Tag Archives: Anger


Maybe I need a tougher looking profile picture. Maybe I shouldn’t be so honest about my mental health and addiction or the rest of my life. Maybe I shouldn’t make comments when I think something or someone is generous or kind. I keep setting myself up for these awful situations. Somehow I’m the one that always ends up feeling bad about it.

I don’t remember how many years ago it was but I had just opened a Twitter account and I was following Nikki Sixx. It was a verified account. I made a couple of observations that he or maybe someone who works for him “liked”. Not long after I get a Direct Message from Nikki Sixx. At first I thought “Huh, that’s weird. But I have met a lot of musicians and know people who know him so who knows?”. Nope. It wasn’t him and I felt like an ass. It was so bad I closed my account and went off Twitter for over a year. It kind of sucked because I had a lot of followers including the lead singer for Blue October but I wasn’t in a good place.

The second incident involved Dave Navarro. I was back on Twitter and he was involved in a campaign against domestic violence. Knowing his story and having much respect for him I commented on his verified account. Someone then started using his name to try to talk to me about domestic violence. I didn’t answer. They then came on my blog and made nasty comments about my own past history with men and violence. I was furious. I did everything I could to trace the person. For months I went back and forth between crying and periods of rage. I also kept thinking I wasn’t good enough, I was a horrible person, and I deserved to be treated like garbage. It took a long time to recover from that one.

Now Steven Tyler keeps calling me on “Hangouts” something I didn’t even know I had. I commented on his Kia commercial on his verified account and he “liked” it. Then the Direct Messages started. He said he just broke up with his girlfriend, she cheated on him and he just wanted someone normal to talk to. I knew it wasn’t him. Did I want it to be him? Of course I did. I was mad that it wasn’t him. When the nonstop calling started I did the one thing you’re not supposed to do. I engaged.

I kept asking questions. The answers were evasive and the wording was strange. Whenever “let’s” was supposed to be used it wasn’t and there were a lot of mistakes in the grammar. It’s a pet peeve of mine. I asked about it and he said he had the flu. He must’ve come on here because he knew about my kidney situation and said he would do anything to help as long as he could “make me smile”. There were way too many “babes” and he kept saying he was looking for “true love”. Sorry, but you decide on a Bipolar woman who has been sober over 9 years and has issues with trust and men?

I said I wouldn’t talk to him unless it was from a verified account. He made an excuse that his Twitter had been hacked so he couldn’t from there. I said “What about Instagram?” He said “OK” but never did it. At the same time I see that the real Steven Tyler is on plane so I asked the fake what he was doing. He said he had just had some visitors. I said “Did they ski dive over?” “Were they snakes?” He replied “You are funny” I said “I know I am because I’m looking at a picture of the real Steven Tyler sitting on a plane right now you idiot”. I haven’t heard from him since. The snakes were in reference to “Snakes on a Plane” I was amusing myself at that point.

It still pisses me off and makes me sad at the same time. I love Steven Tyler. I don’t want my memories of him to be tarnished by some asshole. I admit I’ve always wanted to be around people in the music industry. People who write lyrics that I love and identify with. So many of them have experienced the same things I have as far as mental health and addiction and having it centered around the music scene. But I’m not delusional, well maybe a little. Maybe I just miss the days of going to concerts and meeting bands, hanging out backstage. I wonder what it would’ve been like if I looked like I do now instead of the large girl who was like one of the guys.

I’m too old to think like this and maybe I do it to protect myself from actually being in the real world.1a8558e0c844a70f89c943a1be855a8e


Today I have received four phone calls informing me that my Social Security Number is once again suspended. If you read my previous post you know this has happened before and I reported it to three different agencies. The man threatened to send prostitutes to my house using my name online, open false bank accounts and buy weapons, and open credit cards. I admit I didn’t take it well when he got to the weapons part. I informed him he wouldn’t get far buying weapons with my Social Security number because I’m Mentally Ill and have bad credit. What I do have is a certificate in crazy and a brother who works in the Government and would be happy to track his ass down in India so I can visit. I also have a close friend who lived with a specific religious sect that would gladly help also. I admit I felt threatened and backed into a corner.

