Ceramics: How to Piece it Back Together

It was a rather dangerous few days the past week, mentally speaking. I felt MUCH better yesterday, and feel entirely more put back together today.

Everything is quite jumbled in my head regarding what the hell was happening in my brain. At some point, I had taken a razor to my skin again. I remember crying a LOT. I slept beneath blankets, clutching my dinosaur, Chompers (my girlfriend endearingly nicknamed him Charles Buchompskis, and I think it’s fitting), and staring vacantly into the bedroom wall in front of me. I found myself lurched into a research project of how I could possibly end it all. There were moments where I would “wake up” in my car, shaking and crying from hearing voices. Something was dying inside of me and it was imploding.

Depression, a break down, what have you. The point is, it was a fight for my life, in a way. It seems dramatic, yes.

On Saturday, I went to therapy with my girlfriend. She expressed (again) that she wants to know how I’m feeling, or if something is going on. I seem to have forgotten this. It made me feel instantly better being reminded of how supportive she is. And protective. I also made a reminder for myself to make an appointment to get on birth control… I also tend to forget that I was diagnosed with PMDD about 3 years ago, so a quick fix for my intense mood swings can be as simple as a little pill. Sorry, babe. Here’s to better months..

Sunday morning, we went out to breakfast. It was BEAUTIFUL outside.  The entire day was cold, rainy here and there, and the clouds were large and white. I felt as if I had just come out of the rehab center. It’s hard for me to articulate what I’m going through as I’m going through it. All I know, usually, is I don’t know who I am, where the feelings are coming from, but I want to die. It’s awful. I don’t wish it upon anyone.

Anyways, after breakfast, we stopped by her parents’ house to pick up a few things. She led me upstairs to her grandmother’s room. Aligned across the walls where pictures of her as a child: wide-eyed, dimpled and adorable. We sat on the floor as she carefully opened a box full of ceramic pieces she had made. I think she assumes she has no talent, but I was greatly impressed as she pulled each piece, one by one. Her eyes beamed with a hidden pride and enjoyment while she explained the process of making them. Each bowl, cup, pitcher, all seemed to sum her up in some way. As some of my poetry paints me as I am, so did her pottery. I loved each second of it. I began to cry. I love to see her like this: happy and nostalgic of a time in her life that she valued so much.

As I ran my eyes over her childhood, my heart swelled at the thought of her letting me deeper into her past- allowing me to experience her. In moments like these, I fall more in love with her than I thought possible.  My girlfriend is beautiful. I’m already in love with her eyes, her nose, her lips- all the things in which lovers find divine in the other. Then, slowly, she unwraps herself with new, incredible truths and stories and I fall even more in love with that. It happens all the time. I am very fortunate, especially as a writer, to have such a mysterious and wild creature sleeping next to me at night. Even the way she sleeps makes me happy.

So, I reveled in this dopaminetic state for quite a while. A few hours later, I met up with cast members from the play to run some of our lines. My girlfriend helped us stay on book. We ended up at Denny’s, drinking iced teas and hot chocolates, burning the midnight oil at 7 pm, putting in our efforts at memorizing. We did well. Rehearsal tonight.

Finally, the day came to an end. On the drive to her house, I noticed orbs of shadows and people in my peripherals. I drove a little bit faster than usual to make sure I could make it home. It felt as if a flashback was coming on.

I found myself on the edge of her bed. I think she was brushing her teeth. She walked into the room, asked me what was wrong. At first I said nothing. Then, I told her it was loud. She held my head in her hands and told me it was okay. And it was. I fell asleep next to her, despite the weaving of the voices, and I was happy at this. When I had begun to suffer from daily hallucinations and break downs just a year ago, she was always there, walking me through it.

I fell asleep, content with her comfort and the knowledge that everything would be okay by morning. And it was.


Support Groups and Cotton Sheets that I Wish Were Mine

I did something unexpected today; I was having a hard night at home alone  as I was staring into my glass of wine. I wanted so badly to get drunk, to sleep. Then, I remembered a referral to a Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance group. Within 40 minutes, I was sitting in Conference Room 8, apathetically discussing my triggers and Father’s Day.

I am proud of myself for going. I think it was a good decision.

Now, it is bedtime. I’m home alone, save my furry canines. The house is quiet. The neighborhood is asleep. 

I feel a familiar depression looming over me. I want to jump in my car and race to my girlfriends apartment, but I would almost certainly fall asleep at the wheel.

I feel like crying, but I have nothing left to give.

