Forgive me … my knowledge base of professional wrestling is very limited, but I have recently enjoyed watching a few matches as well as some life stories of a few of the more popular characters who indulge in this sport.  My favorite is The Rock, but I don’t even know if he is still wrestling.  I’m way outta the loop and behind the times with all pop culture.


He looks delicious to me.  Kinda ironic … Wrestlemania.  Unfortunately, I’m still wrestling with the other side of bipolar – depression.  I would like nothing more than to put a sleeper hold on this shit so it never wakens to plague any human being ever again.  For the fortunate ones who have never suffered from clinical depression, please understand that it is as debilitating as the Undertaker’s Tombstone Pile Driver:

Ok, enough of the wrestling analogies.  But seriously, as awful as depression is, add anxiety to the mix and I can truly say I am a mess, a hot-n-sizzling mess, but a mess nonetheless.  Kidding by the way.  The only thing sizzling of late are my fingers, hands, and wrists, as I’m constantly burning them while feeding my wood stove.


If you click on this pic, you will see that the temperature gauge says too hot.  The blisters on my hands agree.  Anyway, that’s what I get for loading up the stove with locust and not putting heatproof gloves on.  I don’t have any.  By the way, one sign of depression is an inability to concentrate or focus on a task at hand.  I think I just demonstrated that.  Ugh.

If only it were this simple (or maybe it is?):


Sounds like Buddhism … I need to try to practice that.  Easier said than done.

I mentioned anxiety, something I’ve NEVER had to deal with and always thanked the good Lord above for that.  Lately, however, anxiety and I have gone head to head and sometimes anxiety has won.  I don’t know if it’s the combination of meds I am on, of which my PNP (psychiatric nurse practitioner) and I are still trying to tweak, or if it’s just a lovely new symptom that stems from my bipolar.  I had to go to Wal-Mart the other day and was scared to death.  What an awful feeling for someone who used to be so confident and self-assured.


Yea baby … how I hope I can overcome this.

I apologize if this blog post doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. I need to get back into some sort of routine, and I want writing to be a part of it even though my posts may not be all that entertaining.  If nothing else, it’ll be a documentation of my journey through this living hell.  Not to mention I have a lot of catching up to do regarding my 6-week stint in rehab.  Still sober by the grace of God!

As the Nature Boy Ric Flair takes down the Undertaker with a figure-four lock, I bid you adieu … WOO!



I found this pic online; it was taken at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in NYC.  I think it’s beautiful and depicts this day wonderfully.  Wish I was there right now.

Perhaps, however, I should be sitting in a room like this today:


Truth be told, as much as I need it, I’m not all that crazy about any kind of therapy, group especially, but that’s jus’ me.

It’s been like a wicked long time since I posted.  I haven’t felt inspired, and I really don’t want to bring people down with what I write.  However, in the same token, I feel like I have sort of an unwritten oath to share everything, good and bad, as I have over the past year or so, to maybe help just one person.  I’ve always promised to be real, and I’ve found reading things online that others who suffer from bipolar and/or alcohol dependence have written to be very helpful in reminding me that I’m not alone.


I really did.  Being manic was fun and provided me with lots of antics to write about.  I was much more excited about life.  Granted, I had no idea I was in the throes of a manic episode from, say, November of last year til a couple months ago.  Now that I look back, I can’t believe the insane things I said and did.  Some of it is downright embarrassing and humiliating, but I still can say I had a blast—the  month of May when I traveled was the best in my life.  However, I have dug myself into a HUGE financial hole, which, unfortunately, is very typical in this disease.  I will share my thought processes during it all over some of my future posts.

These two cartoons do very well to explain both sides of bipolar:


I don’t really expect everyone to understand; it’s almost impossible to unless you’ve been through it or know someone well who has.

I want to keep my posts as positive as possible whilst (I love how the British say whilst) still depicting the awful curse that I feel bipolar to be.  The depression side, which I’m still in now, is quite paralyzing to say the least, and that is why I haven’t posted … haven’t had the gumption.  Yes, gumption is a word.  Per WordNet, it means noun: fortitude and determination.  Ok, so what is fortitude?  Per WordNet again, fortitude is noun: strength of mind that enables one to endure adversity with courage.  Yea it’s gonna take some courage to share my nonsensical ways of thinking over the last year that have led to utter adversity.

