Dear Internet, But what I need, what I believe everyone needs, is to plan for things and accomplishments in the next year. Some of them can be quite small and others can be amazingly large. One thing I totally want to kick ass at this year? Being silly. I’m goofy as hell but I need to be sillier more and t’ll help with my often crippling social anxiety. A couple of things you may also note in these lists: Nothing having to do with romance and no couple-y things. I’m on dating lockdown for at least a year. It’s all about me, baby! Here is my own 50 things to do in 2016 list,10 of which I’ll reveal over each day over the next 5 days. In case you missed it, here is 1 – 10, 11 – 20, 21 – 30 50 Things To Do in 2016: 31 – 40
Take weekly silly selfies for a year
Whether it’s duck lips, throwing horns, or making fish lips – time to get silly
Be a mentor to someone
Boys and Girls Club maybe? In various classes? Online?
Write a short story a month and submit them
Fiction is where I’m defnitely weak. Need to step up the game
Take a month off of my vices (sugar, dairy, caffeine, etc)
I need to do this in a big way and keep up with cutting my intake by half
Do yoga once a week
Have to keep flexible if I’m playing rugby
Donate items no longer needed or wanted
Already have the pile started
Go roller skating
I haven’t been since high school. Who wants to go couples dance with me?
Sing in the rain
I am tone deaf, can’t carry a tune, and I don’t care
Get a rainbow mani/pedi
Maybe it’s time I get off my goth colors (black, purple, blue) and have some fun with my nails
Take the dog on long walks at different places every week
Dear Internet, But what I need, what I believe everyone needs, is to plan for things and accomplishments in the next year. Some of them can be quite small and others can be amazingly large. One thing I totally want to kick ass at this year? Being silly. I’m goofy as hell but I need to be sillier more and t’ll help with my often crippling social anxiety. A couple of things you may also note in these lists: Nothing having to do with romance and no couple-y things. I’m on dating lockdown for at least a year. It’s all about me, baby! Here is my own 50 things to do in 2016 list,10 of which I’ll reveal over each day over the next 5 days. In case you missed it, here is 1 – 10, 11 – 20 50 Things To Do in 2016: 21 – 30
Re-read all of Byron’s works
He’s always good for a few brooding, simmering, sexy days
Talk to the moon
Always.
Send random love letters to friends
I’ve done this before and I loved doing it, need to do it more often
Go on a hike
Visit a planetarium
I used to want to be an astronomer, but you know, math. This is one way to quench that dream.
Dear Internet,
A million and a half years ago, or 1994-96, during my first foray into college, I was too busy interviewing rock stars, working at a radio station, working at the college newspaper, AND trying to get my college’s radio station booted up, to study. (I was busy.)
During all of this, I interviewed a band, who have since disbanded, at a local to GR dive club. There is nothing unusual in this activity; I’ve interviewed bands before. What was unusual was a week or two before interviewing said band, I finished reading a book of prose by a famous author lent to me by a friend. The title of one of the pieces happened to be the band’s name. Surely this is no coincidence.
During the interview with the singer, I bring up, “Hey, are named after so-and-so’s prose piece, blah blah blah?” The lead singer said, “Yes! No one ever gets that.” In that very tenth of a second, the world was aligned just so and you and your other half have finally found each other.
I watched their show that night, during which their manager came up and said the lead singer wanted to know if I wanted to go on with the band to their next gig in Detroit. I demurred and said no, I had school to worry about (you know, the classes I wasn’t attending). Nothing ever happened between the lead singer and I. I don’t think he ever got my last name.
For awhile after that, I wondered what would have happened if I had gone. (I’m a whiz at playing the what-if game.) Memories fade faster when you’re 24 as you’re so anxious to go out and eat the world as you’re sure more memories will be forthcoming. (They usually are.) You stop playing the what-if game and take bites of things as they continue to occur. Now your memories are overflowing and some of those, the ones you swore you’ll never forget, you do end up forgetting.
Every five or so years (maybe more, possibly less), something reminds me of the band (last night they had a song in the movie I was watching), memory sparks up and it all comes back. Sitting in the back of their van, notepad on my knee, the lead singers face not far from mine. That briefest hint of tension.
After last night’s movie watching, I dreamt the friend who leant me the book all those years ago sent me an urgent email that I just HAD TO GO FIND THE LEAD SINGER OF THAT BAND. It was important. I had to do this now.
In my dream I tracked the lead singer down. I emailed him and a correspondence sprung up and of course, as dreams are wont to do, the ending is ambiguous.
I got up this morning, put on my workout clothes, and before doing anything (here I am, eating a cold syrup soaked pancake and wiping my fingers on a napkin so I do not get syrup all over my keyboard) tracked down the lead singer from all those years ago. I had forgotten his name, so I back tracked to the band’s Wikipedia page, and went forward. Now I spend ten minutes on searching and reading about him. I know once I am done, he will then fade, again and again, back into memories of yon past.
He’s now a famous visual artist and composer, based in LA. The last time I tracked him down, there was scant information about him other than a few random interviews and in one he talks about finishing his BA in English through correspondence courses when the band was on the road.
Here is a webpage! Contact info! A Tumblr! I breeze through his work. The words “pretentious” and “douchebag” come to mind. He’s balding now. His body has gone soft. I cannot say time has not been kind to him, the recognition he looked for in the band was now happening in other areas, so I am happy for him. Time has not unnecessarily been unkind to me, but just as he had physically changed, so have I.
