Exit, Pursued By A Bear

An Unreliable Narrator


into which the cosmos will collapse once again
Reptile House
academichussy

Dear Internet,

In January, I found out I was soon going to be out of a job.

In February, I lost my beloved Wednesday.

In June, it was revealed I am co-defendant in a $1.25M defamation case.

In August, I separated from my husband.

The last 72 hours have been a corporeal version of bipolar. The cycling in this house, between the two of us, is so fast and furious, the sheer amount of  willpower to keep myself together has been exhausting.

Yet, this is the most lucid and clear I’ve felt in years.

The tl;dr is I will never see his joyful face in my Instagram feed. There is not a single picture, with perhaps the exception of our wedding photo four years ago, where he looks like he wants to be there.

The condensed version is I’ve struggling with leaving him for the last two years. Shortly after my 40th birthday, I had the arthritis ankle surgery. Several months later, I knew I was in such a bad place, I sought out help. I wanted to be sure that whatever feelings I had were because of the crazy, not because I was unhappy in the relationship. On paper, my relationship looked flawless.

During all of this, I would voice my concerns to him, tell him what was going on in my head. We would have these big sit down talks about the status of the relationship. I would continue to work on making me whole, he would do his bit.

But he never really did.

And since I am the Guinness world holder for navel gazing, I documented all of it here, so I know, I KNOW, I fought for my marriage and for him. But after two years, and not seeing myself or ourselves go forward, I knew I had to make a choice: Me or my marriage.

I choose me.

He’s angry right now and he’s lashing out at me, and I take it because I am not arguing, debating, or correcting his impressions. I’m a terrible person because he stuck through with the surgery and the crazy, why can’t I wait for him? He vilifies me in one breath and tells me I’m the love of his life in the other.

I’m selfish because I am not keeping to my vows. The same vows he ridiculed for years because as we all know, he only married me to give me health insurance.

There is more to this, ALWAYS more to this, but this is all that you need to know. For now. When the time comes, and it will, to examine with microscopic intensity the demise of my relationship, I will commit it all here.

As for me? Well. I have nothing left to lose anymore. I have lost everything. So, once the home is sold and the divorce is settled, I’m leaving Michigan. Hopefully for good this time. I always come back to lick my wounds here, but there is nothing left is this state for me anymore and hasn’t been for a very long time. Of those I’m leaving behind that I care about, I am sorry, but I cannot be here anymore.

I’m heading to the east coast, going to couch hop for a bit, and then find a place to settle.  Get myself a sunny apartment, and with my teddy bear in one hand and a pug leash in the other, start over.

xoxo,
Lisa

This day in Lisa-Universe: 2011, 2008, 2003

Originally published at Exit, Pursued By A Bear. You can comment here or there.


into which the cosmos will collapse once again
Reptile House
academichussy

Dear Internet,

In January, I found out I was soon going to be out of a job.

In February, I lost my beloved Wednesday.

In June, it was revealed I am co-defendant in a $1.25M defamation case.

In August, I separated from my husband.

The last 72 hours have been a corporeal version of bipolar. The cycling in this house, between the two of us, is so fast and furious, the sheer amount of  willpower to keep myself together has been exhausting.

Yet, this is the most lucid and clear I’ve felt in years.

The tl;dr is I will never see his joyful face in my Instagram feed. There is not a single picture, with perhaps the exception of our wedding photo four years ago, where he looks like he wants to be there.

The condensed version is I’ve struggling with leaving him for the last two years. Shortly after my 40th birthday, I had the arthritis ankle surgery. Several months later, I knew I was in such a bad place, I sought out help. I wanted to be sure that whatever feelings I had were because of the crazy, not because I was unhappy in the relationship. On paper, my relationship looked flawless.

During all of this, I would voice my concerns to him, tell him what was going on in my head. We would have these big sit down talks about the status of the relationship. I would continue to work on making me whole, he would do his bit.

But he never really did.