BUT … I’m sober and I’m still smiling …


Sometimes anyway!  Smile with tongue out



Cute pic, eh?  Haven’t felt like blogging lately.  I’ve got a lion on my back in the form of a depressive episode.  I really didn’t want to write about it because I don’t want to come across as negative, but I figure I’ve gotta keep things real.  I started the section on depression (now called tackling dual disorders) a long time ago, and it doesn’t seem right to just ignore that depression is very much a part of my life, as it is many others per the statistics.  Anyway, I’ve sunk into one, and I had been blaming it on this:


A li’l blue pill.  No, not THAT li’l blue pill but the one above … Abilify.  It’s what I’m taking for bipolar I.  It’s working great for the manic part of manic-depression.  I’ve been thinking that this med has thrown me into depression and have been trying to get an appointment with a psychiatrist to prescribe an antidepressant; that is what the shrink at the rehab facility recommended.  Easy peasy, right?!  Ha!  Not in Western North Carolina.  My case manager and I called ALL over the place.  For one thing, nobody would take Blue Cross/Blue Shield; some would only take Medicare or uninsured folks I reckon.  I even offered cash to one facility – no go.  Welcome to the wonderful world of healthcare in the good ole U. S. of A.


Long story, short, I did get an appointment someplace, just a preliminary screening, not to actually see a person who can prescribe pills on the first go around.  It was a start at least.  As it turns out, all they have is a nurse practitioner to prescribe meds–no psychiatrist–and I can’t see her until December 18.  I’m depressed NOW damn it!  Sooooo, since I have such a good rapport with my local counselor and my local regular doc, I’ve made appointments with them and get to see ‘em next week.  Yay!  That’s the route I wanted to take to begin with, but I had to satisfy my case manager at Swain Recovery, who wanted to satisfy the shrink and get me an appointment with a bona fide, school-learned, certified psychiatrist.  Had we done things MY way, I’d already be taking an antidepressant by now, hehe.  Oh, and my counselor told me on the phone that Abilify does not cause depression.  Depression is just part of bipolar.  I liked blaming it on a pill better for some reason.  Stop taking the pill; stop the depression.  Not the case.  I need the pill.


So how do I know I’m depressed?!  I do a lot of research.  I know the way I feel isn’t the way anyone should feel.  I know I’ve got some serious issues I need to deal with, and I just don’t feel like it.  I won’t say I don’t care, but it’s sorta like that.  I do care; I just don’t have whatever it is to get me moving.  Doesn’t make much sense, I know.  Here’s an interesting table of symptoms of depression.  Click to enlarge, if interested; it shows male vs female symptoms:


Ya I’ve got a bunch of those symptoms.  What’s bizarre I think is being so aware of my situation.  I’m not sure my mom was completely aware that what she had was an illness.


She’s on the top right … I like this old pic, and howzabout her hairdo?  Anyway, with this episode, I’ve been comparing myself to how my mom dealt with things and really making a great effort to not fall so far into the abyss that it’s impossible to climb out.  Ya see, when one is depressed, it is difficult for him or her to do the normal ADLs (activities of daily living).  Simple things like taking a shower can at times take great effort (no worries–I took one today).  My mom would lock herself up in her room until it passed and let her dirty laundry pile up, while I’ve been forcing myself to exercise each day and to get at least a couple things done daily whether that is bringing in some wood for the fire or cleaning a room or doing a load of laundry or whatever.  Meantime, I’m trying to do what my mom is in the above pic and what she always advised me to do … “Keep smilin’.”


Y’all do the same for me and my mom … mmmK?!



Is it not totally cool that I found this black and orange mish-mash sign thingy?  I know, maybe not to you, but to me it is oh so cool.  I got an e-mail from some photography site saying to avoid the color orange.  Really?!  That’s my new favorite color, fer cryin’ out loud.  Isn’t it a huge part of sunsets?  Whatever … I like to buck the system.  I’m keepin’ orange.  Besides, back when I used to go to year round school, I was in the orange group, so there’s a sign, right?


After all, my logo is orange.  Well, no it isn’t, but if you mix the red with yellow, what do you get?  Uh, orange.  That’s what I’m talkin’ about.  And my lion tattoo, when I get it, is gonna have tons of orange.  It’s gonna look like this but more colorful minus the nipple effect:


I want it to look like a lion breaking out of my skin—unleash da beast, get it?!  I want it on my shoulder/arm.  Then on the other shoulder/arm I want a li’l lion cub like this:


Why?  Good question.  I can’t explain.