I like to remember that brief tenth of a second when we fell in love in the back of that van. I was wearing my lime green cardigan, a t-shirt of some kind, jeans, and a pair of Chucks. My hair a hot curled mess, a bobby pin pushed into the left side to keep the hair out of my eyes. (Yes, my sense of style has not changed in 20 years.) He was long limbed, squared jawed, t-shirt and jeans wearing, a van dyke sprouted below his lower lip as was the rage during the mid-90s.
We were just kids then. God, we were so young. (If I ever track down my photographer friend from that era, I believe he got a picture of me interviewing the lead singer, but I have forgotten the photographer’s last name.)
I found the promo picture of the band, the standard 8×11 images with the band’s name, and AR info at the label sends out with additional materials. I could recall some of his details by memory, the others I cheated. However, what made me laugh is the words “historical image” watermarked across the image.
Nothing was ever implied or stated during that time at the back of the van. I probably didn’t even fall in love. It is what I felt then, it was I remember now. He probably doesn’t remember me.
What I like about these stories, other than they make for great retelling, is the reminder, no matter how brief, there is someone like you in the world. Similar connections have been made over the years, some romantic others platonic. Some last a mere moment and others last years. What strikes me the most about all of these connections is that brief time we are together, there is that sense of hope.
I live for hope and for belief in those things. It is what keeps me going.
There is not a consideration of contacting him as I am sure he will have no recollection of someone he spent a few hours with 20 years ago, let alone the story I am retelling here now. I add the band’s music to my work out lists. I close the browser tabs and wish him luck.
xoxo,
Lisa
Dear Internet, But what I need, what I believe everyone needs, is to plan for things and accomplishments in the next year. Some of them can be quite small and others can be amazingly large. One thing I totally want to kick ass at this year? Being silly. I’m goofy as hell but I need to be sillier more and t’ll help with my often crippling social anxiety. A couple of things you may also note in these lists: Nothing having to do with romance and no couple-y things. I’m on dating lockdown for at least a year. It’s all about me, baby! Here is my own 50 things to do in 2016 list,10 of which I’ll reveal over each day over the next 5 days. In case you missed it, here is 1 – 10. 50 Things To Do in 2016: 11 – 20
Tell the truth — even if it hurts
I wrote about half-truths recently, “And the most painful thing? No one trusts you. TheBassist doesn’t trust me. TheExHusband doesn’t trust me. I’ve lost a lot of friends who can no longer trust me. What comes out of my mouth today can and has been either half-way true or another variation tomorrow. It’s hard to ask for help when no one trusts you, even if they love you.” For the last couple of months, I’ve been working on stop spinning things to make me the center of attention (borderline trait) and just — tell the truth. It’s been pretty freeing.
Get a new tattoo — one of a quote
I definitely want Snape’s quote from Harry Potter and I was thinking something from Jane Austen (of course). I want to wrap them together around my never be lost tattoo. This one is going to take some time to sort out.
Get lost in a city
I have an allergic reaction to not knowing where I’m going. I like to visit a place and just randomly get lost. I do have Google maps so I need to stop being paranoid about not finding my way home.
Watch the sunrise
Watch the sunset
Make a new awesome friend
Make a list of things that make you happy
I have a list started and I need to work on it more.
Do at least one random act of kindness a month (beyond opening doors, saying please & thank you)
I’m pretty polite person to strangers (opening doors for those in need, helping people out if they need to lift/carry/etc something, saying please and thank you), but I’d like to do more.
Take a dance class
I’ve done tap, ballet, and belly dance (which is dancing to some degree). I’d like to find something I’m into and take a class in it. Or take a bunch of classes and just get into it.
Get a job and all the accouterments that go with said job
Continue on with the healthy plan
Travel more
Write more and not just in my paper journal. Write true, write what matters, write what you love.
Per the graphic, Be Fierce
A lot of these are general things already in progress (healthy plan, writing) while others, like travel more, are often planned dates and times. I’m heading to Chicago in March to be with my #cmmrb crew for C2E2 and there are some other travel plans potentially on the horizon. And I’m being as fierce as I possibly can be. Have I mentioned I’ve signed up to play ladies’ rugby? Yes. Me. Rugby.
But what I need, what I believe everyone needs, is to plan for things and accomplish in the next year. Some of them can be quite small and others can be amazingly large. Earlier this year, Gala Darling posted an illustrated list of her 50 Things Things To Do in 2016 with encouragement for her readers to use this a jumping off guide for their own list. I’m taking her challenge and decided to do my own 50 list, 10 of which I’ll reveal over each day over the next 5 days.
You may note there is far more than 50 items on my list and I’ll probably continue to add more as time goes on. Can’t hurt to over shoot!
A couple of things you may also note in these lists: Nothing having to do with romance and no couple-y things. I’m on dating lockdown for at least a year. It’s all about me, baby!
One thing I totally want to kick ass at this year? Being silly. I’m goofy as hell but I need to be sillier more. It’ll help with my often crippling social anxiety.
(I may not believe in a god, but I do believe in woo-woo. I have a close witchy friend who does tarot and spells for me and I’ve got lots of friends who are pagan and druids. Even if my belief isn’t super strong in the woo, I like having something to believe in and a lot of the list is woo-woo) 50 Things To Do in 2016: 1 – 10
See at least two music show this year
I used to see numerous shows a year, local and national bands, and that has petered off significantly.
Learn how to read tarot cards
Yes, it’s true. Mock all you want but a few days before TheEx and I split, I saw a psychic. She told me he and I were going to break up very soon (we did two days later), I was going to be married twice (one down!), and I would not have kids other than the furry kind (See.). It could all be pure coincidence but learning to read tarot is not going to hurt anyone. So there.
