check please

 

I’m feeling ready to check out now. It’s just a matter of dropping the key in the slot.

It isn’t something new. It’s been a recurrent consideration for a very long time. I’ve been diagnosed with clinical depression for almost 20 years.

Changes, sobriety, a successful (but stressful) business never completely banished the suicidal ideations. Of course some times were/are better than others. It’s the nature of the beast.

Now I am utterly alone. In May I sent my daughter to live with her father due to her acting out. There is no income or medical insurance to even see a psychiatrist.

Been awaiting a decision on SS Disability for over a year with no end in sight and am unable to hold a job due to this damnable black despair.

There have been changes in medication, a diagnosis of bi-polar disorder, and all of the usual trials and tribulations of life that occur to everyone.

The precipitating factors in this current bout of severe depression are the absence of my daughter and my lover/boyfriend breaking up with me.

I miss my daughter but know that being in this city, with the ‘friends’ she surrounded herself with was a bad situation. Her grades are back up now. She misses me and wants to come home.

She also misses her friends here which presents an insurmountable problem in allowing her to return.

I cannot get over TK. He is the only man I’ve ever met who I consider equal in intelligence, talent and darkness of humor. It took 45 years to meet a man like this and now he is gone to me forever.

The days are filled with weeping.  The nights are no better.

Being a burden on my family, my mother has paid my rent, as I cannot work with the continued unabated depression. Yet more guilt and feelings of worthlessness are engendered by this.

There is no one to talk with. Who the hell wants to hear about the neurotic, despairing feelings and emotions within me? Everyone has problems, and many many people have observable problems so much worse than mine. Do all depressed people think that they sound like damned whiners and so keep quiet to others?

Why don’t logic and rational scientific methodology help? Fuck.

Ask Sylvia Plath, Hemingway, or Kurt Cobain. Ask all of the other thousands of regular people who each year are tired of the pain.

So I started this blog to try and ease the torment and disquiet. It’s the other white meat.

All the Way to Reno

So I’m back from a few days in Santa Cruz.
I did a lot of walking along the beach, checking out the coffee houses, and reading.

The weather was sunny and at that ‘almost-Fall’ point one feels next to the sea.
It made me wonder how I ever wound up here in the desert.

Although the Boardwalk was closed for the season it was still ghostly fun to walk the length, look up and up to the roller coaster, imagine the smell of corn dogs, funnel cakes and ice cream while envisioning the entire swath of oceanfront crowded with laughing sunburned people.
The ocean smelled divine and the waves on the rocks and beaches were comforting.
I rode a motorcycle up to Davenport one afternoon and sat at the Roadhouse enjoying a cup of espresso, watching the sun start it’s slide down for the day.

An escape from the morass of life here in Reno, if only for a few days.
Now I’m home surrounded by boxes and boxes of faded belongings and over-sized antique furniture.
Most of it has to go. Hell if I know how.

It was sunny and breezy and clear and so fine in Santa Cruz. I was lonely there.
It’s cold and cloudy and infused with sadness and memories here in Reno. I am still lonely.
And that’s all I have to say about that.

~Miss R

Currently listening:
The Essential Yo-Yo Ma

Nights Home Alone, Med Trials, and Fucking Mornings

~~September 8 2007~~

I can see seven hot air balloons up in the sky, not too far from here.

All I have to do is tilt my head from this monitor screen to the window. The balloon races are an annual Reno event. Maybe someone will see that poor bastard Fossett. He still hasn’t been found and his plane supposedly went down close to here.
Rebecca had to drive her son out at 5:00 am yesterday to help in the search.
Yeppers nothing like being a parent.
Guess Steve should have waited and used another balloon instead of his plane.

Good Morning Balloons.
Good Morning fresh coffee.
Good Morning coffin nail smoking next to me.
Good Morning silly Lizzie Borden.

Mornings are the worst I think.
Nothing has changed my attitude about this and the funny thing is that when I was younger, even into my twenties, I loved mornings.
Each day promised something new to experience.

