "other issues" and the trauma I had been through. Alright. I understand all about truama and it does not preclude neurological disorders. I also argued high comorbidity rates (and even had that reference material with me.) I asked him if he planned on reading what I had brought him. He said that yes, he would. As I was putting on my coat, I asked again, "So it wasn't all in vain, then?" He said that no, it wasn't.<br /><br />Yes, I can be terribly blunt.<br /><br />Now I understand that clinicians can not provide diagnoses on the spot and I did give him a fair amount of documentation to review but a little more feedback would have been helpful.<br /><br />Shoot, I can't stream the song I wanted for my new MP3 so you'll just have to go with my second choice. "One In Ten Words" by The Spoons. Canadian Band and the poppy little song is from my youth...it makes me laugh about communication.Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-72319198759601899622007-03-06T10:08:00.000-05:002007-03-06T10:34:51.867-05:00And It Just Continues...Well, guess who decided to show up two days late? I got an email from my father. Very brief. He told me, Happy Birthday, he loves me and he misses me. Nothing else. WTF? Then contact me you bloody idiot?! Why must it always be up to me--again, why must I always parent my parents! I've done it since I was a child and can not do it any more! <br /><br />And yes, attached was another PowerPoint presentation although this one was at least a bit less painful to view (well, visually) as it was all van Gogh artwork. However, it was set to the music of Don McLean's "Starry Starry Night."<br /><br />Now if you haven't heard this song, you can grab a listen or take a peek at the lyrics. Okay, I don't know what the hell could be more triggering to someone who is psych disordered and has issues with their parents, who then receives this from one of them as a "birthday present!?"<br /><br />And yes, I know it was written about van Gogh but still! It's not exactly cheery!<br /><br />What on earth!?<br /><br />I responded rather tersely and with surprise at hearing from him after such a long pause in communication.<br /><br />This is not how I wished to start my day.Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-41508834309984552582007-03-05T15:20:00.000-05:002007-03-05T15:48:56.078-05:00Bloody Birthday Bullshit!So not a word from my father. No phone call. No email. Not a fucking thing.<br /><br />Just more deafening silence.<br /><br />You know, we communicated more when he was on the other side of the country but now that he's moved back to my/our home province--nothing. That was in the fall. Almost five months ago.<br /><br />I received three mass-addressed emails soon after he arrived (one being some spammy "love everyone around you" *thing* with ridiculous, tacky photographs in PowerPoint--I positively can't stand those--they make my eyes bleed!) The others, simply his contact information.<br /><br />Otherwise, there has been no <span style="font-weight: bold;">personal</span> contact between us. The last time we actually had any sort of personal exchange was <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">last fucking MAY!!!</span></span><br /><br />We have not had a fight, a falling out, anything of the sort. He did not contact me at Christmas, nor did any of his side of the family (other than more mass-addressed, spammy, shit, crap-assed email that I can not stand!)<br /><br />I can not find any rational, logical explanation for this.<br /><br />I didn't fucking do anything! FUCK!<br /><br />Goddamn Prick.<br /><br />Edit: Perhaps when I'm a little bit calmer I shall post on how I need to "deal" with this.Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-72010341195358860992007-03-04T10:56:00.000-05:002007-03-04T16:18:51.491-05:00Today Is My Birthday...and no, you don't need to wish me Happy Birthday--I'm not really big on celebrating or looking for attention. I just needed something to post about.<br /><br />So for anyone curious, I'm 37 today. It's just a number. Age is a state of mind. Some days I feel four, some days I feel 12, I never feel like I'm in my teens (those days need to be erased from my memory permanently), a lot of the time I still feel like I'm in my 20s and yes, many days I feel like an octogenarian.<br /><br />I actually came up with a wacky idea many years ago that we really never know how old we are because from birth, we have no notion of self-awareness (sentience, yes) however, we are merely "told" by our parents and by various documents that on a certain date we were born. Really, I could be <span style="font-style: italic;">any</span> age right now! Perhaps this idea was born out of years of trauma and the subsequent disdain and anger I have toward my parents. I'm essentially accusing them of lying to me about my very existence--or a vital detail about it. Well, they've lied to me about other things!<br /><br />For any astrology buffs out there, I thought I'd talk about my chart--and what it supposedly reveals about me. Now by today's date, it's obvious that I am a Pisces. That is my Sun Sign. But there are many more elements that make up one's astrological profile. But before we get into that, here are some basics about all the signs. I'm not a huge believer in astrology; I think it's kind of fun and sometimes you can find some interesting and revealing facts about yourself but anyway, here we go.<br /><br />All signs have dualities that are basically "masculine" (direct, energetic) and "feminine" (receptive, magnetic.) They also are further divided into triplicities:<br /><br />Fire: Aries, Leo, Sagittarius - Active, Enthusiastic<br />Earth: Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn - Practical, Stable<br />Air: Gemini, Libra, Aquarius - Intellectual, Communicative<br />Water: Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces - Emotional, Intuitive<br /><br />Now me.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sun in Pisces:</span><br /><br />Your Sun Sign is your primary sign and basically how other people see you. It can be likened to the role you are given to the play of life, the role you act. But it is a broad sign and not the complete picture.<br /><br />According to my Pisces Sun, I am receptive, intuitive, emotional, romantic, impressionable, mystical, adaptable and very changeable. Pisces rules the feet. I do have terribly sensitive feet. Pisceans have a high susceptibility to drugs and alcohol and are easily drawn to unpredictable situations and and unbalanced people. HA! Oh dear...<br /><br />My most likable trait is compassion. This is nice. But apparently I take on too much where other people are concerned and I have trouble saying, "No!" Well, this has been a problem in the past? Maybe it still is? Supposedly I am in great possession of artistic ability but I suffer from lack of self-confidence. I am too unsure of myself. But if I can get over this, I may be able to produce great things.<br /><br />My sensitivity and awareness can border on clairvoyance. Hey, I might be psychic! Some people might consider me a little bohemian in nature. Okay, that last statement--I can definitely get behind!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Moon in Aquarius:</span><br /><br />Your Moon Sign is your second most important sign in your chart. It is what you see. It represents emotions, instincts, the unconscious. If the Sun represents your will, the Moon represents your instinctive reactions. If you wanted a Freudian analogy, the Sun is your ego; the Moon is your id. The Moon also represents the five senses, infancy, childhood, dreams, memory and your past--essentially components of your psyche. It influences your receptivity to others and often how others feel about you.