So, what have I been doing since I’ve been outta rehab?  I’ve been going to intensive outpatient, by choice.  This consists of 3 hours (5p-8p) every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.  Here’s the kicker … having been in law enforcement makes this a bit difficult.  I know things about some of the peeps there that I shouldn’t know.  Some recognize me, some don’t.  No matter, it’s awkward.  I certainly don’t think I’m better than them; it’s just uncomfortable.  Pretty sure I’ve been to my last IOP meeting …no offense y’all.


As well, I’ve been going to this place.  I think I’m gonna glom onto what they offer.  Classes on finances, self-esteem, recovery, etc.  I tend to look at things thru rose-colored glasses, but I’m-a hopin’ this type of setting is just what I need.


I’ve also STILL had these folks on my arse.  If they only knew how insignificant I really am and how much time their legal folks are wasting on me.  Thankfully, I’ve got a legal team from Suffolk University Law School helpin’ me out.  I’m so gracious for that.  I smell good things coming from this, like bacon.  Bacon smells so good.  Gnite.


No really … it did … uh … physically bigger that is.  Thought I’d share the not-so-flattering pics just to show I’m not as vain as I sometimes come across, especially in my fitness-related posts and pics.  The meals at rehab were heavily carb laden.  I did a good job on them, desserts and all; I was proud … NOT!  For the first couple weeks I was eating my desserts as well as someone else’s—carbs make you crave more carbs; it is what it is.

I did manage to exercise for the first week and a half of the 6-week program in my room, but then I got a roommate and didn’t really wanna continue that practice.  The young girl liked her sleep a whole lot, so jumpin’ up and down and all around like a flaming lunatic at 5:30 a.m. wouldn’t have bode well for this old fart.


Um, that’s dudETTE, and yes I did but only 6 pounds, feels like more; my clothes are a lot tighter.  Must have to do with that fat weighs less than muscle but takes up more space thingamajig.  I dunno.  Anyway, the scale at the rehab facility had me believing I gained 12 pounds, so at least I caught somewhat of a break in pounds; apparently, the rehab scale hasn’t been calibrated, like ever.  One good thing is my boobies are bigger, hehe.  That’s biggER but not big by any means.


Not working out has caused some ill effects on me.  No I didn’t end up in a jail cell like the one above.  I just feel really old.  The beds had these mats for mattresses except a li’l thicker.  I was lucky cuz I got a brand new one, yet it still was not all that comfy.  They are like tarp material filled with a big wad of cotton.  My right arm still hurts from sleeping on it funny.  Wah, wah, wah!


Oh, so we did get some hardcore exercise every Wednesday in the form of dodge ball and ultimate Frisbee.  I got hit sorta hard in my face last Wednesday, knocked the dang bandana right off my head.  It was funny.  No so funny is my arse has been killing me for almost a week since the last time I played.  If you really wanna know how cardiovascularly out of shape you might be, give ultimate Frisbee a whirligig.  It’s kinda like football with a Frisbee ‘cept you can only take 2 steps before you pass off the Frisbee to a teammate.  All you do is run and run and then run some more.  I can see the game being potentially joyful to play once I get back into shape.


So the buttocks feels a li’l better today; hence, I just lifted weights for 30 minutes.  I used half as much weight as usual.  I really recommend that to peeps who haven’t worked out in a while.  Otherwise, you could be super sore for a lot longer than you will be if you take it easy and work your way up gradually, and you’ll be much more likely to stick with the workouts.  It’s too frustrating to try to use the same weight you used to, and you risk exhausting yourself to the point of quitting.


I’m back to a low carb WOE (way of eating – diet is a dirty word).  Just had my post workout meal of 2 eggs and a sausage patty, yum.  The red stuff is hot sauce, a southern staple.  No carbs (ketchup has some).  Supposedly, cayenne helps burn fat … I dunno but worth a try.

I got lots to do … y’all have a great day!