Dear Internet,
I haven’t written much about #teamharpy, if anything really, since the case was dismissed back in March 2015 here or over on my profesh site. I’ve barely spoken about it publicly. There was/is nothing really left to say other than the case was dismissed. That is that. But there are no gag orders in the dismissal to prevent nina and Italking about it anytime or place we wanted to. Additionally there was no time frame when we had to keep the apologies and retractions up.
Yet nina and I felt safer not discussing because, hahahaha, who knows what will happen!
So we didn’t.
Majority of you know I’ve been applying for positions all over the midwest to east coast within the last year, 18 months if you include the few positions I applied for at the end of 2014. Today I wrote over at lisa.rabey.net,
I’ve had two offers rescinded and I’ve been the top two in several final positions with hints I would be extended the position and ultimately rejected. How do I know the case is affecting my employability? After the first or second interviews, the institution google searches me (I now know they have seen the pages related to #teamharpy), goes to my site(s), and spends hours combing them. One institution had seven different people combing my profesh site. How do I know this? By my web logs. I see who (by ip / domain name) has searched for me, how they found my site, and what they are reading on my site. Some continue to read this site long after the interview has been over.
What I forgot to mention is that at least three institutions there was at least one person at each who printed out reams of my blog pieces and became mildly obsessed with me. No, not scary at all.
Over at twitter I wrote,
When you apply for, and srejected, from 160 jobs (even ones you were 1 of 2 candidates) AND KEEP APPLYING ANYWAY, you’ve grown thick skin
I think a lot of people, myself included, thought once the dismissal came, everything would blow over. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
— Chi-chi-chi-Lisa! (@byshieldmaiden) January 29, 2016
But I’m getting ahead of myself. You can read the breakdown of the #teamharpy case at https://lisa.rabey.net/2016/01/we-need-to-talk-about-teamharpy/. Below is the commentary I gave on Twitter after the piece posted.
[<a href=”//storify.com/byvalkyrie/we-need-to-talk-about-teamharpy” target=”_blank”>View the story “We need to talk about #teamharpy” on Storify</a>]
Dear Internet,
After all the cheeriness of #lismentalhealth week, it’s time for happier random updates.
Hah. I (sorta) fibbed.
This morning I woke up with the overwhelming feeling of TheSads, which are feelings that come in waves, typically lasting a few hours or sometimes a few days. There is no cause for TheSads, I’m often not triggered, and they leave just as quickly as they come.
There are a number of reasons of why TheSads are hanging out today: I’m going to start ovulating in a few days (my mood is all over the place when I start ovulating), I’ve been job hunting for the last few days and that’s always depressing, and I’ve been smoke-free for the last six days which is also a grump inducing mood.
These are legit reasons for TheSads to shuffle hop step across my mind’s stage.
These are normal things to feel.
After dragging myself into the shower and getting ready for the day, I started clutching various particular straws on the pretense if those things were firmly, and safely, in my corner my life would be so much better.™
I know that’s not true. I know I’m deluding myself on those things.
I know there are lots of things I cannot control that are a part of my life and I have to just keep putting one step in forward of the other. It’s hard. It feels like a snail’s pace. Sometimes I don’t feel like I’m making any progress when I am.
The usual bullshit.
At the meeting with my therapist a few hours later, the conversation turned to that morning’s feelings: Why am I clutching at straws? Why do I think I can change the past? Why blah blah blah? (To be fair I’m not concentrating on one specific thing in my past to change, there are a whole host of things I would adore to change, but that is neither here nor there.)
After talking this out with her, I started to feel better. I teared up (mascara that actually doesn’t run for the muther fucking win!) in therapy, as I tend to do, when discussing certain subjects which are really facades for my frustration levels of not being to make the massive changes I think/want I need: Job, place of my own, my own money.
I keep harping on those things because those are things that plague most of my thoughts. Sometimes I can keep those thoughts in a cage and smile evilly at them and other times they gang up like, well, gangbusters. Most of the time these days they are in the cage but this morning they decided to make an unwanted appearance.
After the discussion with my therapist, I felt better — I always feel better. It could have been the coffee I was consuming during my hour. It could be the release of those thoughts. It could have been the greasy lunch I had later.
I spent the afternoon starting this entry, combing through job sites looking for positions to apply, and prepping for Thursday’s obedience class this evening. TheSads, which were starting to abate, came back in full force: Why did I fuck up this particular job interview? Why did I fuck up that job interview? How much different would my life would have been if I had not done X,Y, or Z?
I started feeling awful all over again. The feelings of failure, worthlessness, and my own stupidity came crashing down in waves.
It’s always a struggle to get them under control.
I got new glasses. How exciting! (Not as exciting when I figured out how to safely wax my under arm hair last week but I do like living on the edge.)
Still. Very exciting!
This is my fourth pair of glasses in the last 20 years. I’m thankful my script hasn’t changed too much and rotating the previous three pairs hasn’t been that big of deal as time went by.
Until last year.
Last year I discovered I needed progressives. You know, bifocals.
I’m officially old.
I couldn’t afford new glasses and contacts thus the optometrist recommended getting contacts but adding a pair of those cheap reading glasses you find everywhere to help with the near sightedness. I didn’t like pairs I found so I continued working with just contacts and sort of winging it which really didn’t seem to be that big of deal.
After it hit the one year mark of my last appointment, it was becoming pretty clear, despite my attempt to convince myself regular contacts were just fine, I needed those new glasses. Contacts be damned. (Honest truth: I have enough unused contacts from the last few years, due to slight difference in scripts, to last me another solid year.)
TheExHusband agreed to front me the cash for the new specs and trying on new pairs was that week’s excitement. (Did I mention I liked living on the edge?)