<br /><br />I like my Moon Sign. Now the good news? I can be idealistic, tolerant, a humanitarian with a progressive outlook. The not so good news? I can be unpredictable, contrary, aloof in opinion and tactless!<br /><br />My Moon Sign makes me a very balanced thinker. I am rational, intuitive, imaginative. I take information, deal with it in a scientific, open minded way and then at the same time, try and see it from a human point of view. I am neither too cerebral nor too emotional. I am a visionary but I am not eccentric.<br /><br />Apparently, I "crackle with vitality," have a wonderful gift for expression and am a witty conversationalist. I am interested in ideas, philosophy, higher learning, science and mathematics (well, I'm not so sure about that last one...) I am well rounded intellectually due to having so many interests. Also with this sign, I am told more and more about having heightened awareness and perception again to the level of clairvoyance, however, under the Aquarius Moon I have a wider outlook but shorter sight. I am a bit like a butterfly that flits from one thing to another.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ascendant/Rising Sign in Cancer:</span><br /><br />This sign is similar and complementary to your Sun Sign and reflects your outward demeanor or how the world sees you. It signifies goals, aims, objectives and how you react to what life throws at you.<br /><br />Under Cancer, I am apparently very sensitive to emotional signals from other people with extraordinary insight into human motivation. I sometimes have a reserve about me that may be difficult to penetrate but underneath is a warm, giving, loving nature.<br /><br />Apparently I can be moody, crabby and impatient! HA! I can take offense where none was intended and people need to be careful lest they hurt my feelings (don't worry people--comment freely on my blog, <span style="font-weight: bold;">it's okay!</span>) Again, there is more here about me being creative, even "gifted" *shrug* It also mentions being shrewd in business and good with money? That I have some definite trouble with! And that I have (and had) many obstacles in my path especially when young but with great tenacity, I can and will succeed in overcoming and will become stronger each time.<br /><br />Now there are many other planets in your chart and so many other things that can be taken into account. But these are some of the basics, the three main aspects.<br /><br />Oh, and thanks to everyone who commented and voted on whether or not I should get the MacBook. I decided that yes, in fact, I would buy it so it's my birthday present to myself.<br /><br />Note: All astrological information referenced--The Only Astrology Book You'll Ever Need by Joanna Martine Woolfolk.Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-51510243098516007192007-03-01T13:45:00.000-05:002007-03-02T08:14:48.987-05:00Today Is Self Injury Awareness DayApolgies for not getting this up sooner--busy day.<br /><br />Thanks to <a href="http://drdeborahserani.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Deb</a> for posting about this earlier in the week as I knew it was in March but had forgotten the exact date. I do this often. My memory is abysmal.<br /><br />I know it's hard as there are so many "days" commemorating and promoting this and that. Sometimes with the proliferation of these things it tends to take away the meaning. But I think I will take the time to blog about this one and give it a bit of show.<br /><br />Now although this day is not formally recognized and is still more of a "grass roots" effort, I found through <a href="http://www.selfharm.org/publications/sia/siad.html" target="_blank">this site</a> that two states in the US have actually proclaimed it an "official" day: Connecticut and New Mexico. The site offers some form letters if you feel like advocating to your local legislature. Granted, it's all done up for MPs in the UK but it will give you a template. It also offers some literature about self injury that is written by LifeSIGNS, the UK charity that well, basically seems to be managing the site.<br /><br />Now on a more personal note, if you do not already know this, I am a self injurer. I have been and am a cutter. Please see the link entitled Cutting on the right for previous posts if you are interested. I have also engaged in punching walls, head banging. I have done these as a child and an adult--except the cutting, that came later.<br /><br />I have been debating about disclosing this for a while but since today seems to be all about awareness, then I suppose it seems an appropriate time. I engaged in a cutting about three weeks ago. It has been about two and a half years since I last cut myself. I'm not even sure why I did it. There were no <span style="font-style: italic;">obvious </span>triggers that day. I'm still not sure.<br /><br />I do know that my last <span style="font-weight: bold;">year</span> has been fraught with tremendous difficulty and it is very surprising that I haven't completely fallen over the edge in dealing with some of the things that have hit me. Perhaps some extremely minor trigger that didn't even register just tipped the balance? Again, I am not sure. I don't know if I ever will be.<br /><br />Perhaps I just need to have a big Bipolar flip out ever two and a half years!<br /><br />I mentioned this to my therapist and she (rather glibly in my mind) said, "Well, you can flip out here!" But that is not the point. When you reach that level of crisis, that critical mass in your brain, you can't wait for a therapy session. Especially if you don't even see the oncoming onslaught. I was dissociated. Absolutely. The last thing on my mind was calling up someone, anyone and talking. The only thing I wanted to do was hide away from my partner, use the knife and then quickly try and repair the damage I'd done and hide it all (which was impossible--I'd cut too deeply.) However, not enough to require medical attention as in the past.<br /><br />So on goes the battle, I suppose. But just remember--be kind and gentle and patient with the self injurers you encounter out there. Don't be scared even if sometimes what we do can seem a little difficult to handle. Believe me, it's difficult for us too.Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-17967983414676189862007-02-28T18:55:00.001-05:002007-02-28T19:00:07.418-05:00Johnny and Doris - Part V - The End<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">He looked so small.<span style=""> </span>Was he really that thin? With all the bruises on his face he looked entirely different.<span style=""> </span>For Doris, that hit home with her unique and uncanny ability with faces.<span style=""> </span>Even though John had only visited her twice, he had left an indelible impression.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>A police officer entered John’s room and Doris stood to greet him.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"So you say he was mugged?" she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"Yes Ma'am," the investigating officer said.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"I see."