And since I am the Guinness world holder for navel gazing, I documented all of it here, so I know, I KNOW, I fought for my marriage and for him. But after two years, and not seeing myself or ourselves go forward, I knew I had to make a choice: Me or my marriage.

I choose me.

He’s angry right now and he’s lashing out at me, and I take it because I am not arguing, debating, or correcting his impressions. I’m a terrible person because he stuck through with the surgery and the crazy, why can’t I wait for him? He vilifies me in one breath and tells me I’m the love of his life in the other.

I’m selfish because I am not keeping to my vows. The same vows he ridiculed for years because as we all know, he only married me to give me health insurance.

There is more to this, ALWAYS more to this, but this is all that you need to know. For now. When the time comes, and it will, to examine with microscopic intensity the demise of my relationship, I will commit it all here.

As for me? Well. I have nothing left to lose anymore. I have lost everything. So, once the home is sold and the divorce is settled, I’m leaving Michigan. Hopefully for good this time. I always come back to lick my wounds here, but there is nothing left is this state for me anymore and hasn’t been for a very long time. Of those I’m leaving behind that I care about, I am sorry, but I cannot be here anymore.

I’m heading to the east coast, going to couch hop for a bit, and then find a place to settle.  Get myself a sunny apartment, and with my teddy bear in one hand and a pug lease in the other, start over.

xoxo,
Lisa

This day in Lisa-Universe: 2011, 2008, 2003

Originally published at Exit, Pursued By A Bear. You can comment here or there.


into which the cosmos will collapse once again
Reptile House
academichussy

Dear Internet,

In January, I found out I was soon going to be out of a job.

In February, I lost my beloved Wednesday.

In June, I found out I was co-defendant in a $1.25M defamation case.

In August, I separated from my husband.

The last 72 hours have been a corporeal version of bipolar. The cycling in this house, between the two of us, is so fast and furious, the sheer amount of  willpower to keep myself together has been exhausting.

Yet, this is the most lucid and clear I’ve felt in years.

The tl;dr is I will never see his joyful face in my Instagram feed. There is not a single picture, with perhaps the exception of our wedding photo four years ago, where he looks like he wants to be there.

The condensed version is I’ve struggling with leaving him for the last two years. Shortly after my 40th birthday, I had the arthritis ankle surgery. Several months later, I knew I was in such a bad place, I sought out help. I wanted to be sure that whatever feelings I had were because of the crazy, not because I was unhappy in the relationship. On paper, my relationship looked flawless.

During all of this, I would voice my concerns to him, tell him what was going on in my head. We would have these big sit down talks about the status of the relationship. I would continue to work on making me whole, he would do his bit.

But he never really did.

And since I am the Guinness world holder for navel gazing, I documented all of it here, so I know, I KNOW, I fought for my marriage and for him. But after two years, and not seeing myself or ourselves go forward, I knew I had to make a choice: Me or my marriage.

I choose me.

He’s angry right now and he’s lashing out at me, and I take it because I am not arguing, debating, or correcting his impressions. I’m a terrible person because he stuck through with the surgery and the crazy, why can’t I wait for him? He vilifies me in one breath and tells me I’m the love of his life in the other.

I’m selfish because I am not keeping to my vows. The same vows he ridiculed for years because as we all know, he only married me to give me health insurance.

There is more to this, ALWAYS more to this, but this is all that you need to know. For now. When the time comes, and it will, to examine with microscopic intensity the demise of my relationship, I will commit it all here.

As for me? Well. I have nothing left to lose anymore. I have lost everything. So, once the home is sold and the divorce is settled, I’m leaving Michigan. Hopefully for good this time. I always come back to lick my wounds here, but there is nothing left is this state for me anymore and hasn’t been for a very long time. Of those I’m leaving behind that I care about, I am sorry, but I cannot be here anymore.

I’m heading to the east coast, going to couch hop for a bit, and then find a place to settle.  Get myself a sunny apartment, and with my teddy bear in one hand and a pug lease in the other, start over.

xoxo,
Lisa

This day in Lisa-Universe: 2011, 2008, 2003

Originally published at Exit, Pursued By A Bear. You can comment here or there.