I had the following demands:
Buddy Holly frames. I’ve done the fancy, quirky pairs over the years and I wasn’t loving those frames so back to my trusty Buddy Hollys.
Anti-glare/scratch and a few other thingies
Black. Preferably matte.
Lenses sit far enough away from my eyes so mascaraed lashes don’t streak the glass. (Yes, this has been a problem in the past.)
Properly fitted.
The last one was the most important as left alone to my own devices none of my previous pairs really fit my face and after a while, some of the arms were stretched out due to my large head and mounds of hair.
With the optometrist’s help, I found the perfect pair and hoo boy, am I pleased as punch!
I am a vain, vain person and I would not have considered wearing glasses as a regular thing until the last few years. (This despite almost everyone I met would mention at least once how great I looked in said frames.) Now that I have found a pair I love and look fabulous in, I feel more confident in wearing my new specs.
(It was pointed out to me I could have gotten said specs way cheaper at Zenni Optical but as fit was more important to me, there is no guilt for what was paid. Now that I have the specs for my specs, I’ll be buying from Zenni in the future. (Also Zenni is optometrist approved.))
When I posted the above image on Facebook, in addition to the usual “you look great!” comments, numerous women posted my eyebrows, make-up, and skin is on point. Here are my secrets:
My brows are either professionally waxed or waxed by me. I’ve been doing my own waxing for years but sometimes you need to pamper yourself for $7 – 10 per go.
With the exception of Yes To, Rimmel, and Kat von D products, everything else was recommended by rankandstyle.com. Since I’m on a drugstore budget, I’m pleased as all get out I was able to find products that worked and worked well with spending a small fortune.
If you’re into librarian-y things, I’ve started the redesign of my librarian profesh site which includes starting and updating a blog in addition to the occasional site updates. One of the suggestions from a prof was to start writing about my experiences in the job market, trends in library land, and commentary on current practices. THIS! I can do.
I’ve been importing the librarian-y posts from EPbaB over to lisa.rabey.net and it’s been going fairly well and it keeps the site current where as before it was a bit more stale. I’m also updating my, “So, You Want To Be A Librarian” series which you should check out if you’re thinking about getting your MLIS.
This week is finally my mammogram appointment which has me alternately relieved and a bit scared. From a few weeks ago,
“…able to find the benign lump in my right breast, discovered a year ago (2014/15) with my first mammogram. (If you recall, I had a total of six mammograms including an ultrasound over six months and it was decreed everything was fine.) The lump is located at the intersection of my armpit and my breast, so I would not have found it if I was doing a self-exam.
Speaking of which, I go in for my yearly mammogram this week and hopefully the benign lump is still benign. I shudder at the thought of getting a biopsy to make absolutely fucking clear it’s benign.
LADIES! Get your tits checked.”
I’ll obviously update the status once I know, but whatever deities you pray too, keep me in your thoughts the lump is still benign.
xoxo,
Lisa
#LisMentalHealth week is an initiative started by my good friend Cecily Walker and Kelly McElroy. You can follow along on Twitter, add resources to the Google doc, or check out the Storify of Monday’s chat. Please do not diagnosis yourself via the internet — if you are concerned about your mental health or someone else’s, see a professional immediately.
Dear Internet,
The last couple of posts discussed what was going on inside my head, some background on being bipolar and borderline, suicidal thoughts, and how that conflates in every day life. I want to excavate deeper into the every day life part because it’s necessary, important, and gives others a chance to know they are not feeling alone.
(Punctuated with GIFs from Pride and Prejudice & Zombies, Becoming Jane, and Pride and Prejudice (1995 AND 2005 editions). Because obviously.)
People with mental illness are bad ass mother fuckers.
As we stabilize, and start to integrate into regularized life, we have to still have to navigate all of the pitfalls of being mentally ill.
Alone.
Inside our head.
This is not to say we don’t have a support system, a good therapist on call, or even the wrong drugs. But those things can only do so much and we need to be prepared to handle the rest.
We’re fighters.
And when we’re in crisis, which does not always mean suicidal, we’re kind of straying off track of the fight. But give us a moment and we’re back into the ring, ready to do another battle.
Sometimes we are down on the mat, and the ref is counting. Sometimes we feel the only way to win is to die. But those who walk that path are still brave for they took their own life on their terms. It’s hard to digest, I know, but there are something bigger than us, all of us, that cannot always be beaten.
They are not cowards. Death is not shameful. They deserved to make that decision.
I’m not advocating for suicide. I’m not saying everyone who is mentally ill should go kill themselves. I refuse, however, to put on the facade that this wasn’t the person’s choice. It is their choice. They made this decision to end it on their terms, they should have the dignity for making that decision.
(Some of us just need something to keep us here. If you feel like you’re going through a rough time and you need help, call the National Suicide Prevention Line at 1.800.273.8255.)
I know from my own experiences the line between wanting to fight and dying on my terms has been pretty blurred. What’s pulled me out of making the decision to die is my need to be a vengeful asshole and want to prove the world wrong.
I haven’t been suicidal in a very long time. I get into crisis mode which can be akin to waiting out a bad storm. I have too much to do in this world and like I said, I’m a vengeful asshole.
I wanted to die because I didn’t feel like anyone understood what I was going through. I wanted to die because I thought no one loved me. I wanted to die because I could not imaging going through life in this kind of pain.
It took a long time for me to accept people love me. People want to make sure I’m okay. When it looks like I’m going into crisis mode, people text/call me to make sure I’m okay or if I need anything. I know it will get better some day, so I let the tears out and the frustration, I take my drugs, I write in my journal, I meditate, and the sun starts to pinprick the clouds.