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"So you're his next of kin?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"No!" Doris said, a little more forcefully than intended.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"So who are you then?" <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>Doris just shook her head.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 24pt;" align="center"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>***<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>She sat with him every day, every night.<span style=""> </span>Every spare moment she had,<span style=""> </span>she spent it by his bedside.<span style=""> </span>He was now breathing on his own but he still hadn't regained consciousness.<span style=""> </span>She had told Dr. Matheson about Stevie or what she knew of him, at least.<span style=""> </span>He told her that they would deal with that later.<span style=""> </span>"Let's just see if he can open his eyes first," he had said.<span style=""> </span>"But it does explain the fact that there weren't any defensive wounds found on him.<span style=""> </span>That's very strange for a case like this.<span style=""> </span>He was either completely taken by surprise with no time to react or he didn't even attempt to defend himself at all.<span style=""> </span>My guess would be the latter based on the extent and type of his injuries."<span style=""> </span>Doris wept quietly when Dr. Matheson left the room.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>Oh what to do with Johnny, she fretted.<span style=""> </span>He couldn’t talk.<span style=""> </span>He couldn’t tell her his story.<span style=""> </span>Surely he had family somewhere, people who might be missing him? Strangely enough no one had filed a missing person report.<span style=""> </span>She took to reading to him, anything to pass the time, any way to stimulate him into consciousness.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>Fourteen days later, John woke up.<span style=""> </span>Doris was at the hospital but had just left his room to get herself a fresh coffee and some air.<span style=""> </span>When she returned, she was shocked to see him, wide awake and staring out the window.<span style=""> </span>He tried to get up to greet her but was temporarily snared by his IV.<span style=""> </span>Then he was gripped by his own weakness and flopped heavily back onto the hospitals pristine pillows.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>“Hey Doris,” John spoke rather casually, “what are you doing here?”<span style=""> </span>It seemed odd, she thought, that his first question would be regarding her presence in the hospital and not his own.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>“Well kid, you gave us all a pretty good scare.<span style=""> </span>Do you remember anything that happened to you right after you left the diner? You know, that time after you told me about Stevie?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>“You know about Stevie?” John asked incredulously? Obviously his memory was a little bit murky at best.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>“I just said that you told me about him!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>“Oh, sorry…”<span style=""> </span>John seemed to shrink backwards within himself.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>“Hey, hey.<span style=""> </span>Don’t do that.<span style=""> </span>I’m not mad at ya.<span style=""> </span>Just worried is all.<span style=""> </span>Hang on, let me go get everybody; they’ll be so excited!” Perhaps almost as excited as Doris was.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>Over the next few days, contact was made with John’s only living relative, Keith, who flew in from London as soon as he heard. <span style=""> </span>He thanked Doris profusely for all she had done and the vigil she had kept at his bedside.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>John ended up being let go from his job.<span style=""> </span>Not for his failure to show up during his days in the hospital but for his entire career of tardiness in general.<span style=""> </span>The mugging and John’s subsequent rehabilitation just gave the company a perfect opportunity to bid him adieu.<span style=""> </span>Doris and John’s relationship was now cemented, however.<span style=""> </span>She still visited him whenever she could, first in the clinic where he sent after release from the hospital and then in assisted housing where he was placed to live, as he could no longer fully support himself.<span style=""> </span>Doris continued to read to him, only this time John actively participated and sometimes did some of the reading himself.<span style=""> </span>With Doris’ help John managed to attain a suitable level of literacy and even picked up a part time volunteer job at a local community centre.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>Doris continued working for the rest of her days at the diner.<span style=""> </span>No one ever came in like that one customer, on another otherwise nondescript rainy fall day and that was just fine.<span style=""> </span>In her eyes, no one could have ever replace her Johnny anyway.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">And as for Stevie, he disappeared.<span style=""> </span>John had several new doctors now and one of them had given him some medication to, as he said, “let Stevie be free.”<span style=""> </span>It wasn’t that Stevie was bad and being punished, John was told, it was just time for him to go on his own.<span style=""> </span>After all, John was now a man and Stevie was still a boy.<span style=""> </span>It was just better that way.<span style=""> </span>John was relieved but on some days he still missed Stevie.<span style=""> </span>On those days, he would get out his watercolours and paint for hours…to remember all the things they liked to do and all they places they had visited during their time together.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-26059896978345524372007-02-28T13:20:00.000-05:002007-02-28T13:29:05.054-05:00Johnny and Doris - Part IV<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" >Whoosh...shuk...whoosh...shuk...<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"I think we can take him off the ventilator now."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"Are you sure?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"Absolutely.<span style=""> </span>He's breathing on his own...or at least he wants to."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"Wants to?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"Are you kidding me? This guy's a fighter!"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>“Well, he certainly came in looking like one.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>“Yeah, I know.<span style=""> </span>How on earth he thought he could take on six guys, I have no idea! His tox screen was clear so I have no clue what was going through his mind.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>“The police questioned the other parties and they just kept saying something about him yelling for someone named <i>Stevie</i>?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>“Well, he’s got no ID.<span style=""> </span>I don’t know but maybe ‘Stevie’s’ a relative?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"Alright.<span style=""> </span>Call that number, that place...it should be open by now."