Not gonna lie, I can’t remember how much and what I’ve shared with all y’all, but I’m pretty sure I mentioned that while in the throes of my “breakdown,” for lack of a better term, I had packed up my whole house and stuck it all in the garage cuz I was fixin’ to hop in da BeastMobile, take off to the great unknown, and live off the land for the rest of my natural life.  Beer brains (well, ok, vodka brains) + bipolar I = utterly irrational thinking.  I was even mentally preparing to wrastle as many big moose (meese, mooses) or elk or whatever in order to rustle me up the grub Sammie Sad Eyes and I would need to sustain life, was gonna take my low-carb ways with me.  Doesn’t that sound fun?  What hasn’t been wicked fun to say the least is coming home and not being able to find anything I need … like a pot to boil water in or some warm PJs for these cold nights.  Got my workout area set up this mornin’ … moved it to the living room so I don’t hafta heat the extra room:


Oh, by the way …


Sorry I’ve neglected the blog.  I’ve been outta rehab since Wednesday … just haven’t felt like doing a post, but all is going well with my sobriety.  I have all kinds of ideas for blog posts; eventually I will get around to them.  I’ve got this thing called life I’ve gotta deal with right now … ugh.  I simply buried that shit when I was drinking but can’t do that anymore.  Pickin’ up the pieces.


For one thing, I’ve got no wheels ‘cept da BeastMobile, and I’ve finally come to terms with what my neighbor once told me, “That thang ain’t no grocery getter!”  Well, wait, I do still have:


da BeastTrek, which I just equipped with some fancy schmancie lights.  Don’t be hatin’ … you too can own these very lights by purchasing them at WallyWorld.  Ok, so the front light is on upside down, which one can only tell if trying to read the logo, and the back is crooked through no fault of my own.  It’s gonna look like I am driving into traffic.  That might be a good thing; peeps will pull further out to avoid hitting me (and proceed directly into oncoming traffic—yikes).  And yes!  Da BeastTrek still rolls despite heavy damage suffered during my bike wreck on Burningtown.  Y’all remember that?  Someday I’ll fill you in on the WHOLE story.  Here’s a hint, and maybe I have mentioned this already (can’t remember):  I’m lucky I didn’t end up in jail that day.  Sorry, Sheriff, you missed your chance!   :P

I do have the use of a motorized vehicle for a few days, but here’s the kicker:


It’s a manual transmission, a stick shift, definitely not my specialty.  Gotta go practice … catch y’all later!


Lots of folks have asked me what we do in rehab.  I want to share a little sample of the type of work we do.  Yesterday, we sat outside and spent 15 minutes silently meditating, writing, or doodling … whatever we wanted to do as long as we sat fairly still and didn’t speak.  After 15 minutes, we were to do an assignment.  I was utterly amazed at how quickly I completed this.  It took very little thought; the words just flowed out of my pen like buttermilk (how’s that for a redneck analogy?!):


My responses are in orange.

Beneath This Mask

I put on this mask because … I am afraid.

Beneath this mask I … am a child.

I’m protected from … heartache.

I pretend … all is well.

Beneath this mask I feel … lonely.

I don’t feel … loved.

I touch … no one.

Beneath this mask I look … safe.

I see … everyone else living a good life.

I don’t see … the real me.

Beneath this mask I fear … nothing.

I cry out … please help me.

I worry … nobody will.

I wonder … why.

Beneath this mask I dream … about happiness.

I hope … I find it.

I try … to find it.

Beneath this mask I scream … why the fuck me?

I hurt … deeply.

I’m angry … at my mother.

I need … closure.

Beneath this mask I see the light … and I run from it.

I pray … for peace.

I believe … I will eventually find it.

I understand … I have to in order to recover.

And I dream of the day … I have it.

When I take off this mask … I will celebrate.



Howdy y’all … I am home on a 24-hour pass that is going by all too quickly.  I’m exhausted so won’t really be giving this post all the effort I would like to, but it will hafta do under the circumstances!  Oh, and I said 24-hour pass; it will actually be a 25-hour pass thanks to …


… the end of daylight savings time.

Update on Oreo AKA Jasmine …


Turns out the dog came from just down the road a piece.  I’d seen her a million times running through her yard.  Dunno why the dickens I didn’t recognize da silly mutt.  I guess I was focused on beating the battle with the bottle that night.


So rehab is going well.  Not gonna go into much detail cuz Im-a-bout to pass over into La La Land as I type this.  I get some great sleep there, just not enough of it.  We do some outings, got to see a couple elk … here’s a pick of a bull:


Pretty cool, huh?  It was huge.

There’s a lot of group work:

Group sessions are where the magic happens … the real healing.

So I’ve been taking a lot of notes on ideas for blog posts, but do ya think I can find them now?!

hhggettnlong copy

Ha ha … y’all knew I wouldn’t be able to resist putting a photo of myself in here, didn’t ya?!  Look how long my bangs are getting.  Hard to sip a cup of coffee (which I never drank til I got to rehab) or eat a sammich without ending up with a mouthful of curls.  I giggle every time.  Long live Operation Hippie Hair Growth!