When I feel like this I either lash out or crawl so far into myself it takes days or weeks to come out. This time I lashed out.

Needless to say the Government did nothing. I’m not really surprised. I gave them the phone number, the names used, everything that was said and they didn’t ask for any of it!

So now I start getting the phone calls again only this time I just don’t care. I feel kind of done. I’m tired of being yelled at or ignored. I’m tired of apologizing for my existence, what I’ve said, didn’t say, what I’ve done or didn’t do. It’s constant, this need to say “I’m sorry” all the time.

It makes me feel weak and pathetic. Feelings I dislike immensely.

Everything has an effect on me, from movies, TV, music, social media, small conversations and other people’s moods. I literally jump when my Dad enters the room and says my name now. I can feel his anxiety and irritability like a fog around me. I start to feel the same and it never ends well.

I’m practically begging people to talk to me or like me. When I was drinking I could’ve cared less who liked me for many years. Now I feel loneliness like a thousand paper cuts healed and done again the next day.


Truth time. I find myself feeling jealous and angry way more times than I would like. It’s my own fault. I realize that. I had unreal expectations and I have to admit there were reasons I never lost weight previously. None of these reasons were medical.

There was a part of my diseased brain that thought if I could only be “skinny” my life would be perfect.

There was a bigger part of my diseased brain that thought “what if you lose weight and still no one loves you? Or you’re still treated like dirt and stay alone?”.

There was a part of my healthy brain that said “let’s not find out”.

I watched the people around me, taking in every detail, mannerism, and personality. I tried to mimic what was successful for other people. You can only do that for so long before you lose yourself. I lost myself and became someone I didn’t recognize. I still don’t recognize.

With each person in my life I have to be someone different. I have to try hard to remember what I can talk about and what I can’t. I have to know who I can be honest with and who I have to pretend with. The honest side has just gone to 0 as of an hour ago.

I talked to my best friend W about an hour ago. I know in the last few years she doesn’t want to hear anything “negative”. This means health issues, family problems, world wide problems or causes, nothing. This leaves her yard, her cats, her job, and her car. Today I told her I was considering a trip back to L.A. in December. She wanted to know why. I told her she didn’t want to hear negative stuff on a Holiday. She said to tell her. I told her it’s been stressful with my Dad and sister, I was going to continue but she cut me off.

She said “Instead of running or going on vacation every time and wasting money why don’t you save it instead. It isn’t going to get better with your Dad you need to start thinking about moving out. Some us wish we could just “take a vacation” every time we get stressed”. I held my tongue but I was furious. She squirrels away her money like Howard Hughes never letting anyone know how much she really has. I know. It’s enough to buy a 2 bedroom, 2 bathroom house in cash. She doesn’t like to pay for anything.

I don’t like being questioned about how I spend my money and why. I don’t want to tell people that I might not be here in year or two so I want to do some things now while I can. As far as leaving my dad alone or putting him in a home, it isn’t happening. If I have to take little vacations to clear my head and relax than I will. It’s called a Credit Card. And as my dear mum always told me “D, You can’t get blood from a stone”.

Back to jealousy. I have 2 followers on Twitter. It shouldn’t bother me. It does bother me. This constant need to fit in and be liked. The hope that someone will say something positive about how I look is the hardest part to admit. Validation. I’ve never had it. Do I need it? Sometimes I think everyone feels they do at some point.

When I see someone I follow “like” or “Follow” someone that isn’t me but your stereotypical woman you would see in a Russian Strip Club for the mafia, fur coat and all, it puts a dent in your self esteem. I feel like an idiot for having any feelings about it at all. I think when I’m manic I get the idea that everyone should think I’m great. When they don’t I go one the defensive.

I miss dressing up, going out, and drinking. It seemed so much easier then. I know I hurt people, mostly I hurt myself. My parents were always worried about what I was doing and when I was coming home. The real damage was done to myself. I don’t like to say I’m in recovery or even sober anymore. Remission is my word. It doesn’t mean I’m making plans to drink, I would vomit right now if I did. It means if I did relapse there isn’t as much shame and guilt attached. You get back up and carry on. You don’t “start over”. This deters people from continuing their sobriety. When you tell them that one night erases 15 years and they have to start over some of them think “Why bother?”. That shouldn’t be the case. 15 years shouldn’t disappear because of 1 night. I strongly disagree with that.