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 24pt;" align="center"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" >***<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"Hello? Yeah, this is Doris...<span style=""> </span>Who? I think you've got the wrong number...or at least the wrong Doris.<span style=""> </span>Yeah?<span style=""> </span>Uh-huh...<span style=""> </span>Okay, okay let me see what I can do.<span style=""> </span>I'll be over as soon as I can."<span style=""> </span>Doris had no idea what was going on or why the hospital had called her.<span style=""> </span>And a mugging? All they told her was that some John Doe had been found, barely alive, with her name and the name of the diner scrawled across a piece of paper in his pocket.<span style=""> </span>She had no idea who it could have been but the nurse had been so insistent she felt she had to go.<span style=""> </span>During all her years of service she rarely took time off so Lou was sure to oblige her on such short notice.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"Call Anne.<span style=""> </span>I think she's at home today," Doris yelled as she flew out the diner's front door, the cheerful clatter of its tiny bells lost in the sound of the city.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>When she arrived at the ICU desk she asked for the nurse that had called her.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"I'm sorry Miss...Miss...I'm sorry, what is your last name?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"Beckstein."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"Yes, Miss Beckstein.<span style=""> </span>We really had no other recourse.<span style=""> </span>His wallet and ID were missing.<span style=""> </span>If nothing more we thought you could at least provide us with identification."<span style=""> </span>Doris inhaled deeply, "Okay, if you say so."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>They walked down the hall and peered into the window of a private room that looked more like a laboratory than a hospital room.<span style=""> </span>So much equipment! Doris had never seen anything like it?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"Well, here he is, Mr. John Doe."<span style=""> </span>Doris stiffened at the task proposed to her.<span style=""> </span><i>Okay, I'm ready</i>, she thought, half consumed with fear, half battling an intensely morbid curiosity.<span style=""> </span>She entered the door and approached the man on the bed.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"Oh my god...Johnny.."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"So you know him."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"Well, yeah but..."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"Alright, come with me."<span style=""> </span>They returned to the desk.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"I'll need you to just fill out these forms..."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"What? Whoa, wait a minute...You said I just had to ID the guy."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"Well, yes...and now we need you to fill out these forms."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:12;" ><span style=""> </span>"Hey, I don't know this guy.<span style=""> </span>He just showed up at the diner a couple of times."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style=""> </span><span style="font-family:arial;">"Oh. Okay, just a second. Let me speak with my supervisor." As the nurse turned away,</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-family:arial;"> Doris called, "Hey, does this guy have a doctor?" This was the real beginning of<br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-family:arial;">Doris and John's relationship.</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></p>Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-7990833050677645582007-02-27T18:54:00.000-05:002007-02-27T18:58:48.683-05:00Johnny and Doris - Part III<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Stevie wasn't always so unwelcome.<span style=""> </span>In fact, John kind of got used to him being around.<span style=""> </span>John often had problems making friends.<span style=""> </span>He had problems in school; he was different.<span style=""> </span>Often found staring out the window or into a distant void--it seemed he was not often stimulated by his immediate environment.<span style=""> </span>On the way home from school he would often become distracted.<span style=""> </span>He loved climbing trees and would often be found in a nearby park well after dinner or bedtime in need of rescue.<span style=""> </span>No, John wasn't particularly good with keeping track of time.<span style=""> </span>He was often late for everything.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>Stevie kept him company when no one else was around, which was most of the time.<span style=""> </span>John's mother was a bit of an absent figure for him, working three jobs to keep her two sons clothed and fed.<span style=""> </span>A myriad of babysitters were often present in the home.<span style=""> </span>A frequent rotation of several different girls was often employed due to John's demanding care requirements.<span style=""> </span>Maybe that's one reason why John rarely made it home on time.<span style=""> </span>He never really cared for them.<span style=""> </span>He only liked Keith, his older brother.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>Keith was great and John idolized him.<span style=""> </span>He wasn't always around though, being seven years older and he always seemed busy.<span style=""> </span>He was involved in so many clubs at school and when he wasn't spending time with his friends there, he was playing lots of sports.<span style=""> </span>Yes, Keith had lots of friends.<span style=""> </span>John wasn't jealous though.<span style=""> </span>He had Stevie.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>Stevie often came up with lots of games to play.<span style=""> </span>Some of which resulted in John getting into trouble.<span style=""> </span>Like the time when they painted pictures on his bedroom wall of all the things they liked to do together and all the places they wanted to visit.<span style=""> </span>Or when they decided to play "buried treasure" with nearly all of John's toys, digging up holes in the backyard, dropping the toys in and then creating a type of pirate's map to recover them all.<span style=""> </span>Yes, Stevie was a lot of fun.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>Sometimes he had to disappear though.<span style=""> </span>John would be fine for a while but would inevitably miss him.<span style=""> </span>When it got really bad, Stevie would always return.<span style=""> </span>Usually with another fun game in which they could indulge.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>Now things were different.<span style=""> </span>All throughout high school (or rather until John's final year) they stayed almost completely intact.<span style=""> </span>Right up until one game became a little too serious.<span style=""> </span>Stevie had convinced John to steal a car.<span style=""> </span>It was one of the new driver education cars parked at the school.<span style=""> </span>John had seen all his peers learn how to drive and it was all they ever seemed to talk about.