On a happier note, my girlfriend decided we needed a night out after a BRUTAL workweek. So, she booked a hotel room at the beach, and we had a much needed relaxing night.

I awoke to the warm sun hitting my skin and hers. The way her hair stuck to her temples nearly killed me. I love the way she smells in her sleepy state, the warmth of her skin, softness… We went out to breakfast and walked down to the pier. Pure bliss.

Here is an abrupt ending since I am too exhausted to think of a sign off.

Pride and Prejudice

The weekend has come and gone with a bang. It was a fantastic one. Yesterday, my girlfriend, her roommate, and I went to LA Pride… we all had such a great time. I got a bit of a sunburn from being topless throughout the festival- go me!- but it was worth it. The energy was so fun and radiated with love and acceptance. Best Sunday.

Before we left the festival, my uncle called me to let me know he doesn’t want my girlfriend spending the night. “That shit doesn’t fly with our generation…” He lectured me a bit for 5 minutes, threatening that if I lie to him and have her spend the night, he will personal fly out to California to pack my bags… “It’s nothing against you or your girlfriend, we just can’t have that lifestyle in the house.”

Which…. fine. I get it. You’re old fashioned, Catholic, and apparently not as open-minded (or hearted) as you once claimed yourself to be. What really got to me, and excuse me for beating a dead horse, but why the fuck is my lifestyle so wrong when you allow my RAPIST to not only exist in the family, but actively exist in family gatherings, graduations, Sunday night hang outs, birthdays… why, why, why?

My uncle said, “Your grandma and aunt don’t need to know about this or your preference.” Why not? My grandmother is like my mother. Why shouldn’t she know? Am I supposed to hide myself and my feelings forever just to “protect” her? My grandmother has seen a lot worse things in her life than her granddaughter being in love with a woman. I would rather my grandma live the rest of her life (she’s 91) KNOWING that I’m happy with a woman than her THINKING one day I’ll be happy with a man. The truth. I just want truth now. I want to fill my life with nothing but truth.

Other than that last shitty part of the night, everything else was phenomenal.

I have an appointment with my therapist in 3 hours. I’m anxious and excited to tell her about my recent conversations and interactions with Goldie and Dee.


I don’t necessarily like labeling myself. Sure, I like to identify with other people in particular groups for the sense of connection and community. Overall though, I’m not one to exclusively call myself as “BLAH” because I feel that I stretch so far from any box I could ever be compacted into..


Specifically, I never really classified my sexual preference under a permanent category. I came out in 2007(?) to my family as gay. After the fiasco of disclosing my orientation, I wasn’t comfortable with an official title for some reason or another. So, to my friends and everyone else, I was bisexual. I was fine with that. I had some boyfriends after high school, as well as some girl relationships.

I look back on those years frequently with an open heart and mind, delving into my thought processes for each of the hetero relationships. Deep in my heart, I wasn’t attracted to these guys below the belt. I was attracted to either one of two things: A) The fact that they weren’t dicks to me and they were good people, despite the fact that I could never fully become aroused sexually. In which case, there are only two men in my life that I appreciate and have learned from or B) The drugs they had to offer to me.

Many times, the drug wasn’t a substance; instead, the drug displayed itself as sexual triggers from my rape. I was a glutton for pain and self destruction. I would then surround myself with predators and men that would unknowingly participate in my psychological demise.

I’ve always been attracted to women. Always.

I suppose the point of this entry is just to say that I am most certainly a lesbian. I feel so much more…liberated now that I’ve fully been able to explore my sexuality further. I have quietly come to accept this and celebrate my final realization. This is one more step to integrating, to personal happiness, and to my own truth. No more lies, experiments, guilty feelings, no more debate with my heart and brain. They’ve settled down and have made peace.

*throws herself a coming out party*

You’re invited!

To Be Released Momentarily

I have an appointment with my therapist in two days with my girlfriend. This will be the first time a significant other will be with me in a therapy session. I’m pretty excited about it. It’s important to me that she is included in my progress and recovery.

Today’s Statistics
Anxiety: 1
Depression: 1

Two nights ago I was curled in my sheets, fantasizing over opiates, staring at an empty beer bottle by my dresser. Yesterday, I was distracted, though content. Today, I feel better. I think my mom threw me for a loop in which I spiraled momentarily.

Rogue has been padlocked up for days now, under the secure arrest of Goldie and her firearms. Sometimes, I can hear Rogue’s voice reverberate in some hollow space in my head. She’s restless.

