the_siobhan: (What Would Johnny Cash Do?)
This weekend was just the right balance of partner time so I could feel supported, alone time so I could chill, long walks, digging in potting soil, beardie snuggles, feeling productive and just farking around in a video game.

Thank you to everybody for the light. I'm feeling more like myself and will probably be able to get through this week without biting anybody.

map maker

Nov. 23rd, 2012 01:28 pm
the_siobhan: (Fester 2012)
So apparently yesterday was complete and utter meltdown day.

Today is get back up and just get on with it day.

Tomorrow will be go looking for some zen day.

So it goes.

Day 396

Oct. 1st, 2012 10:23 am
the_siobhan: (psychochicken)
So today is day one of weaning myself off the meds. To see what happens.

Given that I am having a particularly dizzy day today, I'm quite looking forward to being done with them.

On the other hand, life hasn't exactly been stress-free so I'm also a little apprehensive. But I figure this life will start being stress free approximately six days after I stop breathing, so whatever.

So anyway. If you notice my behaviour being unusually um, aberrant over the course of the next month, let me know.
the_siobhan: (SCIENCE!)
Is there a name for the thing where one has a compulsion to peel one's skin off?

I think it's a type of OCD, but I would expect it has it's own name as well.


Jul. 6th, 2012 04:08 pm
the_siobhan: (goth music sucks)
"Imagine looking at your computer screen and seeing everything that the teller at the bank sees. Every cheque, every deposit, every debit as far back as you want to see them. It may sound like something from The Jetsons but it's not; it's online banking and it's available right now."

That was the first paragraph of a Toronto Star article that I read today. It was written in 1998. I found it in a box. In my basement.

The long weekend was the excavation of the deepest darkest parts of the storage room. The parts where stuff had been sitting around the longest and was therefore the most covered in dust and spider webs.(It occurs to me that one of the shortcomings of the English language was the lack of a word to identify the exact point in a former-reprobate-turned-responsable-home-owner's life when they realize they have now collectively snorted more plaster particles than they have recreational pharmaceuticals.)

Since then I've been going through some of the boxes we've excavated and well, I'm finding an awful lot of stuff. I always knew I had a tendency towards hoarding whenever my mood went pear-shaped, but "knowing" is different than seeing it in front of me in black and white. Well, black and crumbling yellow-brown actually. It's kind of freaky being able to chart the state of your mental health by the dates on the magazines you couldn't make yourself throw away.

I feel sorry for the guys who have to empty our recycling bin this month.

I've found lots of other stuff of course. My old 'zine collection. (Including the Haven issues, if any of Ye Olde Tyme a.g folks remember that.) So many CDs that Axel has started accusing me of hiding a stash somewhere just for the comedic value of being able to jump out and yell, "Found some more!" on a daily basis. Two goths merging living space also leads to a truly redonculous collection of candlesticks and skulls. At some point we'll get to the stage of trying to figure out where the hell we are going to fit all these books and that's bound to involve some yelling.

We also found Yet Another Box of C8 t-shirts. How the hell are there more? Didn't I give away a whole bunch a few years ago? Are they breeding in the dark or something?

Was there anybody who wanted one who didn't get the last time around? I can't promise they won't breed.
the_siobhan: (wormtooth)
Somebody in our neighbourhood has been putting up these enormous posters that say in big friendly letters, "What Would Joni Mitchell Do?" Somebody - I'm assuming a different somebody - has been writing answers to this question in magic marker at the bottom of the poster. The most common one I've seen is "Buy A Bag Of Weed".

I was walking to my dentist the other day and I passed one where the person had written, "Give Her Daughter Up For Adoption".

It felt like I had been punched in the face.

I can't say that it bothers me per se. I genuinely don't give a flying shit what some stranger might think of me or of my choices. But sometimes the startlement factor can still give me a good whomp on the back of the head.
the_siobhan: (What Would John Cleese Do?)
Like many of my posts do, this one started out as a conversation with Axel the other week. I was noting just how many people I seem to know who have some form of mental illness. Everything from depression and anxiety to PTSD right up to the big boys like schizophrenia and multiple personality disorder.

I gotta say, it's a great thing for me personally, because it means there is almost no experience that I can't bounce off of somebody for feedback. But it did occur to me when I was having yet another conversation about the voices in my head with a group of friends who were nodding and saying, "When that happened to me..." and "What my voices do is..." Well, it occurred to me that there is an awful lot of collective crazy in my social circles.