Ok, I’ll wrap it up because I’m tired. I am thankful for my Dad, my animals, my sister, my brother, the love my mother gave me, movies, music, adult coloring, and Cocoa Pebbles.eba9ebed2c1b052a2e556344efa6b04f




I don’t know what it is lately but I hate the way my father breathes, eats, talks, and just about everything else about him. It’s what happens when you live with someone. I could understand it more if he wasn’t my dad. This is supposed to happen when you’re married not when you live with your dad.

I always remember when my best friend was done with a boyfriend. She would rather have cake or candy than sex (in her defense she always kind of liked cake or candy better to begin with), she would give him a death look while he chewed his food, and would go out of her way to not care. She was good at that part. I would laugh when she would call me and say “D, I’m going to punch his fargin face in if I have to watch him eat another sangwitch”. We had our own language of swear words and some regular word either from Johnny Dangerously or that we made up. Her older brother was an oddball like us and wrote songs. One of them was “Please don’t eat the urinal cake” Anyway it didn’t never took long for W to get rid of a boyfriend when she put her mind to it.

It is becoming harder to live with my dad. I have no other place to go. When I discussed it with my sister there was no offer from her. My dad has not done a Will yet and probably won’t. This will leave me in a bad situation. No doctor will sign off on me working because of  my Kidney Disease and Mental Health. There are numerous other health issues that I won’t bore you with. My sister knows all of this. When I mentioned a shelter that I could probably go to if it came to it, my sister agreed with the idea. She has a bedroom they don’t use and her husband has a large mancave with it’s own bathroom. I wouldn’t want to interrupt the many hours he spends down there.

My twin sister would let me stay in a homeless shelter before inviting me to stay in her own home.

I picture myself living and dying like my Uncle Jimmy, homeless, cold, and alone. Hopefully without the Heroin addiction and HIV. I don’t really care where I’m buried but I would rather not go where they put the patients that died in the State run Mental Institution who no one claimed. There were hundreds of them, an alarmingly large amount while my Grandmother worked there as Head Nurse and my Grandfather as a Plumber for the State. I’ll try not to think about that because I’ve seen too many movies and have a vivid imagination.

Isolation, loneliness, and not using my vocal chords for long periods of time isn’t healthy. I need to do something about it and soon. The biting wind and 35 degree temps aren’t working for me anymore.

I’m thinking my vacation to Los Angeles is looking better and better. I admit that I have not checked out what the average temperature is in L.A. during December so this could change.1579d35730f890150c5b53978cad20ed


I feel somewhat angry today. It could be the fact that I have to see my Psychiatrist tomorrow. The man that does nothing for me but try to push whatever the latest Pharmaceutical Rep has pushed on him, on me. He practically reads from the pamphlet. As soon as I see it’s almost exactly like Brintellix, Pristiq, Abilify, Seroquel, or something else I’ve already been on I start to get anxious and annoyed. Then the game of “Have you ever been on?” starts. You’re the Doctor, I’m the patient. I have cognitive issues and write everything down, you have a computer and a secretary. You also make a shitload of money and your telling me that you can’t pull up my file on your screen to see what you’ve prescribed me before? You want me to do your job for you? Which by the way I have been. I’ve been adjusting my mood stabilizer so I don’t rip anyone’s head off or cry until I’m so dehydrated I look like chicken jerky. You’re welcome.

I’m also tired of the Political goop on television. The sensationalism of it all. When did a race for President turn into fodder for Entertainment Tonight or TMZ’s hottest story besides Brangelina’s divorce? (Her fault. Turn your hands into 2 scales. Pretend you are weighing dysfunction with Angelina on one side and Brad on the other. Now tell me between French kissing your brother while looking like the mother from The Munsters and Billy Bob who’s side is weighed down more? Thank you.) ANYONE RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT SHOULD NOT HAVE ANY TAPE RECORDINGS OF SAID PERSON OJECTIFYING OR DISRESPECTING WOMEN. I don’t care how many E-mails your opponent has you f*cking idiot. You should be ashamed of yourself. The only reason any woman sleeps with you is because you are GREEN $$$! Now you insult them? Good luck after this. Although even O.J. still managed to find a girl or two so what does that say about us?