(And I’m a vengeful asshole, because fuck you non-believers of me.)
(My meditation guru, headspace, has this technique called noting. Instead of acting out on whatever (feeling, emotion, thought), you let the thing wander into your brain and you say to yourself, “oh. that’s just a feeling.” and the feeling, instead of overpowering, you acknowledge it which knocks it out of your way. I found that whenever a feeling / thought / emotion starts pushing its way forward, I note it, and it doesn’t feel so intense anymore. Headspace acknowledges that depression cannot be erased simply by noting, but it helps to better manage the symptoms.)
When I was 10? 11? 12? I wanted to write a book on suicide. Was I suicidal then? To be honest, I have no idea. I was sewing my fingers together and pulling out clumps of my hair, so who knows.
I went to the library constantly. Checked out books, memoirs, medical texts, anything I could find about suicide.
I was convinced they had it all wrong. No one knew what being suicidal was like. I knew. I could write this book.
Again, what does a middle schooler know about suicide? No one I knew had died by their own hand. Where did this come from? I cannot even guess.
I apparently thought I knew everything.
I have no idea what was going on through my mind. This was beyond writing a paper for school, there was this real big need to write a book.
No idea what happened to the papers or my thoughts on the matters.
But I did want you to know I’ve been there, it’s okay, and we can get through this together.
One of the big traits of being a borderline is our lack of self-image. What does that mean?
It means we cannot or have trouble with defining our own personalities. What we like. What we don’t like.
When you think of me, what do you think? My about page has a pretty good description of who I am and what I like. You follow me on Twitter or are a BFF on Facebook, my interests are pretty straight forward.
Every or nearly every day I think about what I like: James Bond, Doctor Who, Jane Austen, Vikings, MINI Coopers, Regency, Edwardian, and Medieval history, Caravaggio, knitting, England, Scotland, Wales, BBC, literature, graphic novels & comic books, Jazz Age, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Baroque art, technology, travel, Shakespeare, Sherlock Holmes, Downton Abbey, Italy, and West Ham Football Club.
These are just a few of my favorite things.
Why do I like these things?
You could argue a lot of people pick up traits of the people they are involved with, regardless of the intimacy level. We’re being introduced to new things and those things resonate with us, so we make them ours and explore them on our own terms. But with borderlines, we want to be like that person, so their things are now our favorite things, typically discarded when the relationship ends and we start all over again with the next person to get a whole another set of interests.
When I look at my main interests, listed above, some of them follow that described pattern. TheEx was heavily into F1, MINIs, West Ham United, James Bond, and knitting. Now they are my interests but if I’m honest with some of them I haven’t picked since we split nearly eight years ago. Some of them I follow half-heartedly. Others I keep with abandoning passion.
(That’s amazing thing about interests — spend a half-hour google searching and you can get up to date on that item real quick.)
I used to have a really hard time with music, television shows/movies, and anything else people find of interest. If you’ve been to any place I’ve lived, I’ve got a thousand and one things that look like I’m interested in, but in reality I’ve started and given up on most because I got bored or not everyone was doing the same thing anymore.
(Remember, we want to be loved so what you like, we like.)
It took a really long time for me to learn how to like something. I had to teach myself how to like something and honestly? I have a hard time moving beyond that thing.
Like music.
Music was a poultice to medicate, not to be enjoyed.
Bands like R.E.M, New Order, and The Smiths really resonated with me in high school, so I followed their careers obsessively for years and the cool kids I was desperate to join liked them. I also liked them because it was myself in their songs.
(I listened to industrial to drown out the crazy.)
I started paying attention to songs on the radio, in clubs, at friend’s houses. Why did I like this song? What could I like about this song, albums, band? I like the words. Okay, that’s good. I like the sound. Okay, even better. One plus one = two. Turn it into a logical equation and it’s easier to swallow.
I am really simplifying this as it’s not that straight forward.
A lot of you know I’m a big fan of Joy Division. I knew they were the precursor to New Order. The lead singer killed himself when he was 23. It was thought he was bipolar or at least depressed.
A man I could get behind.
I didn’t get into them until I was in my early 30s when I was researching something and came across Joy Division’s biography. Based upon what I found out and what I later learned, they became my band de jour.
My favorite song is not Love Will Tear Us Apart or Transmission but She’s Lost Control.
I could live a little better with the myths and the lies,
When the darkness broke in, I just broke down and cried.
I could live a little in a wider line,
When the change is gone, when the urge is gone,
To lose control. When here we come.
https://youtube.com/watch?v=QVc29bYIvCM%26w%3D640%26h%3D360
Here was a band who released this single when I was 7 and they are as relevant to me today as they were over 30 years ago.
They have a distinct sound. I call it the Mancuian sound, music straight from Manchester, UK. Every band I have fallen in love with either emulates that sound (Interpol), is from that period (Factory Records), or is heavily influenced by Joy Division. Almost without fail, when I hear a new song on the radio and I like the song, they are 90% not only from Britain but from Manchester.
Everything from food, to clothes, to where I want to live — nearly every aspect of my life is thought out, ruminated, digested, and researched before I decide to like it or not.
And all of this is going on with rapid fire thought, subconsciously without fail, every second of every day.
Teaching myself to like something was a big step towards being whole. My interests listed above? Took me a long time to separate the interest from the thing associated with it and make it mine. Now when I meet someone, I have very clear boundaries on what I like, I have ideas what I don’t like, and it’s work to maintain this is me rather this is me being you.