Collectioun of Cunnynge Curioustes for August 23, 2014
Reptile House
academichussy
Johann Georg Hainz's Cabinet of Curiosities, circa 1666. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Johann Georg Hainz’s Cabinet of Curiosities, circa 1666. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

During the Renaissance, cabinet of curiosities came into fashion as a collection of objects that would often defy classification. As a precursor to the modern museum, the cabinet referred to room(s), not actual furniture, of things that piqued the owners interest and would be collected and displayed in an aesthetically pleasing manner. Collectioun of Cunnynge Curioustes is my 21st century interpretation of that idea.

 

Dear Internet,

You can follow me on Pinterest on what I’m readingwatching, and listening.

Writing

Ephemera – Prose Companion to The Lisa Chronicles

Reading

Finished

Bagged & Boarded: Bad Houses

fortunehunterThe Fortune Hunter by Daisy Goodwin
(Amazon | WorldCat | GoodReads)

A digital ARC was provided by NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

This should have been a novel that got the pulse racing and the imagination quickening. Instead the pacing, the oft switching of POV, and the tedious of the description just slowed the story down. I read the first 75 pages and was bored stiff of what was going on. I could not find any compelling reason to continue, despite the fact the genre and period are right up my alley. I also could not find a character I could commit too or cheer for. I found Goodwin presented a lot of exposition that wasn’t necessary and as such at times, the story felt forced, as if she was hoping to wing it back into the path to keep it moving forward.

The technicality of the writing is fine and it’s not a terrible story, but I just feel the hype was much more than what the story delivered. This may appeal to readers who like Philippa Gregory.

Watching

  • Rectify
    This show is one of the best shows on TV. Full stop. Daniel Holden is one of the most compelling, complicated, and and sympathetic characters ever written. I love this show.

Weekly watching: Outlander, The BridgeProject RunwayThe Almighty JohnsonsTrue BloodA Place To Call HomeLast Week Tonight with John OliverCosmos: A SpaceTime OdysseyElementary

What have you read/watched/listened to this week?

x0x0,
lisa

This day in Lisa-Universe in:

Originally published at Exit, Pursued By A Bear. You can comment here or there.


call for submissions: almost hi
Reptile House
academichussy

Dear Internet,

history
a million and half years ago (1999), a bunch of friends and i got together and put together a little ‘zine called called tripping on stars. the premise was simple: 500 words, creative fiction or not, specifically detailing the little moments in our lives that we often overlook. it was a the little ‘zine that could but sadly, did not. publication ceased after the first month. go here to get a taste of the type of content we were looking for

present
i like getting daily stories in my inbox, but the content and size tend to overwhelm me. some publishers will publish just about anything, in any size, and i end up deleting more than i read. i want bite sized pieces to cleanse my palette. stories or thoughts that provoke, challenge, entice, beguile, and speak to me. i didn’t care if it was something as mundane as the 30 seconds it takes to put on your socks in the morning.

sometimes i look at people and wondering what they are or doing a that exact moment in their lives. we all like the idea of random slices of interesting stuff in our lives, that are seemingly forgotten.

i want little snippets, either made up or real, about life.

the internet has come a long way in 15 years. it was time to bring back my little ‘zine.

so welcome. welcome. have a look around. we publish monday through friday. you can sign up to have the stories sent you via email, rss, tumblr, twitter, or facebook.

you can also submit a story (and we’ll love you for it even more).