<span style=""> </span>However, John’s challenges with school and learning automatically disqualified from the experience regardless of his ability.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>These things disregarded, Stevie swore to John he could do it.<span style=""> </span>And John wanted to do it.<span style=""> </span>Badly.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>The attempt did not go well.<span style=""> </span>John managed to get the car started but in his excitement and confusion, he mistook the "R" for a "D" and sped directly into a rather large oak tree just in front of the parking lot.<span style=""> </span>In a panic, he managed to shift the car into reverse but then, spun around and in further panic, shift back into forward gear and become airborne over a small embankment.<span style=""> </span>When he came to, the police were there.<span style=""> </span>No charges were laid but John was told, rather forcefully, that he would never be able to drive a car--ever.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>Stevie got a little angry.<span style=""> </span>In fact, it was the first time John and Stevie had ever had a fight.<span style=""> </span>John tried to reason with him, tell him that it wasn't such a big deal after all.<span style=""> </span>Eventually Stevie acquiesced.<span style=""> </span>After that, things didn't seem quite the same between the two of them.<span style=""> </span>The older John got, the more childish Stevie behaved.<span style=""> </span>And for longer periods would he disappear.<span style=""> </span>But when he returned, things weren’t always so pleasant for John.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-438943544623793222007-02-26T19:41:00.000-05:002007-02-26T20:01:01.636-05:00Johnny and Doris - Part II<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">The days ran into weeks and soon it was November.<span style=""> </span>The city's landscape was now a permanent grey.<span style=""> </span>John's world had not changed much.<span style=""> </span>As he passed the neighbourhood park he saw some children playing with a kite.<span style=""> </span><span style="font-style: italic;">I wish I was a kite</span>, he thought, <span style="font-style: italic;">only no string!</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">He'd been back to the diner several times but <st1:place st="on">Doris</st1:place> never seemed to be there.<span style=""> </span>He hoped she hadn't quit.<span style=""> </span>He liked her.<span style=""> </span>She seemed smart but not mean like the other smart people he had met in his life.<span style=""> </span>He rounded the same corner that he traveled almost every day to work only this time, he passed his workplace to go to the diner, in search of <st1:place st="on">Doris</st1:place>, yet again.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>It was a Saturday and the place was jam packed.<span style=""> </span>However would he find a seat! John waited patiently for his favourite spot, the seat closest to the ordering station, the one closest to <st1:place st="on">Doris</st1:place>.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span><st1:place st="on">Doris</st1:place> heard the faint tinkling of the diner's doorbells over the din of the breakfast crowd.<span style=""> </span>Immediately she recognized him.<span style=""> </span>She never forgot a face.<span style=""> </span>Years in the diner industry taught her to be good with faces. <span style=""> </span>Not only did it mean better tips but it was also important in case any funny business happened.<span style=""> </span>Several seats became available but John remained standing, nodding politely, albeit awkwardly, to anyone else who wished to skip ahead of him for their meal. <span style=""> </span>Eventually, the mother and young daughter who were in John's desired spot got up to leave.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"Well, look who's back!" <st1:place st="on">Doris</st1:place> beamed, "the fastest eater in the west.<span style=""> </span>How are you?"<span style=""> </span>John gave a stilted smile back.<span style=""> </span>"Fine, thanks."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"So, what would you like today? Even though it's still breakfast time we still serve our lunch menu.<span style=""> </span>Whatever you want, we got."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"Do you have any eggs?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"Do we have any eggs?" <st1:place st="on">Doris</st1:place>' throaty laugh filled the room.<span style=""> </span>"Well, yeah.<span style=""> </span>I think we could find some.<span style=""> </span>What kind?"<span style=""> </span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;">"Scrambled," John said decisively.<span style=""> </span>He felt happy.<span style=""> </span>Stevie had been good lately.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"So what's your name, kid?" <st1:place st="on">Doris</st1:place> had been feeling good lately too.<span style=""> </span>Not for any particular reason, if only for the fact that work had been steady and tips had been good.<span style=""> </span>And maybe for the fact that later tonight she was indulging herself in a bottle of wine, a warm blanket on the couch and all the Harrison Ford she could handle.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"John."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"Well then Johnny, can I call you Johnny?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span><br />"Sure, " John shrugged.<span style=""> </span>It reminded him of his brother.<span style=""> </span>He used to call him that.<span style=""> </span>He missed his brother.<span style=""> </span>Why'd he have to move all the way up to <st1:country-region st="on">Canada</st1:country-region> and then all the way to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city>? He said it was because of his job but John still worked in <st1:place st="on">Brooklyn</st1:place>.<span style=""> </span>Right around the corner from where they both grew up.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><o:p></o:p><br />"Great.<span style=""> </span>Pleased to meet you, Johnny."<span style=""> </span><st1:place st="on">Doris</st1:place> extended her hand.<span style=""> </span>John took it slowly.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><o:p></o:p><br />"Pleased to meet you...<st1:place st="on">Doris</st1:place>," he said, staring at the lily adorned plastic nametag she wore.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"So Johnny, tell me about yourself."<span style=""> </span>The breakfast rush was beginning to slow down.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"I work."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"Oh yeah? Good for you! What do you do?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"Shipping."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"Oh yeah? Where do you that?"</span></p><p class="MsoBodyText"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><br /></span></p><span style="font-family:arial;">"Just up the street." John fell silent. Doris stared at him for a few seconds, laughed to herself and<br /><br /><br />shook her head. Turning to pick up her next order she refilled John's coffee cup before heading to<br /><br /><br />the kitchen.