No one wants to talk about one of the biggest issues. The Suicide rate and the Mental Health system. You really are not hearing it discussed much. I really do wonder what other countries think of us when they see our suicide rate is higher than our murder rate. That we would rather kill ourselves than live here? That the U.S. isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?

I’m in my runaway mode again. I want to go somewhere warm. I want there to be a pool, no flies, no one to yell at me but people that will talk about movies and TV with me. They won’t mind if I babble. I won’t have to take extra Klonopin to make myself quiet so they won’t send me home. My mom would’ve listened. She didn’t care if I talked too much. My brother in law before I was diagnosed, thought I had always had too much caffeine and found it hysterical. He doesn’t now. Now everyone finds it to be a “problem” or I must be “off my meds” or not taking them correctly. Odd how they all thought it was funny before. No one finds me very funny now. My dad has started to roll his eyes.

One thing that hurts me deeply is seeing someone eye roll me. I have no spine, no way to stand up for myself. I really want to slap them upside their head until their eyes roll back into position. But I can’t. I’m not capable of it sober. 8 years of thank yous, yes please, no thanks, can I help you with that? Have taken it’s toll. My parents brought us up to be polite. It only stuck to one of us. Unfortunately the other two’s politeness stuck too. I can’t shake it.

I think I’m winding down and I am now having a hot flash. The joys!

Other Mental Health Blogs And Distractions

I really enjoy having my Conversion Disorder set off by 10:25 in the morning. It’s now getting to the point where I find myself cringing at my father’s voice. A man I once respected and loved with all my heart. He’s growling into the phone about his tires being put on wrong. Now he’s headed down there. I tried to stutter out that he needed to calm down but was told to “stay out of it”. If the police are called I will not go to the police station that they will have to take him to. I’ve had to stay overnight there when I was younger. It wasn’t pleasant. Not that being in jail should be pleasant, but they knew who I hung around with and made it worse. It’s a very small state.

The African Grey Parrot is now saying “Goddamn! Goddamn!” repeatedly in my father’s voice. What joy!! I just got off the phone with my sister who had nothing in the way of comfort for me. She just wanted to talk about her stomach, the kids, and her stomach. I must have sounded like I may have thought about crying because she said “Don’t get emotional or I’m hanging up”. So no emotions were used during that conversation.

I want to run. I want to run far away. We all know this. My guilt and sense of responsibility keeps me here.


There are one or two bloggers of mental health that more than annoy me. When I read about Bipolar Disorder I want to read the truth. I want to read how people have struggled with it.

I don’t want to read how someone has meditated or done a rebirthing class and was cleansed of their illness. I don’t want to read about how a plant based diet cured them.

One “blogger” at the very beginning says she is an award winning writer, speaker, and social media consultant. She works to bring quality, insightful and trusted information on bipolar disorder and related illnesses to the public while engaging with the mental health community.

  1. Her sentences sound off. The punctuation and grammar are wrong. I do it when I’m blogging but not in a professional capacity.
  2. How nice of her to “engage” with the mental health community considering she’s Bipolar.
  3. She doesn’t mention she’s Bipolar until way, way, down the page.
  4. She is for HIRE to speak professionally about Bipolar Disorder and Mental Illness even though she is not a Doctor or a Therapist but did write a book.
  5. She once responded to me that my feelings and symptoms “didn’t quite sound like hers or anyone else that she knows with Bipolar Disorder” and that was the extent of her “help” when I was at my lowest.

I’m not saying that anyone should give medical advice. I am saying that I have personally talked privately with people from here who were struggling and hurting and I have listened to them, prevented one of them from hurting themselves, all by LISTENING AND RESPONDING. Sometimes all it takes is showing up and being there.