99% of the above is from the about page of my new ‘zine, almost hi.  When putting the old content from the lisa chronicles back online, I stumbled upon the old site that was long buried in my drive and discovered the gems that were there. some of the work was quite good and it was a shame that it had fallen to the wayside. i knew it was time to resurrect the ‘zine but with a new name. like magic, almost hi was born.

i’m chuffed as chips as I’ve started reaching out to some talented writers to contribute and so far, everyone is on board. Now it’s time to reach to do a public call to get even more people participating! I hope to begin publishing sometime in september.

almost hi

xoxo,
lisa
P.S. the site has most of the infrastructure up, but there is a still tires to be kicked and what not. Please excuse the mess.

this day in lisa-universe:

Originally published at Exit, Pursued By A Bear. You can comment here or there.


she rides the sky in a chariot drawn by the horse Hrimfaxi
Reptile House
academichussy

Dear Internet,

This has been my normalized state as of late; the moods cycling like the ever changing weather. I get some work done until my brain decides to be broken and then I stop. I rest. I wait. And then I do what I do best, I hide.

It does not take me long to get tired of these routines, because they are not healthy and also frustrating as fuck. I have shit to do and having a broken brain is not pushing me forward. So I do what anyone in their right mind does in these situations, I make a plan.

I went over that plan with Dr. P. Monday and there were a lot of tears spilled as I spoke (though to be fair, I probably would have cried at the leaves rustling I was so heightened by emotion). And I’m sure, absolutely sure, when this is all said and over, there will be more spilt tears and my own heart is going to be broken a million times over. That was hard to swallow, that realization I had to do this not only alone but that I was going to break my own heart repeatedly to get through to the other side.

A big chunk of that plan is getting back on the drugs. Two weeks ago I contacted my GP to make an appointment to get that recommendation. But her schedule for such matters isn’t free until mid-September. With my appointment with Dr. P. much sooner, I asked him for recs to see if I can get this quick started earlier. I am not in crisis, but I am in pain.

(For those of you playing at home, my previous medicating therapist, Dr. H., is not being contacted for this next journey because he does not take insurance and charges $300/hr. YAY being crazy!)

That conversation with Dr. P. on Monday was the apex of the appointment and I thought my request was easy enough. Apparently, not quite. There is an aging population in Grand Rapids in regards to psychiatry so finding someone to do treatment AND within my insurance network can and could be difficult. Dr. P. gave me a few easy things to begin the search while I wait to see my GP.

The first was to search my provider’s website for medicating therapists, which surprise, turned up no results. They want me to go through the GP first. Okay, sure. That appointment is already made in September. What’s the next step? The second of Dr. P.’s recommendations was to go through a local psychiatric hospital and get in on their day patient list to see a medicating therapist whose sole job is to keep my meds inline.

This is the same hospital where Mumsy was committed after she attempted suicide back in 2001. I can still recall the emotional naked vulnerability of the patients and how desperate I was (and still am!) to not end up in that place. That was my arrogance then, how I was that much stronger than they were. I could handle myself better. I was faster, stronger, and more in control of my disease. Jesus, even as I write this I cannot believe this is how I often feel at times. Like they are weak and I’m the superhuman who could save the world. (But I can’t and my own arrogance is also my own shame.)

Even when I had been adamant for ages on not getting back on the drugs again, it changes because often I feel defeated about my brain. I feel so fucking broken at times that everything with me is opposite of what is supposed to happen. Giving up on the drugs, claiming it is easier to go without then to fix, seems reasonable after you been psychotic because of drug interactions. It all seems reasonable. (It really isn’t.)

But I am telling you, seeing people get their lives together and seeing someone have pure unadulterated joy can begin the digging deep of what you need to change one’s mind. And there is a LOT OF DIGGING.

Here is where the system falls short. The phone calls I’ve been making to the psychiatric hospital? There is a wait. There is always a wait. I am not in crisis, so my needs are not as important. Yes, there is no reason for me to continue being in pain (or suffering), but I am waiting. This is my life now, I wait.

I leave messages and wait for phone calls that come a day later. Which, of course, I miss because I did not hear my phone ring or I’m on the another line. When I return the call, no one answers, and it goes directly to voicemail. I leave my message and the clock resets. This has been the theme of dealing with this hospital this week. They have still yet to return my latest telephone call and it has been over 24 hours. (And they still have not returned my call.)