<br /></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>As soon as she returned, John's face had shadowed.<span style=""> </span><i>Just like that</i>, she thought.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"<st1:place st="on">Doris</st1:place>, has anyone ever talked to you and you didn't want to listen?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span><st1:place st="on">Doris</st1:place> raised one eyebrow, "Kid, are you serious? That's a good one. Yeah, sure.<span style=""> </span>What are you gettin' at?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"Nothing," John dismissed her.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"Hey, Johnny, are you okay? Someone giving you a hard time?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"Oh no!" Johnny said.<span style=""> </span>"Stevie would never do that.<span style=""> </span>He gets a little annoying sometimes, that's all."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"Who's Stevie? Your little brother?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>John started laughing so hard he almost fell off his stool but then, magically straightened.<span style=""> </span>"I never thought of it that way..."<span style=""> </span>He was now staring off into the distance, a slight melancholy present in his eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span><st1:place st="on">Doris</st1:place> was mesmerized by John.<span style=""> </span>She couldn't quite put her finger on it.<span style=""> </span>Maybe it was his childlike manner despite his lanky, almost gawky frame.<span style=""> </span>He couldn't be much older than 25.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"So who's Stevie?" It was almost like talking to a child!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"He's the voice in my head."<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"Oooooh..."<st1:place st="on">Doris</st1:place> nodded.<span style=""> </span><i>Of course! This guy was a nutcase</i>.<span style=""> </span>But he seemed harmless enough.<span style=""> </span>"So what's he tell you?"<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""> </span>"All sorts of stuff.<span style=""> </span>But he's so young! He doesn't know anything!" John retorted back in a surprisingly abrupt and loud tone.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;">Edit: Apologies for the formatting; Blogger's being cranky.<br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-41755145708944466542007-02-25T14:59:00.000-05:002007-02-25T15:25:11.020-05:00Johnny and Doris - Part II wrote this very short story several years ago. Cleaned it up a bit for posting here. It's a bit long for one installment so will be done in several. Thank you.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Leaving the building, he realized he had forgotten his umbrella. "Damn It! It sure looks like it's going to pour." </span><o:p></o:p><span style=""></span><span style="font-family:Arial;"><br /><br />A diner was a block and a half away.<span style=""> </span>As John entered trying to shake himself dry, his stomach growled.<span style=""> </span>He glanced at the menus hoisted high above the long grills, deep-fryers and stainless steel counter space.<span style=""> </span>Perhaps they had an all day breakfast or maybe just a coffee and a slice of pie.<span style=""> </span>Sure, that was easy.</span><span style="font-family:Arial;"><br /><br />John waited patiently in line.<span style=""> </span>When he arrived at the front, his eyes locked with those of a thin and weary woman, maybe 20 years his senior.<span style=""> </span>Her name tag read: <st1:place st="on">"Doris"</st1:place> and had white lilies patterned above the plastic pin that indicated her identity.<span style=""> </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">"What'll it be?" she sighed. </span><span style="font-family:Arial;"><br /><br />"What kind of pie you got? Fresh."<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family:Arial;"><br /><br />She threw him a long stare just to see if he was being sarcastic.<span style=""> </span>Instead, she saw John's rather focused expression, like he was awaiting news about the current rainstorm on the radio, hanging onto the forecast as if he had plans later that afternoon to go sailing of play baseball in the park.<span style=""> </span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;"><br /><br />"Apple and blueberry, if you want cherry, you come tomorrow."<span style=""> </span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;"><br /><br />"Apple'll be fine," John nodded as he took a seat at the counter nearest to the ordering station, gingerly removing his soaking jacket to avoid dampening a nearby customer.<span style=""> </span><st1:place st="on">Doris</st1:place> brought him his order and he ravenously dug in to the pie like he hadn't eaten in days.<span style=""> </span>Then he slurped back his coffee and wiped his mouth along his shirtsleeve.</span><span style="font-family:Arial;"><br /><br />"That was impressive," <st1:place st="on">Doris</st1:place> smirked.<span style=""> </span>John returned her cheerful advance with only a blank stare.<span style=""> </span><st1:place st="on">Doris</st1:place> straightened in demeanor. This guy was kind of strange.<span style=""> </span>She had never seen him in the place before.<span style=""> </span>They kept a pretty regular clientele.<span style=""> </span>In this part of Brooklyn there were lots of places to choose from so <st1:place st="on">Doris</st1:place> liked to think of all her regulars as family.<span style=""> </span>Not that she wouldn't treat any newcomer like this guy any differently, it was just harder to joke around and gauge their reactions and this one was a prime example.<span style=""> </span>"Can I get you anything else?" she inquired politely.<span style=""> </span>John shook his head.<span style=""><br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;">"How much?"<span style=""></span></span><span style="font-family:Arial;"><br /><br />"Two eighty-five."<br /><br />With that, John threw a crumpled two dollar bill and a handful of change on the counter and left. It had stopped raining and he could now walk safely home without his forgotten umbrella.<o:p></o:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24pt;"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style=""></span><br /><o:p></o:p></span></p>Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-88676219563757471102007-02-22T11:41:00.000-05:002007-02-22T12:51:01.059-05:00I Like ToysI'm a big gadget fan.<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQwiaPW6WNBCl8Xk_YDy2c6CLa5qkwxoFb8b1xF9lSkk9WHRnnUlm1bXzBuKLQsK_VOQcLrlFvGzB26ZK1IGj4LwyhUcAp4DxuRbn8DXUteW_68-6KXb4YllzHZKogKfUXsb7D6OTMW820/s1600-h/apple2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQwiaPW6WNBCl8Xk_YDy2c6CLa5qkwxoFb8b1xF9lSkk9WHRnnUlm1bXzBuKLQsK_VOQcLrlFvGzB26ZK1IGj4LwyhUcAp4DxuRbn8DXUteW_68-6KXb4YllzHZKogKfUXsb7D6OTMW820/s320/apple2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034402524580812450" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Yes, even if they sometimes mystify me.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6QzFHIzdEc4J6M2-ZBu7Vdm0aA4s5-_H5oZy_4qKpcNKldUHrOJlW6u2lM9pVH3lzxFphG7acR8DMjCZo9sMJ4okz173WdXFcny_ZQF8Vr9gyBHpj2Z32r1ux1t3ig9QvKCScYpEeOU3Q/s1600-h/MacBook.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6QzFHIzdEc4J6M2-ZBu7Vdm0aA4s5-_H5oZy_4qKpcNKldUHrOJlW6u2lM9pVH3lzxFphG7acR8DMjCZo9sMJ4okz173WdXFcny_ZQF8Vr9gyBHpj2Z32r1ux1t3ig9QvKCScYpEeOU3Q/s320/MacBook.