"I'll Take All The Blame... Aqua Seafoam Shame"

I had this mega-movie-marathon, just me and my Netflix, after the babies left on Saturday, that carried over into all-day Sunday, too. I slept some here and there, but for the most part my grogginess, dizziness and laziness found me on the couch, just me and my Netflix.

During one of my breaks (my computer was feeling a bit EXTRA warm so I would shut it down for an hour at a time. There is still a method to my madness) I laid on my bed wondering what else I could do. Never mind the unopened 3RD NOTICE bills or freelance articles I have due, or the mounds of laundry or crusty sink, nah, I was looking on my shelf for something to read, listen to or watch. An escape, I know, but that's my coping mechanism... right or wrong it's what I do.

So I'm looking around and think, "Not The Exorcist!" because I cannot watch that shit alone. And ixnay on the CDs because that required turning on the computer (but YAY! I found my Bob Marley Legend CD). Then I saw it, still in the shrink wrap hiding underneath a Matchbox Twenty compilation an old friend made for me: Girl, Interrupted.

And here's where you all roll your eyes and say, "NOOOOO! Not THAT movie!" and you'd be right, because it did nothing more than make me Google my symptoms and come up with this hypochondriac's wet dream (and I've highlighted the pertinent information for you):

The main feature of borderline personality disorder (BPD) is a pervasive pattern of instability in interpersonal relationships, self-image and emotions. People with borderline personality disorder are also usually very impulsive.

This disorder occurs in most by early adulthood. The unstable pattern of interacting with others has persisted for years and is usually closely related to the person’s self-image and early social interactions. The pattern is present in a variety of settings (e.g., not just at work or home) and often is accompanied by a similar lability (fluctuating back and forth, sometimes in a quick manner) in a person’s emotions and feelings. Relationships and the person’s emotion may often be characterized as being shallow.

A person with this disorder will also often exhibit impulsive behaviors and have a majority of the following symptoms:

* Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment
* A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation
* Identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self
* Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating)
* Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behavior
* Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g., intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days)
* Chronic feelings of emptiness
* Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (e.g., frequent displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights)
* Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms

If that shit ain't me in a nutshell...



Sometimes, you know, WebMD hurts more than it helps. I'm just saying...

*smooches...googling treatments to see if I can fix this myself*
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is there a Psychiatry for Dummies book out there?

"I Used To Do A Little But A Little Wouldn't Do It So a Little Got More And More"

So I'm going to take a kind-of break from ME ME ME for a second to address something that was troubling me as I watched episodes of A&E's Intervention on Wednesday (yes, instead of working that what I was doing. Suck IT! And yes I've slowly but surely been rejoining the land of the living, actually doing things with myself like showering and eating before noon and reading. BTW, Julia Alvarez's "Before We Were Free" is AMAZING and you must read it now or I will hate you forever.).

In case you aren't familiar with the show, here's a trailer/clip:



(if you kind of chuckled at this clip it's OK... she does look stupid inhaling that shit)

So I'm watching this show, completely disgusted with actually watching someone put a needle in their arm (I CAN'T WITH NEEDLES!! AAAACK!!!!) but not able to look away, when I begin to notice a pattern with these addicts and their families.

More often than I cared to keep track of, when the parents/families of the addict starts talking about how their little crackhead USED TO be, they use phrases like, "she was the perfect little girl" or "she was the smartest" or "he could do anything he ever wanted to do" or my favorite, "she had the perfect blond curly hair & big blue eyes everyone wants."

See that right there? Do you SEE what I saw? PERFECT.

I FUCKING HATE THAT MOTHERFUCKING WORD.

Now, I'm not going to sit here and say these kids are doing meth because mommy said they were perfect, but think about this for a second:

Imagine you're a kid and lets say you're in 2nd grade. So imagine you're this kid and to date your grades and state test results are through the roof, so all of a sudden you're super smart to anyone who knows you, i.e. you get "perfect" marks and it's all anyone can talk about.

Now imagine you're that same kid and for the most part you're pretty well-behaved, but not just that, you're pretty well-behaved in a family full of kids that run amok like animals. So the grown-ups start labeling you as this "perfect" kid.