This morning, however, luck finally decided to hitch herself to my side. I tried the third path of Dr. P.’s which was to call several medicating therapists offices directly and see if they were taking new patients and if they took my insurance. Snake eyes. One of them accepts my insurance AND she’s accepting new patients.

Thank the gods in all their glory for listening to me again.

But there is a catch. (Always.) I need to get my GP to sign off on it (medicating office will fax her the referral, they will fax their assent. Since I already have an appointment with the GP next month, this quickens that process and I can more than likely cancel the appointment). Then my records from Dr. H. need to be sent over, which is a truck load. Then they need to pull my records from 2005 when I was outpatient at another local psychiatric hospital. They can pull out the full list of my drugs from all of the combined records and figure out what drugs I need to get on next. (No SSRIs and no ADHD drugs. Definitely not. I am not depressed. If the bipolar gets stabilized, then I will not need the ADHD drugs.) Then they can schedule me in as a new patient, probably in early October. Now I have a time frame.

Nine years ago, not long after TheBassist and I broke up and I was simultaneously preparing for undergrad graduation, I started looking at getting a more definite clue as to the status of my brain. I wanted nothing more than to be stable and ready for the new life ahead of me. After receiving the results, I said,

There are three main things I want to accomplish with this:
1. I want to be stable. I want to not to feel the alternating mood swings, crying jags, suicidal thoughts, and what have you on a almost daily basis. I want to be able to maintain a job, social network, and intimate relationships without feeling like these are difficult things.
2. I want to keep my personality. I like my personality, just tone down the aggressive behaviour and some of the exhibitionist that seems to pop up occasionally. My experience with legal drugs in the past have left me meandering as a zombie and felt like I had zero control; I don’t want to go through that again.
3. Manage my life more efficiently without this constant UP swing that seems to prevail where I get lots of work done coupled with weeks/months of time where nothing is done and shit just slips by.

And here we are nine years later, better in a lot of ways. Able to handle the impulsivity and other traits better. Able to recognize when the crazy hits and when my brain is on fire.

But even with all of that self-check in place, I am still broken by the hypomania that continues to wreak havoc in my life.

But those three tenets from nearly a decade ago? Those have not changed. They were what drove me back to getting on the drugs two years ago and what drives me now. This may be the recurring pattern in my life — get on the drugs, let me body go to war, go off the drugs. Rest. Began the battle again.

I do not want to exist in this place as a mass of water and bone, just waiting it out until I can collect my pension and then one day die. (If I do not take my own life before hand, because this is also a truism. If I cannot get my brain sorted, I have no problems doing just that. Demons not of your making that cannot be exorcised, haunt me.)

I want to have a fucking life. I want to enjoy the world and not be imprisoned in this gilded cage of my own making.

xoxo,
Lisa

 

This day in Lisa-Universe: 2013, 2003, 1999

 

Originally published at Exit, Pursued By A Bear. You can comment here or there.


Bagged & Boarded: Bad Houses
Reptile House
academichussy

badhousesBad Houses
by Sara Ryan (story) and Carla Speed McNeil (art)
[Amazon | Worldcat | GoodReads | Comixology]
Length: 156 pages
Release date: October 29, 2013
Publisher: Dark Horse Comics
Rating: 3.5/5 stars

tl;dr: An engrossing tale of two people who fall in love, but it’s also a story of healing the past and moving towards the future. So while the book is great, it’s not amazing and that is perhaps its failing. It could have been amazing but it simply did not live up to its potential.

ReviewBad Houses is marketed by Dark House as juvenile fiction but I don’t think that’s accurate. The story contains adult situations that are reads far too sophisticated for juvenilia.

The story is on point and the side stories are fill in the edges. The flashbacks hint at things that are not fleshed out, but that’s okay — the end doesn’t need a pretty bow to necessarily feel complete. You know, feel, and love the characters as if they are a part of your own existing circle of friends. Character development is exquisite and the art is gorgeous. Ryan’s ability to capture the essence of a person in succinct form is a brilliant trait coupled with McNeil’s art makes this a joyous book to hold.