Get this … I seriously considered “ducking out” of rehab and not going back for the last 2-1/2 weeks for a few reasons.  When I left Swain this morning, I packed most of my stuff and took it with me … I like to plan ahead.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s been great there, I’ve made a shit ton of progress, and I’m ABSOLUTely NOT craving alcohol (a true blessing).  Why not go back?  Here is is … there once was great harmony amongst the clients who are all making great strides in remaining clean and sober and on target with the program, but there has been some discord of late that exploded last night and this morning in the form of drama, as defined in the online Urban Dictionary (I’ve added my comments in orange italics):

DRAMA:  A way of relating to the world in which a person consistently overreacts to or greatly exaggerates the importance of benign events (wasn’t seeing this til this past week – so very refreshing til it reared its ugly head).

Typically “drama” is used by people who are chronically bored or those who seek attention (ding ding ding ding ding … talk about upsetting the mojo on the unit, especially on the female wing).

People who engage in “drama” will usually attempt to drag other people into their dramatic state as a way of gaining attention or making their own lives more exciting (yup, not a good thing when in rehab; everyone’s recovery suffers … from the drama queens’ on down to the peeps who are taking this serenity stuff seriously).

Common warning signs/ risk factors of drama or a dramatic person are (I don’t reckon we really need to get into this, but what the heck … I’m having fun!):

  1. Having one supposedly serious problem after another.
  2. Constantly telling other people about one’s problems.
  3. Extreme emotionality or frequently shifting, intense emotions.
  4. Claiming to have experienced negative events that are highly implausible.
  5. A boring job or mundane life.
  6. Making claims without sufficient evidence or a lack of detail about supposedly serious events.
  7. A pattern of irrational behavior and reactions to everyday problems.

The older “people” would be me … I’m the granny on the unit; in fact, I’m old enough to have birthed almost all of the clientele!   Smile with tongue out

All that said, as I pondered whether to subject myself to more of the drama nonsense, I opened up a letter from the NC Employment Security Commission, which told me I was denied unemployment benefits.  OUCHIE!  When I read that, I decided I wasn’t going back to Swain Recovery Center cuz I needz to get a job … and quickly!

I’ve prayed on it and changed my mind.  I have faith, always have had faith, that everything will work out the way it is supposed to.  I am SUPPOSED TO finish this 42-day program out; the mortgage will just hafta wait out the appeal process. I left my job under duress; hopefully I can prove that.  Not gonna fret over it now … too much else to get done.  Love y’all!




Ok, just one more post before I leave.  Too much good material from today to let it pass on by.  It’s late, like 11 p.m., as I type this.  I have a feeling sleep will be elusive tonight.

Anyway, the above pic is the view from the front porch of the home where my spoiled Sammie dawg will be residing while I am away.  Can you say, “What a spectacularly breathtaking sight … you got an extra bedroom cuz I’ll be ready to hang my hat here in six short weeks.”  Everything about the place is amazing.  It’s an A-frame, which instantly reminded me of my dad cuz he built a few in his time.  It’s very cozy.  And it houses Cody:


Sammies roommate for the next six weeks, a strikingly beautiful and exponentially active Collie.  You notice Sammie introduces herself by sniffing his private parts.  So proud of my baby girl’s impeccable manners.

Anyway, my pet sitter, Pat, has a particularly green thumb.  There were plants everywhere on the inside and outside of the home and all different types of ‘maters (tomatoes) growing on the porch:


Pretty sure she said this was a Cherokee Black tomato plant.  I’m finding more info on Cherokee Purple on Google so I might be mistaken.  However, she told me these are a delicious ‘mater for salads, super sweet.  My buddy, Thelma, and I, Louise, had a great time chatting with Pat the Pet Sitter with the plant that produces purplish-black ‘maters.  Pat is in her 70s, although one would never guess by her pizzazz and much younger appearance.  That said, she is single.  Thelma and I looked at each other as we pulled out the driveway and said, simultaneously, “That’s gonna be me in 25 or 30 years.”  Alone but living a good life.

