I have no idea why I thought of this but this is by far one of my favorite commercials ever.  I find it fucking hilarious.  I mean, it’s the absolute cheesiest commercial ever and I know I have a vast readership (I’ve always wanted to say that) from around the world of various ages so you might have missed out on this precious gem.  It was huge in the 80′s and made fun of constantly by kids everywhere.

I’m pretty sure it explains a lot about me.

So yeah.  Everyone’s been all like “What the fuck’s with your constant random?” and I’ve been like “Why the fuck not?”.  I spent so much time just telling stories and I have a zillion more to tell but for a while there I decided to kind of have a moderate point to some of my posts.  For the time being,  I’m allowing my mind to wander around because my mind likes to take walks through the forrest in my head and I’m unwinding through writing. (more…)

I’m copying and pasting the intro to part three because it’s what I want to say and I don’t feel like re-wording it.  So.

I’m not sure when you’re reading this and I don’t feel like looking up dates so just take a look at the date published and do the math.  This is part three of what had become a very long and detailed few weeks of my life.  I’ve been terrified since I wrote it (all in one night, not realizing it’s length, because of the aftermath this may bring.  You know what I did?  I took a Xanex, said “Fuck it” and started writing, as exhibited by all of these words). If you’re new to this, here’s the link to Part One.  On to the story.

I Facebooked my whole journey that you have to read from the beginning so reference the above paragraph.  I sat in my bed for three full days drinking Gatorade’s G2, who I now credit with saving my life, and pissed like a racehorse.  Have you ever seen a racehorse pee?  I have, and while I don’t have a schlong like that, I sure as shit pissed like them.  EVERY. TWENTY. MINUTES.

I should have stock in Gatorade.  Take note of that.

What my doctor did was look at the results of the blood work drawn, take me off the icky pill and put me on a new pill (note: I’m still on the main awesome pill so I’m not like crazy hatchet woman, it was more like postpartum depression-ish).

So this has been the past four days.

Day one: I lay in bed, happily socializing and drinking my G2, walking to the potty every 20 minutes.  I was still in a terrible shock from the event that occurred and couldn’t go on any other website except for Facebook.  My daddy’s on there and makes me feel better.  I made it through the basics like email checks and comment stuff but I had to call in dead for the Wii Mommies radio show (which was AWESOME, by the way).

Day one night: I think I OD’d it on the G2 because once my sleepy pills put me to sleep, I’m asleep.  People, I’ve told a handful of close friends this and now I’m going to tell you because I’m telling you everything else.  I fucking pissed the bed.  I was dreaming about peeing, and I did.  It woke me up enough to finish it off in the potty but I didn’t have the strength nor smarts to get help so I just went and slept on the other side of the bed (yes, I sleep alone).   What happens next?  I piss the OTHER side of the bed hours later.  Now this is just fucking ridiculous .  At this point, I have no choice but to sleep at the bottom of the bed.

I’m kidding, geez!  I should have, though.  It’d been funny.  I stripped the sheets off so very grateful that I use mattress protectors and then played on the computer until the wee (I wee’d a lot) hours of the morning when the house was up and running and I was able to get a new set of sheets and pee cover.  I also made a request for depends.  I got ‘em.   I wore ‘em and I’m actually a little sad I didn’t pee in ‘em.

Side note:  This is gross, but I started some fucked up trend of taking pictures when I have to pee in a cup and some people said since this was a medical thing I was obligated to, so I did.  It’s in the pee folder on Facebook.  Yeah.

Day Two: I start shaking.  One second I’m fine.  Then one hand goes balls-out.  Then it’s fine.  The only place I can be is Facebook, although I threw Twitter some love.  Facebook is more personal to me and I have a very strong support system (dad) on there and Facebook has been with me through so many things, I wasn’t going to stop here.  I’d type and poke (a whole other story I’ll tell soon) and then I’d shake.  It didn’t hurt, I just shook.  Only from the waist up.  My neck and back muscles are still killing me.

Day Three: Yesterday.  Yesterday, I don’t know what I was.  I was sick of the shaking and I wanted it to be over.  I just slept.  Well, I tried to.  It’s hard to sleep when you have to wake to pee every 20 minutes.  At one point in the afternoon, I fell into a deep, deep sleep.  I wish I never did.  Have you ever had a nightmare so dark and so vivid that it stays with you forever?  I did.  I remember every detail and it’s amazing how a dream can change the way a person thinks. Granted, it’s only been a day and I pray it leaves me but my Lord, I can’t even describe it.  I did everything possible to stay awake.  The good news was that I was still peeing but peeing less frequently and the shaking was barely noticeable.