But the more I sit with this story, the more I feel as if something is missing from the tale.  I don’t’ feel satiated when I closed the cover. Sure, I want more of  Anne/Lewis, but there is an element in their story that is missing. If Ryan had explored that more with her writing, let McNeil fill in the art bits, the story would have been perfect. But as such, it isn’t and rates only 3.5/5 stars.

Originally published at Exit, Pursued By A Bear. You can comment here or there.


Collectioun of Cunnynge Curioustes for August 16, 2014
Reptile House
academichussy
Johann Georg Hainz's Cabinet of Curiosities, circa 1666. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Johann Georg Hainz’s Cabinet of Curiosities, circa 1666. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

During the Renaissance, cabinet of curiosities came into fashion as a collection of objects that would often defy classification. As a precursor to the modern museum, the cabinet referred to room(s), not actual furniture, of things that piqued the owners interest and would be collected and displayed in an aesthetically pleasing manner. Collectioun of Cunnynge Curioustes is my 21st century interpretation of that idea.

 

Dear Internet,

You can follow me on Pinterest on what I’m readingwatching, and listening.

Listening

mercuriesAs it has been nearly a decade since TheBassist and I last spoke, we’ve been playing catchup on the others lives. One of the projects he was working then finally came to fruition roughly the same week we got back in touch, his band, The Mercuries, finally released their first LP!

Blues-orientated with a titch of 90s college radio thrown in. I dig it, though to be fair, I’ve only given it a few spins. Favorite song is Brother Misery.

You can get said LP at iTunes and Amazon, or stream it from Spotify. They play around the NY-CT area, so make sure to catch them!

(TheBassist, the gentlemen with the shock of hair and glasses in the background, is 6’7″. 7′ when the hair is standing attention. When I saw the cover, I thought either this was the worlds tallest band OR a great photoshop job. Unfortunately, it’s a photoshop job. ALSO, since I never digitally throw out anything, I happened to have half of their original EP from a million years ago and words to some of the songs TheBassist had written and lost. Archivists 4 lyfe. \m/ )

awesomemix As reward for adulting this week, I took myself to see Guardians of the Galaxy, and HOO BOY. Did I love it. I may take myself to go see it again next week, and when it comes out on ancient 20th century technology, a copy will be mine!

In addition to buzz of the film, the other big buzz is the soundtrack. Comprised of remasters of songs of the ’60s and ’70s, it is strangely a great accompaniment to a film set in contemporary era. And yes, baby Groot in a pot dancing to Jackson 5 was beyond delightful. All chair dancing will now be known as baby Groot dancing.

You can get the album on iTunes, Amazon, and stream it on Spotify.

Watching

  • Outlander
    One episode has been shown and the series has already been renewed for a second season. The current hope among the critics, where it is getting rave reviews, is that it will become the female-centered Game of Thrones and have the same attempt at longevity since there is as many books as GoT. What do we think? It’s — okay. The first episode was unbearably slow and I didn’t find the chemistry between Jamie/Claire believable (burgeoning or otherwise), but Claire/Frank was totally hot. Fingers cross the show picks up.

Weekly watching: The BridgeProject RunwayThe Almighty JohnsonsTrue BloodRectifyA Place To Call HomeLast Week Tonight with John OliverCosmos: A SpaceTime OdysseyElementary

Links

 

What have you read/watched/listened to this week?

x0x0,
lisa

This day in Lisa-Universe in: 20132003, 2003, 2003, 1999

 

Originally published at Exit, Pursued By A Bear. You can comment here or there.


the 49/51 split
Reptile House
academichussy

Dear Internet,

I woke this morning at 5:37AM with a particular song in my head that was not meant for me. However upon audible relistening, realised it was perfect for a variety of reasons that will only make sense to me.

This has been happening more frequently as of late; I’m waking in early hours with a song in my brain (it is never the same song), that most times, comes out of nowhere. Some mornings, like this morning, there are two that play tag with the other. Then I need to go listen to them on repeat for a bit to exorcise the demon out.