I know I should probably disclose this to my therapist but fuck, it’s so uncomfortable. It’s SO uncomfortable. I don’t know how to even discuss it, where to begin, what to say…what if she comes out? I don’t know how to control her. At least I have Goldie as protection.

I feel as if I am constantly chasing my memory. Even with simple things and routines. Granted, this has only happened a handful of times this week, but a sentence will come out of my mouth that I had absolutely no control over. At all. I even had to stop and really think about what the hell had just happened.

My seconds are over-lapping. Tunnel-vision, blurred vision.

DID What I Could

Another weekend passed and survived.

SATURDAY: I had my second therapist appointment. It was hard. It was really difficult and REALLY uncomfortable. She gently led me deep down into the muddy floor of my conscience. A large rope was tied around my waist- just in case.

In great detail, my mind handed me dark illustrations and pictures from the time I was raped. Then, without much hesitation, the little weathered photo I had stored away long ago bubbled up to the surface from the black tar.

She talked me through each recollection like an overly-enthused, yet melancholic museum tour guide. I appreciated it, though, in a funny way.

After all was said and done, she handed me a book to read: “The Magic Daughter” by Jane Phillips. 

SUNDAY: I woke up, my dogs were sprawled across my body beneath the sheets. C, my girlfriend, was sleeping soundly next to me. It was a slow morning occupied by funny videos and innocently taunting the next door neighbor kids. We- or I decided- I wanted boba. So, we got dressed and drove towards my old stomping grounds. 3 boba drinks and chili cheese dogs later, my cousin asked if we wanted to come over.

Listen closely, even though you can’t hear anything, listen anyways. It made me so happy to introduce her to my grandma and aunt. Really happy.
We spent quite a while at my grandma’s house. A man from El Salvador came to the door (see what I did there?) saying he was homeless and asked if he could have something to eat. Being the awesome people that my family are, they packed him water, juice, fruit, burritos, Quesadillas, some money, socks and nice shirts for his job interviews.

After we were done visiting, we were on our way to my old apartment to pick up some of my clothes for the week. My ex and his cousin were very cordial, they were polite and helpful. I think I just kind of blacked out because when I came to reality, I was in her bathroom, washing my hands, sunglasses on and confused. Goldie had come out for a long time. She met all of my girlfriend’s roommates. I was a little worried and upset. Yet, she insisted everything was okay and not to worry about it.

Later that night, I had a conversation with my grandmother. I’m moving back to my old house, rent free. She’s going to help my buy a car so I will be able to get to work and back, and will be able to save money. It is the absolute best option for me.

That took a lot off of my shoulders and I’m not so stressed. Now, it’s just dealing with the wave of emotions from officially breaking up with my boyfriend, digging up the memory of my friend’s suicide, dealing with dissociating, and changing my living environment. Oi.

Overall, I’m really proud of myself for staying relatively sober (I did have a glass of wine on Saturday while we were talking about everything- but just one glass!). I’m not relapsing on drugs. I’m really proud of myself that I’m not going off the deep end. I’m keeping it together. Thank God for my medication.

RIP July 10, 2011- March 12, 2014

And, it’s over.

It’s been over for quite some time. But now, it’s really, officially, right-in-our-face over.

My ex/pseudo/boyfriend told me last night as I walked through the door with leftovers in my hand, “I’m done with us and I’m moving out next month.” At first, I didn’t feel a thing. I shrugged and asked if I could keep the sofa. He replied with the various reasons why he was done. “You’re too difficult and have become too much to handle…”

I have become too much to handle. Not only this, but the guy has valid points. I used to be the dream house wife, if you will. About a year ago, I stopped doing all of those things. I look inward and then I feel utter guilt. I know I vent a lot on here about the shitty things he’s told me, made me out to be. However, there are a lot of good things about his character. He has been there through all my frozen hells. It’s not him who is abandoning me. I’ve abandoned him. The relationship was going nowhere. I just didn’t have the guts to pull the plug last year when I knew it was over.

I cried over my pillow for what seemed like hours, lamenting over good months we had. Beach trips, hiking, camping, going to shows, bike riding through Downtown LA, getting our dogs, our rabbit, moving into our first apartment on Sunset, dance parties with his family by the pool, BBQing just for the hell of it, even our fights and screaming matches.

It’s over, though. He’s beginning to hold resentment towards me, he says. I don’t want that. I want him to be happy, ultimately. Deep down, I think I always knew that I wasn’t going to make him truly happy in the end. I’m chaotic and parasitic. Not trying to throw a pity party, but I can’t help but view myself that way. It takes a highly trained emotional surgeon to properly handle me (and not get burned in the process).