Which makes me wonder why.

Possibility one is that mental issues are a lot more common than anybody acknowledges or recognizes and my friends are just your average cross-section of the population.

Possibility two is that I tend to select my friends from people who are more likely to be mentally or neurologically "different" from the norm.

I'm kind of inclined to think it's 60% option B and 40% option A.

On a slightly related topic, I've seen a lot of feedback on progressive blogs that "crazy" is an ableist slur in the same way that "retarded" or "lame" is. In that people use the word crazy to describe certain kinds of negative behaviour (the kind of behaviour, say, you see coming out of people like Mel Gibson or Charlie Sheen) when really the person's mental health is a completely separate issue from the fact that they are just a full-blown asshole.

I can kinda buy that. I'm unlikely to stop refering to myself as crazy any time soon though.
the_siobhan: (psychochicken)
That I spend almost every morning of every day yelling at inanimate objects?
the_siobhan: (Professor Fly)
When I was a kid I used to have a repeating dream of falling from a great height. The start of the dream was always different but it usually involved me tripping and falling into a hole of some kind. I was forever slipping into spaces between things - between an elevator and the shaft, or the subway car and the platform, or the moving steps of an escalator. Once the back door flipped open on a station wagon that I was riding in as it drove down a white staircase and I fell out the back. (I have no idea what that was all about.)

Regardless of how I got there I always ended up in the same place; falling through a vast featureless white space for several long tense minutes and then slamming into the white surface at the bottom. It hurt. Sometimes I saw bones, always I felt blood pooling around me. Occasionally I would hear sirens. Slowly everything would go dark and then I would wake up in my bed. I would lie there in the dark until I would eventually go back to sleep and go through the whole thing all over again.

I don't know how old I was when the dreams started. It's one of my earliest memories. I don't know how old I was when they stopped either. I do know that I had them every night for many years.

Lat night I had a dream that I went to a Convergence that took place in some high mountains. I had travelled there in a pick-up truck with a couple of alt.gothic folks from back in the day. When we left for home we were all sleep-deprived and hung-over, two people in the front with the driver and me sitting in the flat bed. The highway took us over a bridge that crossed from one high peak to another and at that exact moment the driver fell asleep, just for a split second. The truck veered off the road.

There was a town in the valley and I could see the buildings spread out below me as the truck started to tumble in the air. I could hear the driver sobbing, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," over and over again. There was nothing to the sides, nothing below us but empty space and hard ground. Nothing to break our fall.

I braced my feet against the flatbed and as the truck tilted I pushed myself away so that we drifted slowly apart from each other as we fell. The wind was deafening, the force of it felt like hands pushing on me. I spread my arms out like wings to the sides and smiled at the ground rushing up towards me. For the last few seconds of my life; flying, open, free.

Then I woke up. And got out of bed. And found a little pile of mouse turds next to the toaster.
the_siobhan: (blank)
The day following a dream in which I die never feels like it's fitting quite right. Like walking around with a sock that has half-slipped off inside a boot.
the_siobhan: It means, "to rot" (Default)
I've been reading about Circadian Rhythm Sleep Disorders and the treatment thereof. How... bizarre.

I'm well aware that my sleep patterns don't work the way the majority of other peoples' do - I match the description of Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome pretty much exactly. It had just never occurred to me that this might be considered a disorder in need of treatment.

People are strange.
the_siobhan: It means, "to rot" (Default)
So you know that post I made about coming out of the crazy closet?

Looks like I"m going to have to put my money where my mouth is.

One of these days I really will learn to keep my mouth shut...
the_siobhan: It means, "to rot" (Default)
I haven't been blogging much.

Most of my actual time these days has been taken up by dealing with physical health issues. Which are, quite frankly, boring. For me as well as for you.

And mental health issues. Even more boring.

And I could bitch about my job. But seriously? Who doesn't.

Or my house jesusfuckme. But then again I have lived here for six fucking years and if I can't sort this shit out in six years somebody should just have me put down already.

So what else is there?

Politics, but so many other people do it so much better. Same with social issues, and seriously after items one through four I really can't seem to get up the jam to form a really good rant about any of it.


You know.


Maybe I'll start a cult.
the_siobhan: It means, "to rot" (Default)
While in a loud dark place full of strangers DON'T HOLD ONTO MY FUCKING HEAD.


the_siobhan: It means, "to rot" (Default)

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