This morning also bequeathed me tears that were shimmering and caught below and I thought The Sads were back. Again. I felt the rough edges of The Sads last night and made immediate plans that upon waking up, I would do nothing but self-care. In that instance it meant curled up in bed, reading all day, under my blanket fort and forgetting the world existed.

But I did not feel depressed, in fact I’m still quite manic. So this was new — to be feel so profoundly emotionally bare and raw but not depressed, in fact, there was some joy. I laid in bed for a few hours this morning, always flipping to find the cool side and always having to have my toes hang over the edge, trying to figure out what this all meant. I checked my phone and caught sight of the email notifications piling up. I knew I had to do some adulting today, I could not push it off like I always want to do. I made a deal with myself — do not think of the larger picture today, but think of the small things you can do. Begin first, with a shower.

When I tell people I am taking a year sabbatical to write a book, they think it’s wonderful and how lucky I am. I jokingly point out sure, come talk to me in a few months when my hair is disheveled and I’m laying about in my own filth. Except, this is not that far from the truth. When I was still working at the academic library, and we were granted nearly a month off at the holidays, TheHusband and I barely left the house. Let me also not speak of how little laundry I do during that period, amongst other things.

It’s easy to get sucked into a routine that is of no good, and I found these old habits raring its head these last few weeks with TheHusband and I working from home. Cobbling together a routine when I was alone at the cabin was easy and I could stick to it, but there is something about being home with him 24/7 where we just feed off the others bad habits that pulls me in its undertow.

So when I cannot get up to the cabin, and I’m working from home, I made myself promise to not fall into those traps, and to begin by just getting up and shower. Even if it meant putting on yoga something and a sports bra under the tshirt of the day, just get up and shower.

(With growing out my hair again (it’s now shoulder length), and not being a big fan of combing it, it is starting to dread. I’ve already had to cut two dread knots in the last week. Keep it together, Lisa!)

The shower.

I started crying in the shower, but it was small sobs rather than a big ugly cry. This had been the crying pattern of late, beginning with the welling of the tears, that turn into a silent storm, with an odd hiccup thrown in. Then I started laughing at myself because a few days prior, I was in a similar stance in the shower (feet spread, water pounding on back, hands on the subway tile) trying to figure out the logistics of a sex scene for a project I’m working on and here I was, on the complete opposite spectrum.

It was time, I knew as I began to shave my legs, to do a self-check if I was having The Sads or it was something else. Here were my truths as I knew them:

  • I’m not in crisis
  • I see my talking therapist, Dr. P, next week, my GP next month to get a referral for a new medicating shrink. I will also ask Dr. P. about another in-network referral to get back on the drugs
  • I’ve been having really near daily soul cleansing conversations with two of my favorite people in the last week
  • My period began earlier in the week and I always get a titch more emotional than usual
  • I cried during Guardians of the Galaxy — YES. Vin Diesel made me weep. I am NOT ashamed
  • One of said favorite people sent me links to cute pug tshirts, earlier in the week a couple of not-so-much-favorite-but-still-up-there-folk sent me links to pug pictures, so I had a big ole case of MissingWednesdays. My pug ovaries are hurtin’

Most of these feels are the normal human condition, heightened sure by the bipolar and raging period hormones, but normal. Sometimes it’s totally okay to pull back and cry. I promise.

So I did.

Once the checklist was done, I was cleansed, and let us not be surprised that now the world did not feel like a big ole chaotic mess. I could deal with this. I got dressed and planned my next step. And when that is done, I will plan the next step. And I will keep making these small steps until the day is done. Build the foundation.

Earlier this week certain lines kept rolling in my head and I recognized their presence from a piece I wrote about a decade ago. The words still resonate, but now for wholly different reasons.

I had, at the time, gone on to record it as an mp3 which you will find below.