We then went to visit a couple who became dear friends of mine when I used see them at work and particularly after my hubby passed away.  I waited on them in a small Italian restaurant back in 2006/2007.  Lots of times, hubby would be in the restaurant when they were, and we had lots of wonderful conversations.  It was years in between, but they saw Don’s obit in the paper and reached out to me.  They’ve been true Godsends ever since and graciously treated me and Thelma to dinner for my “Last Supper” before rehab:


Pretty sure I’ve shared this pic before, but it bears repeating.  I had my most favoritist meal I’ve found yet in Franklin – fried calamari.  Oh so good.  Thank you John and Ann.  As we were leaving the restaurant, Ann handed me this lovely prayer:


My brother and my aunt both sent me very loving and supportive e-mails today.  I am truly blessed by some dang good people in my life.  Thanks to all y’all.

When Thelma dropped me off, she had a super duper suggestion … and here’s why, I reckon:


I almost killed my plants last time I went away for an extended period of time.  So she took my two plants home with her … how cool is that?!  These plants hold great sentimental value, as they were sent to me after Don passed and decorated the funeral home quite nicely.  I’d like to keep them alive and kicking as long as I can.  No pressure Thelma.  Even in the above state, it is possible to revive that one anyway.

Meanwhile look who showed up at my doorstep shortly after we arrived at da BeastHouse:


A lost puppy.  She had a rabies tag but no identifying tag.  I fear someone dropped her off in my ‘hood just to get rid of her.  She was scared but not hungry.  The rabies tag looks the same as the ones given by our local Animal Control.  She instantly made herself at home:


So I named her Oreo and taught her how to sit.  Clever name, huh?  Yea, I put all of three seconds’ thought into that one.  And I didn’t really teach her how to sit, but she knew how.  Wouldn’t even eat the treat I presented after she obeyed my command.  She even jumped into Thelma’s vehicle hoping to catch a ride home with her.  I feel sad that Oreo is outside in the cold (50 degrees) right now, but I couldn’t risk her peeing and pooping all over my packed luggage during the night.  Selfish I guess.

Anyway, tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life, YEA BUDDY!  I’m psyched …

Address again is Swain Recovery Center / Attn:  Jennifer Leandro / 932 Old US 70 / Black Mountain, NC 28711.

Love to y’all!

Oct 092012

It’s a short video, just over a minute, but well worth watching.  I figured I would do one more blog post before I am locked up for 6 weeks.  Happily so, by the way.  I feel nothing but hope.  Hope for myself, naturally, but hope for the help I can give others during the process and, more importantly, afterwards.


Y’all know I love lions – kings of the jungle baby.  Look at this poor mama, with her baby hanging on for dear life down below.  She’s feeling hopeless as she stares at her pride and asks, “What do I do?”


The pride members all came over and assessed the situation, but it seemed too dang daunting to try to rescue the scared li’l lion cub.  Seemed downright impossible.  But for momma lioness, impossible is nothing.


She was on a mission.


She risked life and limb to rescue her cherub and headed back up the steep embankment, clenching her baby ‘tween her teeth by the scruff of the neck.


Mission accomplished!

Impossible is nothing and nothing is impossible.  I spent a few hours today watching motivational videos, like the Miracle on Ice video when the USA hockey team beat the Russians and took gold in the 1980 Winter Olympics.

Or when Boston College’s QB Doug Flutie threw that Hail Flutie pass against Miami with 6 seconds left in the game and Gerard Phelan caught it in the  end zone.

Oh, and white men can’t jump … oh really?  Check out my favorite athlete while I was growing up …Larry Bird.

So … why am I on this impossible is nothing kick?  It’s kind of a joke.  I had my last appointment with my totally down-to-earth and amazing counselor before I get locked up.  He made a copy of the record he’d kept since he started seeing me (like 3 visits ago).  He gave that copy to me to take to rehab but asked me to read it over in case there was anything in there I didn’t want the rehab folks to know.  Heck I don’t have any secrets, but I read it over and found this:  “…reports mood swings and depression, periods of high energy, racing thoughts, difficulty concentrating, and grandiose, stating she is gonna be famous.”

GRANDIOSE?!  After I read that, I slapped my hand down on the arm rest of my chair and said, “But I AM gonna be famous … just keep watching Good Morning America … no, no no, I’m not Batshit crazy … it’s gonna happen … for REALZIE!!!”

I reckon I simply solidified my diagnosis as bipolar.  Oh welz.

That’s it … if anyone wants to write me, even you haters, I will be at Swain Recovery Center, Attn:  Jennifer Leandro, 932 Old US 70, Black Mountain, NC 28711.  Would love to hear from each and every one of you.


See you around Turkey day hopefully.

© 2011 Unleash da Beast Suffusion theme by Sayontan Sinha