Archive for the ‘mental illness’ Category

Breaking the cycle of negativity…

I grew up knowing that my mother was different than everyone else’s mom. It was something I had to learn to accept, though to this day I’m not sure I did until this year.  I wasn’t the easiest child during those early years either. I’m sure I still am not in her eyes. But somewhere along the way from childhood to adulthood, I’ve just stopped resenting her.

This year was the first time in my life that when people asked me of my spiritual beliefs I could truly say that I was very spiritual. Maybe not in the “traditional” Southern Bible Belt way, but I pray and I put faith in more things than I have ever in my life. My head is spinning with change.  Positive change. A word so overused this year but very appropriate to my growing. Discovering who I am was never something I felt I had to journey but somehow I am on one and I’m not as scared as I thought I would be.

I’ve always loved my mother, but one word I can never put to her is the word change. She’s just not a fan. Though her words from years gone by are less harsh, they still hold weight in my heart. She is manic depressive. I have to tell myself that everyday when I think of what she may have said or what I anticipate her saying. Even though she is more well than not through medication, she still is the mother I watched have breakdown after breakdown and I for one was a child who had to grow up fast.

This morning was a breakthrough for me in all of this I’ve just written. No matter what you try to attach to what shapes my mother, beyond her control or otherwise, one word I have to associate with her is negativity. She is a wonderful woman, loving and kind and I don’t say this as a way to insult her passive aggressively. But as I move along in my path in life, and as she has so much trouble accepting much of it, her general words on it all are not supportive. For years I craved acceptance and for years to come I will have to forget about asking or wishing for it. And in growing I have to shut my mind and ears off to words that will no longer help…especially these: “You know IT runs in the family.”

Let me tell you about IT. My grandmother, uncle and mother are very familiar with IT — mental illness.  Suddenly a mention of having trouble getting out of bed or the fact that I have been working on projects to help non-profits seems all to familiar to my mother. “You have highs and lows. You always want to do different things.”  What I reminded her of is that I have a thyroid disorder as I’ve mentioned in this blog before and so does she. The thyroid has much to do with mood and all around general health. And in the mornings that I have trouble pulling myself from the covers, I don’t dread my life. I’m just tired. And through my wanting to help people anyway I can, I’m not overly simulated with mania, I just want to make a difference.

I let her know today that I have to break this cycle of negativity. We have to as our own selves. We have to make our own path and follow it even if it feels scary. Even if your family doesn’t approve. You just have to take YOUR step. No one else can do it for you. And not everyone will applaud when you take it.

Reaching a new low: Celebrity media must die

Period.

I’m all for certain magazines that don’t drip celebrity on every page but can be deemed almost as cheesy lethal (more than 100 pages and high gloss) that I won’t mention here for fear of being pigeon-holed into a Sex in the City cookie cutter category. Everyone has their guilty pleasures. OK. OK. I’ll admit to one. Marie Claire. I’ve lost any cool points I’m sure that I never really had at this blog I’m sure.

In this same vein, I am beginning to loathe just about every celebrity blog on the planet. It all just used to be kind of funny, mostly light-hearted and pretty much an escape from having to mentally check in everyday at work. I am not going to name every single one out there, but you know the key players. Even if you don’t read them, you know basically which ones everyone seems to keep coming back to. Except Best Week Ever. If you don’t like that blog/show, I don’t care. It keeps me in a rare good mood.

But knowing that there is Anna Nicole photo floating around on these sites, allegedly taken just after she passed, is just sick. Please. Before you label me one of those crazed celebrity fanatics, I’m sickened for humanity. It could have been anyone and I would have felt the same. OK, I will admit that I was watching Entertainment Tonight when I found out. But cut me some slack because it was my folks who had that show on when I was visiting.

ET was “discussing” this photo of Anna (really they just kept zooming in and out of it and showing it before EVERY commercial break) that was circulating the Web on many prominent celeb blogs. I won’t be plugging them here. I’m sure you have heard about this and if not, you are now Googling for it. But if you do, have the courtesy to open another window. For those of you curious but don’t want to look, I’ll just say she was sitting up in bed, looked like she was in mid vomit and topless. Even if the photo isn’t real, they are circulating it like it is and THAT is what sickens me. Gross. 

And if it is real, I know Anna was a mess. A big old, sometimes skinny old, crazy mess. However, no one deserves that. And we don’t need to see it at our 6 p.m. dinnertime either. Why the hell would ANYONE be interested in seeing such morbid shit? What kind of people are we? I’m not some kind of moral compass guru but the behavior of people (namely a coke-snorting-off-the-stomach-of-her-baby-while-breat-feeding hooker) is really starting to make me want to have a Michael Douglas moment. But not enough to have a Sean Penn moment.

And being that I’m in the media field, I want to see the death of celebrity bullshit reporting. It’s not reporting and is just as useful as cat fecal matter. Wait. Cat fecal matter can at least go in the garden and grow shit…

Again, even if that nasty photo wasn’t real, someone who thinks it is a wonderful (yet we all know profitable) idea to shoot a snapshot of a possibly dead, overdosed woman deserves a bed of pen of needles in hell while their fingernails get ripped off and they are forced to watch Jennifer Lopez movies over and over (but not Selena.)

Update: “Official”  folks are officially saying the pic is in fact not real.  Just the crazy bitch goofing off with chicken and tarter sauce. But can we please just let this train wreck rest already?And I still stand firm. Just think if it was … What am I saying? You would still Google it.