(This is not one of my strongest pieces and in fact may be complete crap. I had also just had a bout of reading nothing but e.e. cumming so I was feeling all fancy when I wrote it. I have not listened to the mp3 since the day I recorded it so hopefully it has not degraded over time.)

Emotionally Stripped – the mp3 or you can listen via the embed below

there is a world
	somewhere, in-between
but not here
that exists

emotionally stripped

in this world
i am free
in this world
	there is
		something, anything
everything

emotionally stripped

how far are we willing to play
	in this dangerous game
	how far
	how far
	how
far

emotionally stripped

i don't believe in bittersweet endings
	of love that is never consumed
	of things to yearn for and
never have

emotionally stripped

i don't believe
	that i'll never touch your face
	or feel your taste
	or see your skin against mine
		shining with sweat

there is a world
	somewhere, in-between
that exists
	sliding, sliding
		downward fall

only to be caught

emotionally stripped

 

 

xoxo,
Lisa

This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2011, 2003, 1999

Originally published at Exit, Pursued By A Bear. You can comment here or there.


valkyrie in reverse
Reptile House
academichussy

good girls go to heaven, great women go to valhalla

Dear Internet,

I’ve been beset by an attack of the rages these last few days, the anger so deeply embedded into my chest I can taste the bitterness at the back of my throat. This is one aspect of being bipolar I apparently never opaquely discussed. Mania? Sure. Being depressed? Absolutely. But the anger bit? Apparently never.

Maybe because it’s the least understood part of the disease I always seem to forget until it pops its little head up now and again to remind me it’s still there. I remember lamenting a few years ago when I was dipping low I had loss all emotion, a blank slate anyone could write on. I had forgotten what it felt like to experience deep rooted sensations. I missed being angry because if there is one thing anger does quite well is that it reminds you are alive  and you are more than happy to pay the price it demands because the fernalness of what it gives is intoxicating. (This is true.)

Anger fueled so much of who I was and still am despite the past when I was not sure what it was or how it worked. There seemed to be one thing I did know and that is in anger’s wake, it left gorgeous destructions. I gave no fucks then who I hurt or what I did. My tongue was double ridged for battle and I slew down any opponent who attempted to penetrate my stronghold.

Now, now I’m older. Better prepared. I’m not a novice fumbling with their first bow, but a stealth fighter who no longer targets the ones she loves with diamond edged words. With nothing more than a polite, “I do not wish to engage,” I remove myself from situations that under normal circumstances are wholly benign but in my world tend to be the foundations for attack. There is no point in hurting people unnecessarily when I am being pumped by rage. None.

Then, it was all their fault. Always. The world was out to destroy me. Present, I know that is not the case, but to preserve myself (oh god, the guilt of the after that would engulf me when the rage attack was over was far worse than whatever slight I felt was being made towards me by ten fold), my relationships, I retreated in the ever safe space of my head until the rage attack was over and the metallic taste of its bitterness has finally left my throat.

But even now, in my enlightened state, I stop engaging absolutely to protect myself (and others) from the dragon that sleeps in my belly, and I’m polite about it sure, but people don’t always listen. Some keep on throwing things in my cage, poking me with their swords, waiting for that dragon to roar. Perhaps it is here that I get most maudlin of all, when clear boundaries are set and then trampled over in needs of getting their last word in, their needs met.

I do not loathe these people, but simply feel sad for them. Sad they must fight invisible battles to prove a point that has no meaning. Sad they have no respect for humanity. Sad they do not recognize their own attacks as being just as hurtful as their defense. I recognize all of this within them, for that was me not too long ago.

The gorgeous destruction is breathtaking, but in the end, the price is too high to bear.

xoxo,
Lisa

P.S. I keep saying this but it always bears repeating: the constant awareness of being on is exhausting. Emotionally AND physically. Holding myself to be present as normal, to constantly check/recheck/recheck before any action is worked or words leave my mouth, is exhausting.

This Day in Lisa-Universe: 2013, 2012, 2010

Originally published at Exit, Pursued By A Bear. You can comment here or there.


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