“Whatcha know bout rocking” the noggin?

Finding the perfect level to type on in bed is muy difficult. What’s up with this font? Freakin sucks.  Duh.  HTML.  Get out of the hospital/spa much, Zu?  Jesus.

So, yeah, finally got to try Lyrica.  It tore me up from the floor up, yo.  I got all suicidal and fatalistic and I wound up at the Spa.  Then I got hit with the crud, and when you are, “compromised”, you are more susceptible to any cold, or flu, or disease not covered by my immunizations I have to get every year etc.

So, I’m lying in the mental hospital (Spa), feeling better cuz the Lyrica is out of my system, but, I’m sick as a dog.  I’m all whacked out.  Can’t get out, had to have a chest X-ray to make sure it hadn’t turned into Pneumonia.  Spelled that right the first time.  Yuuuup.  Wut?  So, I was released into the wild yesterday.  Fell asleep at 7:30 pm, woke up at ten p.m.  Have been cat napping/lizard medicine ever since.  I go to Partial hospitalization, day programming at the Spa today.  I hope I can make it.  I’m fucking tired and sick and shit ass dirty feeling.  Woof.

There was a good group of people at the spa.  There was some kind of split yesterday.  I felt normal, you know?  Balanced, healthy?  No one would sit with me until our specific wolf pack came to sit down.  Everybody else at the middle table.  The past six years has been more like a high school experience, from which I was spared, I did not have.  And we are all over twenty.  It’s bullshit.  Really petty at the Spa and in the program.  We’re all in this together, man!  Come on!  Don’t segregate, integrate.  Be a uniter and not a divider.

I told one of the Social Workers about the website and my ideas and goals I have for this website.  She asked me if I was getting paid for this stuff.  No.  It’s my passion.  This blog is about mental health recovery on a meta (?) scale.  Specifically, about DID recovery.  Which, like my other program of recovery, re:alcohol and drugs, is going to be a work in progress.  The only static thing in life, ironically enough, is change.  Because we are usually  matriculating, this blog etc. will continue to blossom and grow and stomp out the stigma.

That’s like, one of my goals for this project.  It’s really important to me that my “deficits” are not treated as “deficits”, but handled appropriately.  Which is, in and of itself, difficult.  Because even though we are all human, we are all different.  I like toast without butter.  Maybe you like toast with butter and jam or just one or the either or fucking olives!  Okay, keep following me here, this will go somewhere, but reasonable accomendations(SP) need to be made for these hairline differences.  Or it’s gonna be a clusterfuck.  Oh, sometimes I swear like a trucker, that’s Rocky.  He is one of my parts, and he’s tough.  Just like Sly was back in the day.  Riddle me this Batman: why is Chuck Norris a bad ass, but the likes of John Wayne, Steve McQueen, Paul Newman, Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan, do not receive the credit they deserve?  I just don’t get it.  Kinda like how mental illness has a horrid wrap, but Diabetes, Stroke, heart problems, things that can be prevented.  Things you are Not born with, or are born with, i.e. MS, do not get the same street cred and treatment with dignity and respect they deserve.  I don’t even know if this is making sense.  I think I’m finally tired…she says at 4:36 am.

Time fir a catnap/.  Have a great Monday and think about those invisible disabilities.  I mean, my brain is in a wheelchair.  Eventually, it wears you down to the point where your cognitive processes get all screwed up as well.  Okay, enough brain wheeling.  KEESES!!!!!

diddaily.com…wtf, over?!

I’m listening to Sam Kinison’s, Loud As Hell. I saw him in concert with my true love when I was 16. His dad also took us to see the Stones. Oh, what a ride.

And, now, apparently. This is a domain. Instead of buying up taylorswift.adult or.porn, I’m diddaily.com. I’m big time, baby. So, now I have to get net savvy. Or not.

I just know that DID and Lyrica do NOT mix well, AT ALL. I wound up in the ER yesterday. I was so suicidal. Went to the spa, they didn’t even want me, they wanted medical clearance. Scary shit, I tell you what. I’m surprised my parents haven’t dropped dead from a fucking heart attack yet. Jesus H.

Also, Lyrica makes my parts RRRRRRRRRRREEEEAAAAALLLLY active. Like opening new credit cards, sending texts I don’t remember, you know. Minor shit, like that. Jesus. So, today I get to go to partial hospitalization at the spa. They’re going to see I’m fine, I just need to explore my system. Especially Sheila, who has a system of her own. 16 parts to be exact. Ever since my friend died, two weeks ago, and I sat outside the damned funeral home, I have NOT been right. See, most of the Satanic Ritual Abuse (SRA) happened in the basement of a funeral home in my home town. I can no longer go to a funeral home. I managed to go to church Sunday. That was a fucking miracle. But as soon as it was done? Gah damnt right, I was outta there!

This is no fun. I really hope people find this lil ole website and find something that resonates with them. Even if there is just one other person with DID. I think Hilary would be proud. I was proud of her. I miss her. She gave me hope. Which, when you have DID, is a hard fucking thing to garner and foster. It is elusive as hell.

I’m scared. Yesterday scared me. I’m HIV positive- David Dean Smith, the “AIDS Killer” is my ex-fiancee. He was paroled in December. Stopped by the house so he could spy in the windows. Fucker. That’s a whole other blog, for another day. And then I have DID. And I have fibromyalgia. So, I’m HUGE! I’m scared as hell, that I am not going to find someone to love me and help me when I need it so my parents can back pack across Europe. NO! I’m not kidding! I’m serious. It’s reality and that is where I usually live. I have twenty minutes and then off to partial.

I don’t sleep. I’m beyond miserable, and I know I’m in the “meantime”. To quote Iyanla Vanzant. Hate that fucking book. Working on one of my own, too. I signed up for meetup.com. NOT a dating site, but a site where you meet people with similiar interests, and you go do stuff. Yeah, get the fuck out of the house. They don’t know me from Adam. So, a fresh start? Mmmmmmaybe…

I don’t know what to wear today. If I asked Sheila, it would be mismatched knee socks, colorful chucks, a skirt and a funky hat with a rock tee shirt. And a shit ton of jewelry. Oh well. I should let her pick the outfit, she’s done most of the shopping. Pfft. She didn’t like that comment too much. I hear my parts, when they want to be heard. I write with them, see seven different handwriting styles. And yet, professionals in mental health, do not believe in DID. What the fuq? Freud discovered complex PTSD and PTSD from childhood sexual trauma in Viennese women. He couldn’t accept the prevalence of the abuse, so he wrote the women off as, “hysterical”. Nose cancer, needed cocaine my ass. I love you Papabear, but I ain’t buying it. I know there are more of out there and we are not scary people, dammit!

What happened to us at teeny ages was scary! The people who did those things to us were scary! We were lil kids experiencing, big, grown up feelings and sensations and so we checked out. Because we were children, we made up people- parts of ourselves- to handle the traumas. We are smart!!! We are Creative!!! We should win the fucking Nobel Peace prize for surviving!!! But do we? NOoooo, we get shunned and talked about and whispered about and pointed at and ridiculed. FUCK YOU!!! I SHIT BIGGER THAN YOU!!!!! What I’ve been through, you can’t even fathom. I saw babies murdered. I called the cops in January. Have I heard anything? No. Will those families ever get answers? Probably not. The perp is a fascinating creature.

Seemingly normal, pillar of the community, perfect family, a compulsive do-gooder, he is the devil himself when no one is watching. John Wayne Gacy. Ted Bundy. Fuckin Charles Manson can get married, but I’m alone. The conversations need to happen.

Let the healing begin!