I sound aspie, but it’s not about keeping to a pattern, it’s about discovering what it is that makes “you” you and making it your own. This also does not mean I’m not open to new experiences or adventures, but please understand that to even consider that thing, I’m making rapid fire decisions, a 1000 a second.
Now tie this in with being bipolar, the mania, the need to be an exhibitionist. You are HERE and you’re living in this moment. But do you like this moment? Can you trust this moment? I AM THE CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE. But do you like me to being the center? Can I be in your world?
You stabilize the brain with drugs, so the needs become less punishing. Yet it physically hurts to think sometimes, so much is going on in my head.
And people wonder why I’m chaotic neutral.
xoxo,
Lisa
#LisMentalHealth week is an initiative started by my good friend Cecily Walker and Kelly McElroy. You can follow along on Twitter, add resources to the Google doc, or check out the Storify of Monday’s chat. Please do not diagnosis yourself via the internet — if you are concerned about your mental health or someone else’s, see a professional immediately.
Dear Internet,
When I was a kid, I used to sew my fingers “…together with needle and thread, through the upper layers of your skin. You would sew and sew and then rip it out gingerly and start over again.” As a teenager “…start a new habit of breaking things. You get angry and start breaking anything made of china or glass.” I used to stand in my bedroom, on top of my bed, smashing glass things on the floor. Never too much for my mother to notice, but enough so that she eventually did.
At one point I used to pull huge clumps of hair out. I’m surprised my hair hasn’t thinned or I have bald spots.
I no longer sew my fingers together. I not longer throw glass on the floor. I no longer pull huge clumps of my hair out.
Now I tattoo and pierce. Much more aesthetically pleasing.
I began this post with something wholly different in mind, with plans on concentrating being borderline as it is enough of an obscure disorder that had barely has been written on it in the public sphere other than medical chit chat. What I have found for community support and personal perspective is buried deep, deep into google search — essentially useless since hardly anyone goes beyond the first page of results. If interested, I’ve put together a list of resources found on websites, subreddits, and books I recommend/use are at the bottom of this post. (Be warned, some of the content can be triggering.)
If these posts helps someone not feel alone or to get help, that’s enough for me.
The above quotations comes from a piece I wrote in 2001, about a girl, dealing with the crazy to the point I was thisclose to having a mental breakdown. I found the piece when looking for the bit on sewing my fingers together that I was originally going to reference. I read about a girl, cried, and re-read some more. I’m no longer self-harming, hitting/punching people, or planning my death. TheExHusband, who was kind enough to listen when I read it out loud, pointed out if I was in the same state now as I was then, the pile on what happened in the last two years convinced him I would have killed myself because I couldn’t take it anymore.
He’s right. So yay me?!
So I’ll talk about being borderline interspersed with Jane Austen gifs. Get the word out. Find some other peeps who suffer, create a community. Think about how far I’ve come (I can marginally cook), I am not suicidal or do (as crazy) crazy things. I lived beyond the age of 40. Some good, yes?
Everything changes. Nothing changes. I will deal with this for the rest of my life.
I need your approval and adoration or else I do not exist
One of the tl;dr’s of about a girl was my mother’s lack of validation of me as a child. Who in thee fuck sends their nine year old to therapy? Grounds them for years for being a “bad” child, which meant punishing you for the mess your younger brother did?
I did not have validation, so I need validation from you or else I don’t exist.
I will do anything of that validation. Anything. I will get into a shitty relationship with you, I will do things I’m not comfortable with doing, I will lie for you. I am your pet trained monkey, say what you will and it is done.
I would deny the date rapes, the sexual harassment, the rapes and almost rapes because it meant someone(s) finally loved/wanted me. What more could a girl ask for?
Is it so terrible I have a credo which states I will do anything as long as I don’t land in jail? Bully for me I’ve been able to keep that creedo on point.
You will stay with me forever, even if you don’t like it.
Relationships, platonic and romantic, end. Some just drift apart, others there is a trauma, and yet still others you just manage to grow out of your mutual interests. Some of the endings are mutuals, others are not. Some of this sounds familiar to most of you — I can’t imagine anyone whose life is so perfectly balanced they haven’t navigated these waters.
With borderlines it’s different.
You could dislike me / break up with me for a host of a million reasons, all of them legit, but I need to know why. Why don’t you like me? What have I done that I can fix? What can I change to myself to make whatever has been fucked better for you and for me?
I don’t understand why there can’t be a change.
I don’t understand why you don’t like me.
I have made relationships worse with this behaviour. Relationships that could have been naturally saved if I had not decided to forcefully intervene.
I have burned bridges.
But after burning the bridges, after forcefully intervening, we tend to apologize for our behaviour.
A lot.
I throw out the lines “fuck ’em if they don’t like me” and “I don’t want to be with anyone who doesn’t want me” and “I’m not to everyone’s taste” but secretly I need you to validate who I am. I put on a brave face because that is what I am to do but secretly…I need you to like me.
A lot.
We are charming as fuck
We want your approval and we’re trained circus monkey’s who will do any trick we can to make you love us. We want you to validate us and by having you remember us, we will be adored.
For me, it’s anything I can do to make you remember me whether it’s as simple as remembering who you are to sending thank you cards (truly, I AM grateful when those are sent) to providing you with something you are missing in your life. So many people don’t remember names, send thank you cards, or do simple gestures so when someone DOES do those things, they are more memorable than not.
And I am validated.
My sarcasm and with tend to bring the smart people around to my side. My fashion choices tend to hook others.
I’ve got a million ways to charm you and if you’re a potential sex partner, some that will make your toes curl.
I am a pretty, pretty princess and I must always be the center of your world
Borderlines have to be the center of your world.
