Here Kitty Kitty Kitty

Re- Posted from some other blog…written by some other person. Damn, they seem so familiar too 😉

Here Kitty Kitty Kitty.

via  Here Kitty Kitty Kitty.

Read the original at the Beetlejuice 2014 at the link above,

I has pictures and every-thang!

Last week my therapist told me I should adopt Cat as my totem animal. This is the same guy who told me he believed in aliens a few weeks ago. Not as in ‘there must be life out there some place’ but the whole ancient astronauts building the pyramids and making crop circles. Pulled my jaw up off the floor and said ‘Did you ever consider that when a civilization gets to a certain point somebody says ‘Hey, I am sick and tired of these goddamned square buildings?.’
Think I hurt his feelings but since a therapist is basically just a person you pay to be your friend, he can deal with it.

This is the So You’re A Cat backstory. Make sure your coffee is still hot.
I’ve been a Raven for more years than I can remember (so up until 2012 at least).
Think may know I’m diagnosed bi-polar (about 10 years ago). Along with a list of other disorders; which I was only made aware of after looking at my intake/nurse’s form and hospital records during that lovely 2 month hospital stay last year. It’s my expert opinion that my diagnosis consists of two disorders and they go together, but what do I know?
Have only had 3 manic episodes in my life; none caused me to re-paint the house, chain smoke or lose weight though. Have what is called Dysphoric Mania.

So the point is: Prior to being diagnosed as anything but a garden variety neurotic with Major Depressive Disorder and Anxiety Disorder (this is what happens when your father is a psychiatrist) I KNEW when an ‘episode’ of severe depression, and all of my worst symptoms, was impending.
I hear cats.

They’re saying ‘Banish the dog! Banish the dog!
I Hear Cat Voices. This isn’t the pin I carried. This graphic almost appalls me with it’s bad design. I feel a lawsuit coming on.

Not like Son of Sam; Snowball isn’t telling me to kill the dog or the neighbors. Just a faint meowing of a kitty coming from somewhere outside my line of sight. As I’ve always had a cat or cats it didn’t seem that bizarre, and has become a family joke. A few close friends are also aware and are cheerfully allowed to make puckish comments about the kitty thing. When I owned a retail store there was a button available that I carried, ‘I Hear Cat Voices.’ Sonofabitch I sold hundreds of those. Makes me wonder.

So I get this a new shrink here, as I moved. The guy is humorless and has no business as a clinician. Only see him for meds so let it slide. Made the mistake of mentioning the cat thing to this I-take-every-word-literally fool while he was filling out his 50 question paperwork on our first visit. Then he asks me how often I hallucinate.
Back up. What? I don’t SEE cats, and on occasion I have heard cats and there’s actually a cat outside the door.
I DO check every time though. Hmmmm. Also thinking: after everything I’ve told him: what I’d like to work on, past traumas that still bother me, how come mom and dad did like me best?
Why is he fixating on the cat thing?
My second visit he leans back in his chair and says, with his thick accent, and out of the blue, “Tell me about these cats.” All I could think of was the Thomas Dolby song Blinded me with Science with the line ‘Tell me about your childhood!’

Tell me about these cats…

So back to last week: Was telling my therapist about my loony psychiatrist and the cat obsession. He cracked up and said in all seriousness ‘I think you should adopt the cat as your spirit animal.’
Thought about it for a few seconds and said ‘You’re right. I’ve always wanted to come back as one of my cats. Sure it’s a paradox, but so am I.’

I don’t like milk but this shouldn’t be a hindrance. My own cat doesn’t like milk. Unless it’s in the form of ice cream. Whoa, me too!

Which breed am I? Cool cat? Hep cat? Am I registered. Damn, at least I’ve been spayed.

Kitties and Sunshine and Effexor,


Manic Panic

Manic Episode

Someday this will be funny. It kind of was right after I attempted it.

Clearly the new mix of meds isn’t working and I entered another bout of severe  mixed state mania. This particular circle of bi-polar hell is now referred to as Dysphoric mania.
I could tell it was starting because of an inability to sleep for about a week and the agitation I felt. Plus, I heard cats.

Have never had an episode of euphoric mania. We always want what we can’t have eh? Think of the housework that would get done around here. But no, it’s always been dysphoric for me and it’s getting more severe over the past year and a half. This is the second time in 4 months. What the hell.

My answer? Take an ice pick to a plastic safety razor and try to get the blade out. It was a damned cold day so I thought slitting my wrists in a hot bath would be the way to accomplish my task.

Am pretty sure I looked like a moron at the kitchen sink attempting to dissect the damned razor on the cutting board. I almost cut myself. The irony. It burns.
In the end all I accomplished was bending the shit out of the blade. I burst into hysterical giggles and gave up.

Was suicidal, severely, and had no one to talk with. My closest friend has become embroiled with their own personal demons. Even if my confidant didn’t understand the my illness, I could freely speak what I felt. I feel very alone now.

My shrink’s practice is a medicare, and probably medicaid, mill. He’s virtually worthless but there are very few shrinks left who are not private pay.

At this point I called a musician friend who has been hospitalized for his bi-polar condition and also attempted suicide. He recommended that I check into West Hills Hospital. I called them. They couldn’t tell me if my insurance would be accepted because the billing office was closed for the day. Told them I’d be in on Monday morning at 8:00 a.m.

This all occurred on Saturday night.

On Sunday I went for a walk and tried to get some kind of focus. Kind of hard since I’d fallen the night before and now have a huge black bruise on my chin and a cut on the forehead which probably needs stitches. Being a klutz sucks when you have a step with wrought iron railings. Especially when you fall into them with your fucking head.

Anyway, Monday morning came and my bag was packed. Felt some better and decided that being locked up for observation would in reality suck. Don’t ask me how I know this.

Instead I asked my bi-polar friend for his shrink’s name, and also found out from West Hills that this same doctor is on staff there.

Have an appointment for April 5th which is a month out.
Am on the cancellation list though which is good. Have to see the lame-ass psychiatrist next week otherwise I’ll be out of the lame-ass meds.

Took another walk today and lifted some free-weights yesterday.
Here is something that I’ve never seen mentioned by anyone else
Exercise can help if the depression lifts long enough to accomplish it. I’ve noticed that sometimes exercise makes things worse. The endorphins increase the feelings of sadness, hopelessness and that underlying desire to die.

Feel as though the crisis has been averted, albeit temporarily.

Keep your chin up and your Geodon down.

Currently listening:
Happy Alone
Album: Mentor Tormentor
Artist: Earlimart

~miss b