Anyways, we’ll see about logistics and all of that later…

I wish….oh God I wish….I could go to groups today. Alas, it’s overflown. I will be spending my morning at home. I should sleep some more. I surprise myself every now and then with how well I hold it together, considering the surrounding issues. Maybe it’s the meds.

My mom still hasn’t gotten back to me. I messaged her sister with, “Hi! How are you doing? Have you talked to my mom recently?” Nothing. I don’t know what else to do other than keep myself from panicking and just wait for her to contact me.

Even though last night was shitty, I have to turn this post around by discussing the good parts. The girl friend and I went out to dinner. That made up for the days combined. Being with her in general makes up for everything. Her smile alone fills my heart  with all kinds of mushy rainbows and puppies- it’s all very gag-inducing for strangers. We’re so gay.

I think I’ll write another post in a while. Writing gets my mind off of everything.

Day 4 of Partial Hospitalization- Seroquellian Dreams

Day 4 went pretty well. The group was rather quiet and mellow in the morning. We welcomed two new members- both came from 2 weeks as inpatients.

I spoke with my doctor this morning. I’m having blood work done tomorrow to check my lithium levels. She’s keeping me on 600 mgs for a while. In 6 minutes, I’ll be taking my first dose of Seroquel- 50 mgs. I’m slightly anxious about it, but I think I’ll be okay.

I talked a lot about my mom in the second group; my frustration with her, my anger because I feel that she is choosing drugs over me, my feelings of abandonment are resurfacing and I hate them. I still haven’t cried in group. I feel very apathetic.

In third group, we discussed depression. I was surprised at how many people understood me, and how I understood them in regards to the symptoms and aggravations of the black dog.

*takes meds*

I played hooky from fourth group and instead went out with 4 other awesome people I met in group. We went to a hookah cafe. How refreshing it is to converse with fellow Glitter Rainbow Imagineers. We’ve come up with a group title:

The 50-ONE-50s.

Tell me that isn’t the best thing ever.

I went to my first AA meeting tonight. It was an LGBT group, so I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Another fantastic benefit about AA is when I’m finished with PHP, I can continue to participate in group therapy. It really helps me a lot, and I’m so grateful for the experience I’ve been having so far in group. Driving to the treatment center, every morning, I find myself thanking God- whoever that may be- for allowing me to have this new start. Things were really dark there for a second. More than a second. I’ve been struggling for years. I needed this break, I needed this medication, these people, this place to get me on my feet and well again.

I’m also grateful for this blog. Many of you are so supportive and I appreciate you all so very much!

I suppose now I’ll wait for this Seroquel to kick in and make me sleepy. Supposedly, it’s a real ass kicker when it comes to drowsiness. Thoughts? Advice? Personal experience?

My anxiety has improved in regards to my work. I visited my coworkers for a little while today after I filled my prescription. I think everything is going to be okay. I need this time for myself.

Cappuccinos and Pride Flags

This morning started out a bit rocky; woke up at 4 am, greeted the familiar depression, flirted with a glass of wine, then I snapped out of it.

My girl friend took me to the cutest damn cafe today. We talked over cappuccinos and hot chocolate and ended off the afternoon by meandering through West Hollywood. I needed that outing.

The rain is coming down. Meanwhile, I am cozily snuggled on the sofa with a blanket draped over my legs. My dogs are snoozing next to me.

I’m feeling pretty content. Earlier this morning, I feel a little on the sedated side. I felt detached- not in a bad way. I just felt very off. I’m not depressed, nor am I manic, so that’s a good sign! So far so good with the lithium.

I’m still a little anxious about tomorrow. I’ll have to email my boss at work and let him know that I’m still going to be out. I’m going to try my hardest to have my primary care write a note for me so I can fax it in tomorrow. I have a lot of anxiety over not being at work, getting paid, etc. In a utopian society, I would file for disability and get my shit together. It’s frustrating as hell not knowing how long I’ll be out of work. I wish I had a concrete answer so I could plan…

I’m also pacing whilst nail-biting because I’m supposed to receive my prescription for my antipsychotic tomorrow, as well as bump my lithium up to 900 mg (although that will probably be in the mid week sometime). I’m fairly certain she’ll give me a script for Abilify, but I could be wrong. Ahh I just need to calm down.

Breathe, breathe

Tomorrow is Day 4 of PHP! My insurance approved me for another 5 days. Hallelujah.

I was supposed to go to an AA meeting this weekend. I know I should. I really do. I’m running into a lot of trouble admitting to myself that my drinking problem warrants meeting attendance.