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034401996299835026" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Alright, I'll try and stop and get off the Apple Train but I am consumed. My little poll isn't helping me. It's current results are sitting at an even 50/50. I think part of the problem is that I'm not used to spending large quantities of money on myself. I've never really had any money so I have always lived a rather frugal existence (barring hypomanic spending sprees that have resulted in ridiculous amounts of debt--and regret--later.)<br /><br />I have a terribly impulsive habit of buying things and then letting them sit to gather dust. Will this new "toy" encourage me to pursue more creative outlets of days long past? Can I make it into a useful tool?<br /><br />There are (and have been of late) rumblings and eruptions in the workplace. I am trying not to think of losing my job. I'm not leaping over the edge into catastrophic thinking but surely you live in a bubble if you think that your job is safe at all in today's world. My MacBook would surely help me if I needed to go back to school and (eek!) think of pursuing a career in Nursing again. Or something else. Or it could perhaps just amuse me as I lay in bed completely depressed that I had lost my job. Or it would again gather dust because I would be so distraught I would not be able to move.<br /><br />Anyway, enough of that talk! I am reasonably sure that my job is safe...for now at least.<br /><br />I emailed a friend of mine, my "Mac Guru" for his advice. I haven't heard anything back. I will surely need his assistance. He helped me the last time, well, actually the last two times I bought old PowerBooks and loaded me up with all that I needed and got me up and running. They were both second hand machines so virtually useless. He's a whiz and I'm a dolt so I will need him.<br /><br />But speaking of some "non-technical" toys, I bought a couple a while ago.<br /><br />The first was a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Newton%27s_cradle" target="_blank">Newton's Cradle</a>. I've wanted one for years! It's really cheap though. I want a better one! Again, perhaps I am too frugal. I don't know who likes it more, the cat or myself. Probably me because I have a slightly longer attention span? Granted, with this sort of thing, since it's a real "stim" toy (i.e. self-stimulatory behaviour) I could play with it for hours! I love watching the motion of it, staring at the shiny metal balls and hearing the steady <span style="font-style: italic;">click-click</span> sound that it makes.<br /><br />The sound reminds me of a metronome we had in the house as a child. I loved that metronome. I can not play the piano but my sister managed to teach herself when she was younger (lucky girl!) No one else in my immediate family plays but somehow she managed to aquire some innate musical talent. She can also play guitar but she hasn't really touched either in years.<br /><br />I get upset with my Newton's Cradle, however, because it won't keep going! I never want it to stop. I become transfixed but I need to keep setting it in motion again and again. Because of this fact, I try to play with it only when I am alone. I fear that my obsession with it will drive anyone else around me and it completely bonkers. I was tempted to bring it in to work but that would not be a good idea for several reasons. Apart from the point previously mentioned, I already have too many other "toys" on my desk and in now looking around...well, it's always in a complete state of chaos. It would only add to the mounting clutter--just not a good idea.<br /><br />I also bought a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mancala" target=" _blank">Mancala</a> set. If you take the time to read about it in the link, this game is very old. I first played it while on vacation with a friend and his children in Antigua many years ago. It is deceptively simple but you can <span style="font-style: italic;">try</span> to employ strategy. I've taken to actually setting it up and playing it by myself to try and see how to strategically "win" this game. It's a little difficult, however as there are variations as to how you can actually play the game.<br /><br />I used to play chess as a child. My father taught me when I was young as I was curious about it. When I was about 10-12(?) instead of playing and running and jumping about the schoolyard with all of the other children, I had two other boys that I used to play it with when we had breaks from class or "recess." Yes, I was an absolute <span style="font-weight: bold;">geek<span style="font-weight: bold;">.</span></span> But when we all advanced to a new school, the two boys went off to different ones and I lost my chess mates. And at home, things were growing more and more out of control and it seems I had lost my father as a chess mate as well. I've never played chess since.<br /><br />As for games now, I will play anything that has to do with Trivia. You can't keep me away from it. I may not have a clue or sometimes I may score well but it's always fun.Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-54683770467207127492007-02-21T12:04:00.000-05:002007-02-21T17:12:52.028-05:00Karmic Retribution?I just had a wonderful, long talk with an old friend of mine.<br /><br />Years ago, I was fired from a job for being "mentally ill." Of course, this was not the reason they gave but no matter, we all knew that was the truth. I had chosen to be open about my illness--I had no recourse. I had been hospitalized twice; I had even been visited during one of them by my Manager and Supervisor (much to my horror!) I believed they were trying to be supportive. Maybe at the time they were. I do not know.<br /><br />I had no means for litigation--I was broke! I was close to living on the street as I had to barter my last month's rent by painting and doing some odd job work in another unit in the building lest my landlord try to evict me. I chose another "free" route via the government to seek what was owed to me.<br /><br />I was "vindicated," I suppose. I did not receive the full settlement I was entitled to by law but I did receive a portion of it. That was all they were willing to give and <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> could have rejected it but I couldn't face going through the entire process again. It was too lenghty and too upsetting.<br /><br />The company could have appealed everything entirely but they chose not to. I guess this means that in doing so, they were admitting that they were in fact liable and it was a case of "wrongful dismissal." I did not receive any apologies, however. The victory seemed hollow.<br /><br />And it was truly brutal facing my Ex-Manager (who was now also my Ex-Friend,) my Ex-Supervisor, the head of Human Resources and the completely ridiculous lawyer they had hired <span style="font-style: italic;">all by myself</span>.<br /><br />Anyway, I had not spoken to this friend of mine in a long time. He still works there. Many changes have taken place since I left. I have found out that Ex-Manager/Friend and Ex-Supervisor had "been removed" perhaps due to performance issues and one has failed miserably (Ex-Supervisor) in a new position. I have also found out that the company has lost the contract where we all worked and will probably never get it back--it was worth a lot of money. I have also found out that over the years, several other people have deluged them with other wrongful dismissal claims.