Day Four is in the process of ending.  I feel completely different.  The old med is just about out (I can still feel the tremor in the hand but don’t have to type and use the backspace button so often) and the new super awesome med is on it’s way in (I’m no longer 10 second Tom).  My issue today is that I’m stuck in the middle.  I don’t know how to describe it.  The one that hurt me is gone, but it left it’s mark on me and I’m still reeling from that.  The new medication is more of a stimulant, which will help streamline my mind and re-introduce the world to the Julie who rocked harder than this one does.

But for today, I’m stuck in the middle.  Neither are working.  By tomorrow, the bad should be completely gone and the good will hopefully be doing it’s job, with my mega-patch hopefully making me 32 instead of 52 but for today, I’m here.  With you.  Hoping to God you won’t make me feel like shit for telling you this.

I’m not sure when you’re reading this and I don’t feel like looking up dates so just take a look at the date published and do the math.  This is part three of what had become a very long and detailed few weeks of my life.  I’ve been terrified since I wrote it (all in one night, not realizing it’s length, because of the aftermath this may bring.  You know what I did?  I took a Xanex, said “Fuck it” and started writing, as exhibited by all of these words). If you’re new to this, here’s the link to Part One.  On to the story.

I was instant messaging my husband that Thursday and suddenly my left hand went balls-out.  It was shakin’ like a Polaroid picture.  With my right, I typed “COME HOME” and I put myself on the floor.

It was mid-morning and one kid was in school and the other napping and I thank the dear Lord above for that.  I don’t know what happened to me, they’re calling it an allergic reaction.  I’m calling it terrifying.

I watched someone I love have a seizure right in my arms.  The fear I felt seeing what looked like tremendous pain and suffering tore me apart but I was strong and my head was clear and I had 911 on the phone and him to the side (by chance, I didn’t know it was the right thing to do) and I can say I have never been so scared in my entire life.  I will note that I was on this medication I’m talking about now, which I think is important to say so you’re not reading this thinking I was a drooling vegetable for 3 or 4 months (again, I forget).

Since I started to shake, I put myself on the floor to on my side.  There’s no way it was a full on seizure.  My friend doesn’t remember a thing about his and I watched it from start to finish.  I looked up seizures after whatever it was that happened to me and apparently there’s one called a “Simple Partial Seizure” diagnosed by me, via Google based on these characteristics that I posted on Facebook- (more…)

For those of you that sat riveted to your seats reading about the week I just lived, here is the continuation.

One afternoon, I’m have a chat with my therapist, telling him the bipolar medication I’m on is cool, there’s just something missing.  I loved the bi, hated the polar.  When I was up, holy shit I would get so much done.  I’d write twenty posts, design websites and manage the shit out of everything.  Then the low would hit and I’d disappear.  My mother or husband would come and stay and I’d just cry in a corner somewhere.  Could have been your house, you’d never know.  It’s a corner.  Who notices corners?

The med I was and still am on balanced me fairly well but something still wasn’t right so I was put on an additional medication.  I had full time live in home care (he was unemployed and we grew up together) and I was told that the first month would be difficult so my friend took over.

I was to take this medication three times a day at very specific times.  My friend gave me the meds on time and cared for my kids, cleaned my house (WAY better than I ever did) and helped with the grocery shopping.  I will be in debt to him for the rest of my life for his help, but we’ve known each other for decades so we pretty much brake even there. (more…)

…but I’m going to write it anyway.

It’s possible I’ll regret it.

And It’s Gonna Be A Four-Parter, because I can’t shut the fuck up.  I guess that covers my Thursday and Monday posts then!

I told everyone on Twitter to friend me on Facebook because my life is on there for everyone to read.  I try to keep it light and funny, even when I feel dark.  The problem is, by the time they got to Facebook, everything I said had fallen to the bottom.

I have a sub-category here dedicated solely to depression.  It started out as just one post about being bipolar, confiding in strangers but as time went on, I found myself telling you more.  The things I say you, I say for two reasons.  The first is that I am a writer.  I was born to express myself with my hands.  While I may talk a lot, it’s my hands that speak for me.  If I’m troubled, I can’t tell anyone how I feel the way I could if I was able to write it.  Secondly, I think there are a lot of people out there who are suffering and either don’t know why or are too scared to talk about it for fear of being somehow punished.

When I got sick and had my full hysterectomy, my condition got worse. (more…)