So this same kid, you, with the perfect grades and the perfect behavior starts to get singled out by the adults in front of the other running-amok kids with statements like, "Why can't you be more like X?" And at first you feel a sense of pride n shit, until you see the other kids looking at you as if the minute the grown-ups leave they're gonna beat your ass.

And then, imagine you're still this kid and one day, down the line, you get back a test that's not so "perfect," lets say it's an 89 instead of 100. And while your teachers are like "You did better than a lot of the other kids" you go home to show off your test and hear, "What happened to the other 11 points?"

Right before your eyes... perfection that was bestowed upon you like a gold medal snatched away as if you'd tested positive for steroids and didn't even know it was wrong to take it.

Don't you think you, as that little kid would panic and stress about getting that medal back? About being perfect? And don't you think you, as that little kid, would be so fucking wigged out by the pressure of it all- even if you live in the perfect house and have tons of friends and are a beauty queen or QB of the varsity team- would start to break you into a million tiny pieces? And seek some way to cope?

Listen, I'm not here to advocate for addiction or make excuses for these people. I just want us, especially us parents, to take a step back and really pay attention to the message we send our kids. Many of the back stories I heard on these addicts could have easily been K or N's back story: good grades, into sports, loved to laugh, loved to play music, etc. So what's to say my kid won't do meth or crack or inhale some fucking duster?

Sure, I could also argue that these kids probably weren't given enough boundaries or whooped enough at an early age, but seriously, what's to say it won't be my kid?

Perfection is a TALL, TALL, TALL order for a kid. It really truly is. So let's just say this is my PSA advocating for realism in parenting. Don't bullshit your kid and tell them things that aren't true, or label them something so impossible as perfect. Let them know that an 89 is not bad, and instead go over the test, see where errors were made, and set up a strategy for how such an error can be prevented in the future. Show them that mistakes are OK as long as they learn from them. Some people really think they're doing kids a favor with that "you're perfect" schpiel, but trust this crazy depressed writer, they're really, truly not.

All they are doing is setting them up for what could possibly be the biggest failure of their lives.



*smooches...trying to be OK with imperfection*
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talk about TALL orders...sheesh...might as well ask myself to find a cure for the common cold!

"And Now My Bitter Hands Cradle Broken Glass"

I suppose now I'm in that stage of grief known as anger because I had this urge to yell & inflict pain like I hadn't in a very long time.

I wanted to give the whole world the finger and yell FUCK YOU to everyone and everything. And after I was through with my tantrum I wanted to be left the fuck alone... can the world do me that little favor? Stop calling me? Talking to me? Looking my way? Asking me questions? Placing things on my desk? I'm just too angry to deal right now and I can't be responsible for the damage I'll leave behind in the wake of my wrath.

I wanted to be angry at my family, friends, my neighbors, the guy who owns the deli by the train station, just everybody. But honestly, I'm just angry at myself.

Suicide, Raquel? Really? Is that what's hot on the streets? Are you really that stupid and selfish and weak and useless? Really? In that case HERE... here's the knife. DO IT! And not across like a punk ass bitch but straight down the middle like you mean it. No? THEN SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH AND MAN UP!!!

So many things went through my head as I lay on the couch ignoring life. Things like how embarrassed I am about how I've behaved in the past few months. And fear that this "down cycle" won't see an "up" anytime soon and will only deteriorate into a situation I will no longer be able to control.

Then I thought- Will I pass out in the street and be discovered of all my self-destruction? Are they going to take my kids away because of this? Are they going to stick me somewhere and force me to take pills when my whole adult life has been about avoiding western medicine?

Are my demons too strong to fight? Do they outnumber me? Why am I here, when so many others more worthy have had to die?

And I think I've let you all believe that I'm falling apart over a man that I barely knew because it seemed easier to use him as a scapegoat for what's really wrong. What I haven't told you is that even before this "relationship" fell apart I was already silently losing it because I don't know how I'm going to pay my rent this month, or the next month, or the next month. And I haven't told you that I get calls and letters everyday from angry bill collectors that I cannot appease.