A fight means a break-up. A change in plans means you hate me. A missed phone call and you never want to hear from me again. Platonic friendships invoke jealousies. Friendships with ex-partners? Ha. Ha. Ha. You’re fucking cheating on me and you’re never going to change.
If we can make those things not happen (validation) and tap dance our charming ass off, borderlines will always be the center of your attention and therefore, we are finally whole.
I don’t self-mutilate, I pierce and tattoo (which is totally different. Ha. Ha. Ha.)
Borderlines tend to have incredibly self-destructive behaviour. They are alcoholics, drug users, risky with sex, self-mutilate, and attempt suicide at least once.
I tell myself, “Oh boy. Aren’t I lucky I’m not into those self-destructive behaviors!”
Self-destructive behaviors started when I was eight or nine and I would sew my fingers together. Then the hair pulling in clumps. Then throwing glass against the floor. The manic behaviour in my 20s.
The the risky sex partners. (How I’ve never gotten a STD from the crazy early 20s is a goddamned miracle. In the last ten years it’s been a string of long relationships with three separate men. Yay me? )
I forgot all of that. I forget a lot of things. It’s buried deep deep inside of me. A pomegranate seed I refuse to let grow. I do not water it. I do not tend to it. Yet it lurks its leaves under the soil waiting to bury it’s roots deep and its flowers high.
Instead I pierce. And I tattoo.
Nearly 15 years ago (jesus lord), sitting on the couch of an ex-boyfriend who in one breath wanted to fuck me and in the other called me a prision bitch. WHY LISA, WHY? You’ve ruined your innocence, he said.
You cry. But I tell him what the tattoos really mean: a protective seal to protect me.
If you see the tattoos, you’ll more than likely not fuck with me, if you don’t fuck with me, I’m safe. No worries about abandonment issues because I won’t let you in close enough to hurt me. As long as I played the guise of loudmouth, tattooed, bitchy bitch face, I was safe. People would respect me for it (which always blew my mind when they did. Which is a lot. People do like assholes.).
Because obviously tattoos and piercings, for some, are not a sign of self-mutilation but for me, they very subtly are.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
If you saw I was really a bookish, nerdish girl who would rather knit and read a book rather than get rowdy enough at a bar to get thrown out a bar (like I was at 21), you wouldn’t like me. No one liked me when I was a four eyed square in primary and middle school because I was different from everyone else (hoo boy, things changed when I grew breasts and got contacts), no one was going to like me now. Honestly? When I do show that side of myself, no one really expects it and think it’s some facade. What they can’t figure out is the opposite is true.
And the bitchy sarcastic cuntface continues to live supreme because that’s what people want, and I want them to like me, so it will remain so. Resources
#LisMentalHealth week is an initiative started by my good friend Cecily Walker and Kelly McElroy. You can follow along on Twitter, add resources to the Google doc, or check out the Storify of Monday’s chat.
Dear Internet,
If you’ve been reading (or following me on social media), it’s no surprise I’m open about my mental health. I talk pretty extensively on being bipolar (especially since I’m bipolar one which means I creep towards mania than depression), mental health in general, borderline personality disorder, adhd, depression when I get it, anxiety, and about my drugs, shrink, and fuck, probably a lot more I’m forgetting.
While I try not let me be these diseases, so much of what they do is an integral part of my life, it’s very hard to talk about them in some sort of context, “I’m being cray today. Ugh!”
So here is a week where I can talk freely and abundantly about my brain with professionals in my chosen career only to find as I opened up this editor to write — I am stumped on what exactly to say.
Three years ago (!), spurned by a TED Talk by Amanda Fucking Palmer, I wrote this piece: “Mental Illness, Shame, and The Art of Asking.”
In case you missed it, here is Amanda’s talk:
https://youtube.com/watch?v=xMj_P_6H69g%26w%3D640%26h%3D360
What I said three years ago
Yesterday, I was part of a panel at MSU Comics Forum where we gave a presentation on Golden Age: Comics and Graphic Novel Resources in Libraries. Our schtick is to present on this topic at non-library conferences because we knew it was important for artists, writers, creators, educators, and comic book lovers to be aware of what/how libraries are doing with comics and graphic novels. Within the library world, it is a given. Outside the library world, not so much.
While prepping for my talk, I was debating on whether or not to mention I was bipolar and relate that to graphic novels available on the topic. If part of my argument is graphic novels should be in libraries is because they help broach difficult topics, is this not a difficult topic and ergo a perfect example? The other question that would be asked is what kind of obligation do I have in mentioning I am bipolar to anyone about anything? Why does the onus fall on me?
This debate went on in my head up until I took the podium.
When the slide came up I had earmarked to mention being bipolar, I found myself just saying it as naturally if you please:
“I’m bipolar. I’ve had several friends who’ve read Marbles: Mania, Depression, Michelangelo, and Me and say to me, ‘Okay. I understand what you’re going through. It was eye opening.’ And this is perfectly illustrates how graphic novels and comics can help broach difficult topics.”
Several heads in the audience nodded with agreement.
In the space of a few minutes, I had negotiated in my head the trust relationship between myself and the audience. I gave myself permission to be candid. The floor did not open up and swallow me nor did fire come reigning down the heavens.
While I was feeling manic up until that moment, and then the world shifted into focus. When my 15 minutes was done, I felt my body relax for the first time in weeks.
Before watching AFP’s talk last night, I had not realized the mental negotiations taking place in my head about having a mental illness were about exchanges in trust with whomever. Oh, not you Internet, but with those in contact of my daily life, who don’t follow me across the social sphere or read this blog. There is a price tag on honesty, and on revealing, one that was too high in the past to contemplate, and one that is constantly always under scrutinizing but is becoming easier to negotiate.