<br /><br />I wonder how they made out?<br /><br />Call me a bitch but I am still bitter to the core about this. I was treated horribly and the things I was asked to do, the way I was made to "behave" after I came back to work at this job--it was sickening. I was trying at the time to figure a way to get out but apparently that decision was made for my by a bunch of ignorant, discriminatory, unfeeling assholes.Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-2800980543271891482007-02-20T19:22:00.000-05:002007-02-21T16:29:06.903-05:00And Speaking Of Impulsiveness And Decision Making...I was drooling over MacBooks while bored at work today. I have taken to sitting up at night working on my obsolete PowerBook where equally obsolete pieces of writing reside. Well, some of the pieces are still useful, I have found. Also slightly out of date but useful is some of the software on the machine.<br /><br />I mentioned this to my partner when I came home and she simply said:<br /><br />"Well, you can afford it. Buy it!"<br /><br />Perhaps not the sort of encouragement I need?!<br /><br />Now the first order of business would be the ability to transfer my entire iTunes library from PC to Mac. I believe this can be done? And then presumably, my current iPod should work? I believe at time of purchase, when you specify for Mac or PC the only reason is for the software. Otherwise, the unit is the same?<br /><br />Forgive me for I art technologically dumb.<br /><br />I hate the PC we have at home. It's a Dell which <span style="font-style: italic;">should</span> be reputable but it has been buggy since it was first purchased.<br /><br />So what do you think, everyone? Should I get a MacBook?Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-6154509504140104332007-02-20T10:39:00.000-05:002007-02-20T11:13:12.883-05:00To Assume Or Presume, That Is The Question?These words are used almost interchangeably in every day parlance but there is a subtle difference.<br /><br />To <span style="font-style: italic;">assume</span> is to take for granted, as proof, with or without having the facts; to <span style="font-style: italic;">presume</span> is to do the same on the basis of probability or belief--perhaps even based upon future revelation of fact. To look at the Latin prefixes, <span style="font-style: italic;">a-</span> means without and <span style="font-style: italic;">pre-</span> means before.<br /><br />I tend to assume a lot. Well, sometimes? Alright, hard to measure but I try not to. However, I find myself doing it, even if I don't like to admit it. <br /><br />So many times I find there are so many unknowns and I am constantly grasping at straws, reaching for answers. I've always believed that I was a patient person and I do believe that I can be but some people have proven me completely wrong in this respect. Of course, I haven't liked it. How often do we like to be proven wrong about ourselves?<br /><br />I can also be incredibly impulsive and yet at other times, I can labour over a decision that seems like an eternity that most people would make in a split second. Very simple decisions!<br /><br />I used to have such a "clear vision" of myself. Was that the hypomanic, energetic, frenzied version of PA who never doubted anything? And if she made any "assumptions" then, was she right, was she wrong? Was she so absolutely filled to the brim with confidence that it didn't matter?<br /><br />Now having grappled with the diagnosis of Bipolar for many years (and for a few less years ADD) things are more complicated. Unpredictable mood swings, impaired judgment, medication rollercoasters and living in a constant state of flux can set you up for a permanent state of readiness for "assumption."<br /><br />Also, when you are a trauma survivor and you have little to no memory of your abuse you are practically <span style="font-weight: bold;">born</span> to assume. You have no one to ask so many questions to! Really important ones! Well, you can but they are not always the <span style="font-style: italic;">right</span> people. The people that I need to talk to, the people that hold the keys to all the secrets are not accessible to me.<br /><br />This leaves the mind to wander...and unfortunately to assume. I try not to let all of the above pervade my life too much in allowing my thoughts overwhelm me but I know that I am only human with a very overactive brain. I need to accept that as well.Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-12024846518782731032007-02-19T16:50:00.000-05:002007-02-19T17:01:51.917-05:00Least Favourite Work Task?Oh crap. I have been asked to put together some sort of "social function" for work. I am not good at this. I positively <span style="font-weight: bold;">loathe</span> "event planning." I am the furthest thing from a social convenor imaginable! My decision making skills fluctuate obscenely but in this area they are virtually non-existent. Ugh.<br /><br />The majority of times I don't even like to <span style="font-style: italic;">attend</span> social functions (work or otherwise but especially work) but can and will when necessary. Depending upon how things move along, I may even (eventually?) enjoy myself but it really depends on a lot of factors.<br /><br />This is going to be ugly (probably not so much the attending, just the preparation.) And I don't think I have a lot of time. Shit.Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8220384822616348160.post-64219734476234569692007-02-19T10:55:00.000-05:002007-02-19T10:55:24.280-05:00Some People Are Just Mean?Some symptoms you can alleviate and some you just can't?<br /><br />I've met a lot of mean people in my life and well, I don't think their stripes will ever change.<br /><br />Edit: There was a hyperlink here but the NYT archived the article. So for those of you that do not have online access to read said archived articles, here is the story:<br /><br />Further Edit: You know, contrary to popular opinion(?) PA does have a conscience and you know, I just can't bring myself to post the damned copyrighted article!<br /><br />So I will give you a choice. You may either link to the NYT and just type in your personal info to access it (it's free, no biggie) <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/glogin?URI=http://gk.nytimes.com/mem/gatekeeper.html&OQ=_rQ3D1Q26URIQ3DhttpQ3AQ2FQ2Fwww.nytimes.comQ2F2007Q2F02Q2F06Q2FhealthQ2FpsychologyQ2F06essa.htmlQ26OQ51Q3D_rQ513D1Q26OPQ3D50bc334fQ512FQ512Bm)Q513FQ512BlvbQ5160ovvQ517EQ5124Q512BQ5124KKdQ512BKQ5124Q512BKGQ512BQ5120)5tQ517EQ5120Q512B,Q5160-bQ5120vtvA-Q512BKG)Q5160Q51605@Q5120Q517EQ515Ct&OP=1cea28b5Q2FQ2BQ22qQ3DQ2BQ24SZqHp6Q2B5ZlHYYQ24WQ2BYQ7EQ7BZq5ZqpQ2BQ3BHZqQ5DqqYqQ7ED5Zl" target=_blank>here</a>. If it doesn't take you directly to the article it is called "About That Mean Streak of Yours: Psychiatry Can Only Do So Much"<br /><br />Conversely, someone else on their blog has posted it so if you wish to engage in illegal copyright perusal, you may read it <a href="http://nathanr.ca/editorials/about-that-mean-streak-of-yours-psychiatry-can-do-only-so-much/" target=_blank>here</a>. They apparently have more chutzpah than I do.<br /><br />This post has obviously been more stress inducing than intended for me. Maybe time for a yet another blogging break?Patient Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13443612027249870621noreply@blogger.com10