And that, on top of all this stress, I had a crisis of conscious recently when I had to admit to myself: I'm not agnostic because agnostics still believe in a higher power. I've considered myself agnostic since the mid-90s as I transitioned from Catholic to civilian. But I have to tell you, I don't feel the presence of ANY higher power anymore- not the Universe, not Mother Nature, nothing. I suppose it was only a matter of time before the word "atheist" reared it's ugly head... and let me tell you, it's such a dark and lonely feeling.

I kept playing this part and smiling and always answering with, "I'm okay" when I really wasn't. Then it was like the Perfect Storm of shit that could go wrong: job loss, dumped, no god to pray to. It's a wonder I'm still able to tie my shoelaces.



I guess, I just don't want anyone thinking I'd fall apart so easily over love gone wrong. There were many more serious things in the works and I hadn't chose to share it before out of pride and embarrassment, and I didn't want the Jesus Freaks to come out of hiding and try and "save" me.

It's just really hard to find a place in this world when there's nothing for your soul to hold on to.

I envy those of you with steadfast faith...disposable income...someone to hold you at night...


*smooches...losing myself in the 1990's*
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because honestly, only angry white boys speak to my pain right now

"I Needed Somewhere To Hang My Head Without Your Noose"

I had this whole week of posts written and scheduled by Monday morning, because I went through a myriad of emotions in just 2 lousy days.

But on my way home from my writing workshop I decided to chuck it all. Not because I'm cured or better or anything- there's still a sadness in me that I can't even begin to define- but because it's not what I wanted to say anymore. Just the fact that I'd written the words are almost enough; there's no need to poison the internets with it.

Besides, I do believe today I may have hit rock bottom, and this time The Voices were kind enough to give me the words to tell you what happened exactly as it happened.

I had to leave work early today, because sometime around 2-ish my heart started beating funny and my breathing became labored. I felt skittish and dizzy and I couldn't concentrate on the stupid article about Verizon spinning off their landlines to Frontier Communications. Of course I started to think it's because I hadn't eaten enough in the past few days, even though I had eaten 3/4 of a turkey burger from a local diner that day, and I got scared.

At around three, after having gone to the bathroom to splash water on my face and trying to force myself to relax, I came to the dramatic conclusion that if I was going to die I'd rather die in my own apt. I didn't want the office assistant to have to call the ambulance or the firefighters from upstairs... that would have been too humiliating. So I went home, and suffered what I can only describe as a full-on panic/anxiety attack.

I barely made it into the apartment (after texting Smarty Jones that it wasn't food poisoning but rather something more serious), hands shaking so much I could barely get the key in the door, before the sobs began. And I threw myself on the bed to just let it out but I couldn't control my breathing and I was freaking out. Then I felt like I had to throw up so I made my way to the bathroom, JUST BARELY, but could only muster a coughing fit. Still, my heart was racing and I was struggling to breathe.

And my phone was so far away it seemed; I really thought I was going to die there. All of a sudden I really couldn't control my breathing and just tore my clothes off and trashed my bathroom in a fit of rage, literally... it was so hot and I couldn't breathe and I didn't know why and I couldn't get to anyone. I jumped in the shower and was literally shaking all over and crying so hard. I finally just sat in the tub with the water washing over me, and even though my heart was still going a mile a minute I was cooling off and had stopped shaking a bit.

In the shower I thought about calling my mother to come get me, but then I remembered that we didn't have that kind of relationship where I could just do that. Then I thought I could call Minnie, ask her to take me to the hospital, anything, but I didn't want to make her leave work. I didn't want to bother her when I know she has her own shit going on.

I was a mess and felt so alone like there was no one I could turn to. All I'd wanted was to be left alone and there I was alone and I couldn't hang.

After the shower I threw on a shirt and I sat on my kitchen floor, window fan bringing in humid air from outside and was just a mess. I went to get my phone with the full intention of texting Irene and bailing on the workshop, but there was a text from Smarty... telling me to hop in a cold shower to help with my panic attack.