Now mornings just mean another interminable stretch of 20 hours awake and alone with my screwy head. Make the bed, comb the cat, eat something, do a bit of work if concentration allows, maybe a meeting. Spend too much time at the computer.
Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

I was supposed to go to the Green Room last night and see Gabe, Lenora, and Evan play (Love’s Proxy). Wound up being too tired and the depression too intense.

Went as far as taking a shower at 9:00 pm and then just got into bed with a book.
Must make my apologies to Gabe today since he promised to be my date –smile-. Yeah yeah sure he’s with Lenora, and he would have been busy playing guitar on stage but it’s the thought that counts!

Now there are eight colorful hot air balloons over the treetops.

Today I have to pack for my trip to southern California. Spoke with my dad last night and he said that one of the docs I’m supposed to see is in the hospital himself. Argh.
The sonogram and hospital crap can all be completed but the medication reviews and new trial meds for the bi-polar disorder will probably be a no-go for now.
I’ve had lumps, headaches and other abnormalities before so I’m sure that this is going to be the same deal when the test results come back; pretty damned normal.
It’s the trials I was looking forward to.

Hey look outside! 9 Luft Balloons.

So yesterday I put a profile on Match.com
Eeek. My girlfriend has been meeting some interesting men this way and I thought ‘Oh fuck why not.’ It couldn’t hurt right.

I don’t go out anymore so my meeting new people is therefore logically restricted.
Anyway I write this dumbass fucking profile, upload a picture, and do not pay the money to join. This makes the entire exercise null and void since I cannot contact anyone there. At the very least perhaps this will give me something to do when I am not planning world domination.

Here’s what killed me though: In looking through other profiles who do I come across but the man who so recently and unceremoniously dumped me via an email.
Hi TK. Good thing I’ve been pining and crying for two months. I am an eeeeediot.

Yes kids it’s clear I make an indelible impression upon the men in my life.
That impression is: Hey there IS definitely a woman out there better than Rach. Go find that bitch!

Did I mention that mornings are not good?

Sarcasm, Observations and Bon Mots to Follow.

I’ve come across some really cretinous and unintentionally funny personal ads already.
Hell, reading CL doesn’t even compare anymore. These people are PAYING MONEY to post their foibles, ignorance and misspellings to the world.

Providing the Xanax kicks in, I finish a new main page for damnedgames.com (which is no more) and upload some code for Tinfoil Hat Guy I’ll share a few.
Who knows. Maybe somewhere else a guy is dissecting my profile and laughing his ass off.

~Miss R

Currently listening:
From a Basement on the Hill
By: Elliott Smith
Release date: 19 October, 2004

Working on a way to say good-bye

 ~~September 6 2007~~

Summer is over.
The last two nights have been cool enough to sleep under all the covers on my bed. My morning ciggie is enjoyed outside in slippers and robe or sweatshirt, as opposed to the usual pair of shorts, cami and flip-flops.
Damn that was a quick change-over.

Will we still get Hades Level heat here in Reno? Sure.
Growing up in southern California taught me that September is usually a brutal month for heat. The first day of school I always wanted to wear my newest coolest outfit. Of course this entailed sweating your brains out all day because it was a Fall ensemble but the weather was in the 90’s.

Am off to Idyllwild on Sunday morning and will fly into Ontario. From there it’s about a two hour drive through Riverside and up the mountain.
After settling into the guest room at dad’s house and then spending the evening with my daughter I’m in for a slew of fucking tests at the hospital. All of next week the schedule will be Blood-drawing, MRI imaging, Sonogram-O-Rama, Medication roulette and many other Exciting Torturous Experiences.

last night i dreamed

Last night I danced in my dreams
and it was so delicious and happy
in a beautiful black dress
and my cool-ass Ray-Bans
even though I also saw
the woman in the green dress fall
down
dead
at the staircase top
a brown bottle rolling down the steps.
I was happy that it wasn’t me
that I stopped avoided those stairs.
So why don’t I leave this room
always apprehensive afraid aloof
and I only dance
in my dreams?

~~image by Jamie A. Hulley~~