AFP rationalized it is not about taking a risk, rather it is trust. Shame comes in when those not part of the negotiation attempt to criticize it. I am currying trust with my readership by telling them about my crazy, but someone who doesn’t read my blog, or know me, starts to make judgements on the already established link between me and my readership, they are installing shame on the affair. Anything different is open to criticism and this needs to change.
My name is Lisa and I am bipolar.
It needs to be said, it has to be said, I will continue to say it.
That piece still sums up what I feel today, except when it’s not.
Bipolar can be controlled with drugs and therapy. I’ve been on the same cocktail for over a year now and 9 times out of 10, life is pretty even keel. Now Borderline Personality Disorder is taking center stage, rearing its ugly head and that has been running my life for the last year+.
BPD has ruined a lot of things with the most current such as TheBassist1 breaking up with me not because he didn’t love and want me, but because I was a flight risk2 and will always be a flight risk until I got my shit together.
BPD has ruined not only romantic relationships, but platonic relationships; it’s distorted my world view; it’s fucked a lot of things for me and sometimes I feel utterly and completely out of control. “I hate you, don’t leave me!” “Everyone hates me; I’m the greatest thing since sliced bread.” “I have made a mistake somewhere and now I will be shunned/fired/etc.”
Coupled with being bipolar, I’m often surprised I’ve made it past 40. Hell, past 30.
I talk a lot about the domino effect which has plagued me these last few years. But what I haven’t discussed is exactly how that affected me on a much more personal level:
The #teamharpy case has made me a leper in the library world
nina and I racked up $15K in legal fees
I ran myself into $40K credit card debt between September 2014 and June 2015
On paper I’ve been homeless, on and off, since October 2014
I’ve had several breakdowns, starting with a long period of mania that lasted for about six months, then a bout of depression, back to mania, which finally came to a head in October when TheBassist broke it off with me.
From October to mid-December I rarely left TheExHusband’s condo or got out of my jimjams or did any kind of self-care. I ugly cried nearly every day
I’ve rarely smoked more than a couple of cigarettes a month until this past summer where I’m coming up to half a pack a day
While not suicidal, I’ve been in crisis at least twice in the last year
I’m probably missing a few things but this is the laundry list of ills that have been the albatross in my life for the last 18 months. A lot of these are my own choices, “If only I had…”
…used the word ‘alleged’ in that fucking tweet
…stop spending money on useless shit since I don’t have a job
…stopped denying everything was great and I was sick
…listened to what my loved ones said instead of thinking I could go at this alone
There are a lot of “If onlys.” Aren’t there always?
Being mentally ill is a goddamned highway with lots of on and off ramps. You make decisions based on your illness, it backfires, and you lose something important. You make a decision based on your illness, it comes up smelling of roses. You just never know how the die is going to roll and we keep taking the chance that what we decided was right.
We’re gamblers, we are. We worry by not telling anyone, we’ll not be able to get help when we need it. We worry if we do tell someone, we’ll lose out on life/partners/jobs. We worry how drugs will affect us or if self-care will actually work. We worry about the stigma, the pain, the anguish, the shame. We make ourselves sicker because we cannot disclose our sickness without fear something terrible is going to happen.
And the most painful thing? No one trusts you. TheBassist doesn’t trust me. TheExHusband doesn’t trust me. I’ve lost a lot of friends who can no longer trust me. What comes out of my mouth today can and has been either half-way true or another variation tomorrow3. It’s hard to ask for help when no one trusts you, even if they love you.
A lot of hard questions are coming up in the #lismentalhealth chat. Questions I want to be the queen of all that is mentally ill and bestow my wisdom to everyone as I have all the answers (“I am the greatest thing since sliced bread.”). I’m afraid to post because I don’t want to be seen as a scene stealer (“Everyone hates me.”). I don’t want to seem “weak” (“I can control this thing no matter what you say”), whatever that means, and I don’t want people to take pity on me even though I crave their adoration (“Don’t leave me.”). I’m a raging, sarcastic asshole towards people (“I hate you.”)
Being mentally ill is goddamned exhausting. I think this is one thing we can all agree upon.
One of the questions that did come up I can, somewhat, safely answer is about disclosing your illness to current and future employers. Right now I’m of the mindset of “No.” In my last position, because I was hell bent on being open and honest, I told my immediate boss. Within a few months, they used my illnesses against me. See the revised job description they put up when they did a call after my contact was about to expire. Look particularly at 12. They also would use verbiage such as, “Go take more drugs,” and “have you seen your therapist lately” out of spite. (Yes, I did try to get them reprimanded for such impertinence but since no one heard them, I had no physical proof…you get the idea where this going, right?) Despite the disability act/equal opportunity form you can volunteer to answer when you apply for a job, I choose “no response” to the question or I don’t fill out the damned thing at all. I cannot take the chance if someone sees I’m bipolar they will automatically disqualify me from getting a job. While this is illegal, I’ll never know since I will just get your standard rejection.
I have nothing to say. I have everything to say. I have a zillion answers. I have no answers.
I wish I did.
xoxo,
Lisa
1. One day there will be a day when I don’t mention him in a piece but today is not that day.
2. I can’t blame him for this part of why our relationship failed this time around. When the love of you life is leaving you every couple of months and then calls you ugly crying, you’d probably cut ties off too. But that’s a post for another time.
3. Pinky swear, on my grandmother’s grave, everything I’ve written in here, my world, has been true. It may have been fucked up, crazy sounding, or depressing as fuck, but this is the only place I have always felt like my safe space and thus can be completely honest.