And next to my phone were the printouts of the stories for the workshop that night, already marked up and ready to be discussed. And it was only 4:30. I could still collect myself and go.

So I sat back on the kitchen floor in front of the fan and read the stories again and decided: I was going to get dressed, and I was going to attend this workshop with Irene and Theresa, and we were going to discuss literature and the craft & business of writing because this meeting was my baby; I'd wanted this and said I would be there and since when am I a person who doesn't keep her word?

And I'm glad I went.



I got so lost for a while there; I really just lost myself. I'd been praying for death, for this whole episode to pass over me and when I came face to face with it although part of me was like, "Take me already" my body was still fighting to breathe.

It's just not natural to want to die, it isn't. Your body will fight it to the very end.

And I guess it took a panic attack (and some well-placed angels) to teach me that.

*smooches...thinking this time, for real, I may need a professional*
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... and that if they prescribe medication I may just need to suck it up and take it. but of course I would have this epiphany just when I lose my medical insurance, right? ugh

"There Are Many Things That I Would Like To Say To You But I Don't Know How "

*sigh*

Well, whattaya know, I'm still depressed! Go figure... but I'm trying to keep busy so that I don't end up soliciting any more one night stands off Craigslist (don't judge me, monkey). Like volunteering and shit busy (maybe this week), spending time with friends busy (I'll try and get to that real soon) and making sure I get out of the house for at least an hour a day busy (well, I'm going to work... does that count?). Maybe some day soon I may even get myself to a gym. I hear those endorphins are real good at getting the brain to act right.

In the meantime, this is what's what:

1- I re-activated my Twitter account but am using it sparingly. I felt like I had been gone forever but according to my last update it was only 12 days since I'd logged on. Either way I whittled my followers down to about 15 and am following about 25. It feels a little better. Maybe in the next few weeks I'll feel well enough to start posting on a regular basis. Tell no one. The blog, however, will remain on lock-down indefinitely.

2- I've lost like 10lbs. Yup- from 185 to 176 in just one swift breakup/breakdown. Depression kinda suits me. Now my clothes fit better. Still, as I write this my stomach is grumbling like a BIYOTCH but I don't think I'll feed it for another 30mins. Do I have an eating disorder? Of course I do! My life is out of control so this is how I gain it back, blah blah blah... yeah, I saw that movie, too. But I know what I'm doing so shut the fuck up. Am I just saying all that to justify an eating disorder? You bet your ass I am.

3- I want you to understand... I'm not sad because he dumped me. It's not about him... it's never about the dude. Even in '06 when I took to my bed for a week after that Guyanese bastard dumped me it wasn't about him. It's about no longer feeling special, important, pretty, etc. Add that to my already crumbling psyche due to serious financial troubles and this is the result. It's about being knocked off a pedestal by the very people who put you there. I don't do well with that. Now I know how has-been actors & musicians feel when the fans stop caring about them. *Remind me to look up Corey Haim and give him a hug.

4- It turns out I can't go home this summer after all and that just made me sink into a deeper hole of sadness and self-destruction. I wanted to lay on that beach and release all this pent up SOMETHING. I wanted to visit Grandma and make my peace with her. I wanted to have a dangerous liaison with a DominiCOON thug to boost my ego. But alas... it's not looking good. I need to make some serious money like NOW. But do you realize how hard it is to drum up new business when you barely have the energy to get out of bed and breathe?

5- I lied. I am sad because he dumped me. And not so much because it means no great love affair, but because I also lost what I thought was blossoming into a cool friendship. It wasn't all kissy-face n shit- that's only what you saw or heard about because that's what people chose to photograph and talk about. But when it was just the two of us we had many great laughs about simple, ordinary things that had nothing to do with nakedness. Or at least I thought so. Maybe I misjudged the whole thing. But either way, I miss his laugh and it hurts to think that he doesn't miss mine. It hurts a lot.



*smooches...wanting so badly to feel better but not even coming close*
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and I apologize for being a pansy-ass'd weak little sniveling girl about this. I promise that I'm trying to get better. I'm even contemplating dusting off my bike. Of course, that would mean I'd have to eat more than 500 calories a day...