That’s all I want. I want to know when things get so bad I would rather end my life than see another ocean view, that someone will be there to remind me, who I was, who I am.


There are feelings that no matter how hard I try I have trouble controlling. Grief and anger. I don’t do well with either. I will internalize both until I reach a point of no return. In the past I would just drink it away. Of course I knew the feelings were still there but I would vent at the bar or who knows what.

I am beyond pissed that my sister shows little to no emotion about our brother being in the Hospital. When I talked to her this morning supposedly there had been some drama with my youngest niece. She told her mother that when she went to visit her dad in the Hospital he told her it was his liver and pancreas and he was dying. My sister immediately called “bullshit” on that story and said he probably wasn’t even that sick.

He may not be dying but he’s seriously ill. To lose over 50 pounds in a few weeks is not good. His skin is the color of wet cement and I know he isn’t telling me everything. I also know my youngest niece has emotional and addiction problems. She doesn’t always tell the truth.

My brother’s ex wife told my sister she was going to the Hospital to see what was going on. I told my sister that it wasn’t a good idea at all. My sister asked if it was me making that decision. I wanted to scream at her. She hasn’t talked to our brother in over 8 years and she’s questioning me? My brother CAN’T BE AROUND HIS EX. His ex knows this but insists on going to all of our family functions and showing up where he might be anyway. My brother hasn’t gone to any family functions in years. All of the blame of their divorce and the issues with the kids was put on my brother. I knew better. His ex always smiled and laughed no matter what. She faked her way through everything only showing her true feelings when no one else was around to see.

So after arguing with my sister this morning, my brother deciding to leave the Hospital against the Doctor’s advice, I was a little stressed. I called my best friend. She listened for a few minutes and then said angrily “You’re so negative! Every time I talk to you it’s negative!”. Ok. I accept that. But if I call just to talk she doesn’t have time because she’s cleaning, working in the yard, cleaning, grocery shopping, cleaning, working, cleaning, or oh yeah, cleaning. So I only call her when it’s important so I don’t bother her. This is what it’s come to with everyone. No one wants to just talk about the tv shows they’re watching or where they went for dinner anymore. Everyone is too busy except me. I’m angry, I want to put my fist through something like the old days. I know I can’t but I don’t know what to do with it. I feel consumed. My head hurts and my teeth ache. I’m tired of being nice because if I say the wrong thing I get threatened with being committed. I’m sick of people giving me ultimatums that are so not right. No one should be told they can’t see members of their family unless they put themselves in the Hospital or show proof that they are going to therapy. Even my father is angry at that.

I changed a Generic Medication to the Name Brand even though it would be $50 instead of $14. Within 4 days my Dad asked what I did the difference was so noticeable. You know how horrible I have been the last few months? I should’ve known. When I looked it up I could read all the complaints about how it isn’t released the same as the Name Brand and it contains Gluten. This is why you have to be your own advocate.

Ok, I’m done for now.

Angry Birds

I know that my father’s love of animals, specifically birds has been since he was very young. I realize it was a coping mechanism for him. He wasn’t outgoing like my mom, he never liked social situations or small talk. He often could use them as an excuse to get out of things he didn’t want to do.

His pigeon hobby came close to costing him his marriage almost more than his alcoholism. What do you do with a man who spends 9 hours a day at work to come home only to spend his evenings and weekends with his birds? The birds came before family vacations. If there were babies about to be hatched forget it. I watched my mom slowly start to withdraw herself. She started sitting at the kitchen table, smoking Winston Light 100’s, staring out the window.

My mother loved my father with all of her heart. She would have died for him. And make no mistake my father loved my mother the same way. She saved his life. He will never love another woman the same.

That being said she admits she became pregnant on purpose. My father had taken off at the news and came back at some point during her pregnancy or right after we were born. I know they were not married until we were at least 5 years old. I was an observant/nosy child and always found out the family secrets. I kept them to myself until drunk and angry when I knew they would hurt the most.

I sometimes doubted my dad ever wanted us. I thought he felt trapped or forced into taking care of us and marrying my mom. My mother was so loud and different than him I wondered why he didn’t leave. She would have weeks of depression where she stayed in her nightgown, locked in her bedroom. We all pretended it wasn’t happening. When we were very young I think we were sent to a relatives house for as long as they could take us. As we got older we took care of ourselves.