Should we regulate breeding?

I hate that I listen to Tom Leykis. But he had a good point recently.
In light of idiot mothers like Britney Spears, should the government control who is allowed to breed? Ok, just hear me out because I know we are all the types who scream bloody murder when our rights seem to be threatened. Also realize we play “God” in many other circumstances like the death penalty, castrating sex offenders and deciding who can marry.

Forget Spears. Think about that prostitute who only JUST lost her kids. She snorted coke off one of her children’s stomach while breastfeeding. Had her kids in the backseat AWAKE while she blew her johns. Smoked crack in their presence. Yet, before that police officer finally busted her and her tiny tots were taken away, she was allowed to have two kids.

Leykis mentioned administering the IUD. I’m not sure about taking it that far because personally, I’d rather take the pill. But why do we allow these vermin to procreate? The only advantage to the practice of irresponsible fools birthin’ babies is, as was mentioned on the show, we still need to make sure we get our pizza delivered, our groceries sacked and our car oil changed. Kind of cruel, right?

I of course like having the right to choose. And most of my life, including presently, I’ve never wanted children. But that’s my choice to make. But I have to admit, if we all know that someone is truly a horrible mother — and I don’t mean the normal raising of voice or reasonable mistakes made — why do we allow them to have more and more? Why? So we can just end up taking them away, have them become wards of the state and then keep throwing our tax dollars at the result of someone careless enough to bring children into the world just to corrupt them? Sure, adoption is beautiful. But not all of these children find homes before they are 18.

Also I am aware that just because these kids are from such horrific conditions, they don’t always have to succumb to the same fate. Many go to college and do something better with their lives. And we may be better off with them in the world than without. However, certain folks just shouldn’t breed. What do we do to prevent the problem of pathetic parenting from escalating to such an alarming rate without some kind of sanctions — outrageous as it may be?

Get out the f-ing car!

Many moons ago in my youthful courtin’ days, I can’t think of one time when a guy stayed in the car and honked when arriving to pick me up from my parents’ house. And if he ever did, my father probably would have gone to his car door and asked what his problem was. The same can be said for any friends who may have come over to pick me up — female or male. They came to the door, said hello to my folks and then we left.

I live in an area I simply hate. And luckily I’m moving Saturday. But there is a consistent car honker. It’s always at times that I’m in my underwear so I don’t get out there in time to see who the hell is the product of my nightmares of loud noises. But it’s at all hours. Last night it was well past 11. This morning it started at 10:30, and yea, I should have been up but that is simply not the point. Get out of the fucking car!

Why is this so hard? Turn off the ignition. Open your car door. GET YOUR SORRY ASS OUT. Then close your car door. The time this person takes honking for like three minutes, he or she could have already got the person he or she is picking up. Sometimes this honking is at like 8 in the morning on a Saturday! It makes me want to purchase a gun license.

The car horn is supposed to be used for road rage only. Don’t people know that?! I just don’t know when this became acceptable behavior and I guess some part of me must be a tad old fashion. People need to rise up against residential car honkers. Maybe we need T-shirts. Wait, I think I just got inspired.

Trapped in the closet…

Say it ain’t so.

My favorite channel on the planet IFC is going to air all 20 something parts of R Kelly’s “Trapped in the Closet” saga on Friday. And yes I know it’s R. Kelly. I just hate how that looks for some reason. It looks too, I dunno, important. Anyway. OK, I am a fan of the kooky and sexually charged John Waters films they show on Grindhouse Fridays. And I think maybe it’s the tongue and cheek attitude of IFC that I love the most. But really? R Kelly? Well, it is amusing. I mean all kinds of people are in the closet — a husband, a midget (I mean little person but the video says midget), gay love, all kinds of phones ringing, R Kelly hitting strange pitches in his singing, a bad green screen effect of R Kelly driving and a “sex” scene with his clothes still on.

 OK, OK. I guess I probably will actually watch it…

Here’s an oldie but goodie: The first five parts.

I’m going to admit this is great cinema. I mean, R Kelly still hangs around after the husband comes home and is still there when the male lover comes in. And why does R Kelly have to keep waving the gun around and then keep using his stupid phone? However, Mr. Kelly may deserve an Oscar for playing like 50 parts of this saga — even the chick parts. Who needs Eddie Murphy?

I feel dirty for setting the reminder on my IFC program schedule.

Oh Saint Sacrifice, tell me about Atlas again…

 Everyone sacrifices for Photo by Steve Pinkersomething. I’ve been told time and time again by those wiser, those older, those close to me that it is part of obtaining or the result of someone’s love.  And when you do so, you can’t say one person’s sacrifice is more trying than the other. I know of only one person in my life who has sacrificed so much for me and who I care about. My father carries the weight of the world on  his shoulders, so to speak. As did the mythological Atlas. And everyday he does, he doesn’t remind you how much he has given up or what he’s been through while he holds on tight, making sure the troubling Earth doesn’t plummet into the sea.

Though he carries this world well, I wish so much that I can stand under its weight right along with him and share in the pain. My father not only raised me, put me through a decent education and tried/tries to guide me down the right path, but he has also had to do so while caring for my mother–his wife–who is mentally ill.

I know of so many who sacrifice. I too have done my share.

But my father is someone I can say without the slightest reservation that even though he carries the weight of the world, he doesn’t believe it revolves around his weary shoulders.