When my mom was ok she was more than ok. She made up for the flaws in both of them. I don’t know how she did it sometimes. As I sit here now at the same kitchen table, alone, isolated, watching my father kill himself over pigeons, I can’t help but wonder. Did she give up? Did she have enough of seeing my dad but not really ever being with him? Her bestfriend and sister had just moved away. She was used to either talking to her or seeing her everyday. Now she would have to get on a plane to see her. With one lung and other health problems that probably wasn’t going to happen. My Aunt made her leave the house and keep active. When she left that was it. My father never tried. I did a few times but she refused.

She spent more time in her room and more time sneaking food she wasn’t supposed to have. She was good at talking people into bringing things that were not good for her. She would cry and say how depressed she was and how maybe a candy bar would make her feel better. I would go in her room while she was in the shower and find bags of candy bars! She was an insulin dependent diabetic with 1 lung, that 1 lung also had emphysema, she had fluid around her heart and ate bologna sandwiches 4 at a time. It became harder to watch, I spent more time drinking when I could.

It’s easier to understand looking back years later. I don’t think any of us could’ve done anything for my mom. She would tell me she felt like she was drowning. For someone who had a phobia of drowning this had to be a nightmare. I held her beautiful hands in mine and cried with her when she told me this. She passed away a few days later.

People often ask why I don’t live on my own. First of all I’m scared, second I owe my dad my life and he needs me. No, I don’t owe him because he’s my dad. I owe him because he has been there every time I tried to get sober and failed. He has been here when I got sober and so far have stayed that way. He has been there every time I tried to kill myself and never judged me, he just held me and cried. He sat with me through endless hours of mind numbing movies and TV because he knew I didn’t want to be alone. He did this for years. When I think of my parents I think of one picture. It makes everything clear.DSC01024 (2)

Like a bird in flight I start to feel free from my hostility and glimpse a little bit of solace.

Did The Dog Eat Your Homework?

When I do a post that deals with facts or statistics, I make sure to check and double check that I’m accurate. It’s too bad not everyone does the same. In today’s society we are all too eager to accept what we hear on the news as fact. We can no longer do this. News stations have become biased and sometimes do not even fact check their own reporter’s stories. What seems like a small detail to most people, for some reason is a big deal to me.

I have Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr. I only go on Facebook to contact relatives that are out of state. I like posting pictures on Instagram and looking at art on there also. Twitter I’ve had issues with many times so I try to stay off of it. Tumblr I don’t really understand. I’ll have to take the time to figure it out.

Facebook can be a problem for me at times. I have received “anonymous” posts about how the “Mentally Ill” are using up the public’s tax dollars. One suggested we should be sterilized and put on an island so no one would have to pay for our “retarded” offspring. There was a drawing that came with it. All the people wore animal skins like cavemen and were wide eyed with wild hair. It was such a treat to receive that one.

Every time I see these offensive posts I want to retaliate. I wanted people to know that I worked hard from the age of 12 to 37. I worked 50 to 60 hour weeks for years. My cousin’s husband asked how much I received from Disability. I thought it was rude of him to ask and I wasn’t going to tell him. He kept running his mouth about how it couldn’t be enough to live on and I should find a “rich guy” while I still had my looks. I said nothing.

The day I chose sobriety was the day I started to bottle my feelings up. I never could handle confrontation or someone criticizing me. Even as I type this my cheeks feel warm with embarrassment at the thought. So I stopped having opinions and started agreeing with everyone. What I got from this behavior is a nice ulcer, migraines, and inappropriate outbursts of anger when everything had built up and my brain couldn’t take it anymore.

Now it’s Election time. For the first time in 43 years I find myself frustrated by the ignorance of those younger than me. I’m frustrated with anyone who shares quotes from FOX NEWS or a celebrity without doing their homework regarding the situation or that person.

One example I have is a girl I went to Hair School with. She supports Trump. She’s in her mid to late twenties. She shared a quote from Ted Nugent a Trump supporter. She wasn’t born when Mr. Nugent’s music was popular. One of his more popular songs is “Jailbait”. He has admitted on camera a fondness for “young girls”. In 1978 when he was 30 years old he convinced a girl’s parents to make him her legal guardian so he could have sex with her. She was 17. The song “Jailbait” discusses a sexual relationship with a 13 year old. Supposedly this is fantasy. I’m a 43 year old woman and have never fantasized about being with a teenage boy. Ever. And yes I do know that Mr. Nugent isn’t the only Musician that has done this. He is someone who has publicly admitted it, shown no remorse, sits on the board of the NRA, and speaks at Political Rallies.

In 1977 Ted Nugent told High Times how he dodged the draft. Supposedly Mr. Nugent is a staunch supporter of our Troops. Even though he himself went to great lengths not to serve his country. He purposefully made himself ill so he was pissing and defecating in his pants. He is now a Board Member of the NRA.

Mr. Nugent also sees Addiction and Mental Illness as character flaws not illnesses. He believes that a person is just “weak”. I just read a blog someone else had written about Mr. Nugent. The person was suggesting that he was mentally ill or had a drug/alcohol problem. Neither is the case. Mr. Nugent was never one to over indulge and lose control. A Narcissist maybe, but there’s no mental illness here. He knows exactly what he is doing at all times. Is anyone actually listening to him? We can only hope not.

Last example I’ll leave you with is a touchy one. People were complaining about a Navy Seal’s widow that was interviewed on the Today show because when Matt Lauer asked what she would say to her children about their dad and how she would want them to remember him, her response was “His love for Christ”. As the interview was replayed on various networks throughout the day the “His love for Christ” part was edited out. I don’t know the reasoning behind it. The person causing the largest stir is quoted as saying “If we ever forget that we’re one nation under GOD, then we will be a nation gone under”

I believe Navy Seals work for the Government which is “The State” and there must be a separation of Church and State. You can believe in any faith you want to and serve your country that is what makes the U.S. the U.S. but when you cross that slippery slope into religion it opens a can of worms. People start asking ridiculous questions or make statements that can be misconstrued. You can’t win.

I do know I’ve grown tired and too old to swallow it down anymore.


Last night, around 11:00 p.m. I started to have incredible pain in my diaphragm. I pretty much knew what it was but it has never been this bad. The been went straight down to my pelvis. I knew it was my Gallbladder. I was also nauseas and sweating. But the pain was unbearable. I tried the fetal position, it would work for about 15 minutes then it was like my entire midsection was having spasms of pain. I wanted to call 911 but honestly I was too tired.

I managed to call my sister at 7:00 a.m. and she asked what I wanted her to do. I don’t know. Say something soothing, offer to come over and just sit with me. She knew I was in the house alone, our dad was in the ICU after his surgery, and I was sick. She sighed and said “Do you want me to come there?”. The way she said it I knew she didn’t want to. Then before I could answer she told me I was on speaker phone because she was on her way to help our ex-sister-in-law because she had surgery on her shoulder. That pretty much summed it up.

I hung up with her and immediately received a call from the Hospital that they were releasing my dad in about a hour. I started to panic. It was too much. The crying started, then came the tremors and stuttering. Talking to myself and repeating every negative thing ever said to me while rocking back and forth. I can’t keep going like this. I have not slept in 2 days. The deep depression in the mornings that do not start to get better until 2:00 p.m. is mentally exhausting. My doctor isn’t much help. My family is sick of it. I had visions of banging my head against the wall to make the dull ache in my head and heart go away for even just a short time.

Running a fever doesn’t help either. Everything is screwed up. I think one of my stents is out of place. I won’t gross you out with the details. My back is killing me, I’m not urinating much and when I do there is blood. The can’t see me until the 27th. I just don’t want to ruin the 79% function in the 1 kidney I have left.

Why couldn’t my sister just come over and hug me? I watch too many movies and too much TV. This is what she tells me. I have unrealistic expectations. Real life sisters don’t act like that. I’m tired of begging people to love me or even like me. I’ve been doing it since I was 5. I don’t even like me. And that there is the problem.

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