Wednesday, August 2



  • a strong desire to do or to achieve something, typically requiring determination and hard work.
  • desire and determination to achieve success.

Ambitious people always seemed to be cutthroat, selfish jerk-offs to me.  I never really looked at ambition as a positive trait, grouping it along with materialistic or petty or mean.

So it was pretty funny last night when my psychiatrist Rah said, "Well, you've always been ambitious."


I had a similar reaction a few years ago when a friend said I was confident. Confident?? Me? What the hell are you talking about?  I have low self-esteem, I am vulnerable, I obsess over what people think of me.  That said, most of the time I don't give a fuck, but that's not the same as being it?

I am ambitious.

I am confident.

I can feel my heart fill as I write these words. It's the strangest thing.

How have I gotten this far in life without knowing who or what or how I am?

What else am I missing??

Wednesday, December 28

2016 Year of Death?

I know, I know. It's not over!! Gah!

I'm very sad about Carrie Fisher passing. I love her!! And I think I'm even sadder because I realize now I love her more than I thought I did.  I guess that's how death works. Or is that how life works?

I am curious about 2016 being the "year of celebrity death". Is it possible we are just reaching the age when the stars we love pass? I'm not sure and really, it doesn't help anyone feel better, but I looked at the numbers.

I used Wikipedia to find famous American or British deaths (I'm not very familiar with other countries' celebrities or notable people) of 2005, 2014, and 2016. If I heard of the name, I marked them as "known." My findings are that 2016 was a bad year to be a musician and that I only knew 6 more notable people who passed this year vs. 2014.

Take it for what you will.

Tuesday, December 20


It's dead in my office. DEAD. There's plenty I could be doing, but I'm not doing any of it. I don't know why I have a successful career. I am the worst procrastinator. I am horrible at hitting deadlines, so I make sure I don't have any deadlines. It's sort of ridiculous. I'm sloooooowly cleaning out my inbox. There's 300 emails in there, which is a lot for me. I typically use my inbox as my to do list, so I rarely have more than 50. I am email OCD, but since the wedding I've let it get (relatively) out of hand.

We're off to Pittsburgh Thursday night! I'm excited to see my in-laws. I wish they were local. I'm sort of burnt out from plans and travels, so it would be great if we didn't have to drive so far. Luckily we don't have to go further! Last trip we drove halfway and stayed at a hotel. I like breaking it up a bit. Then we're not exhausted the day we get there. It's really only a six hour drive, but since I can't eat fast food and I pee a lot, it ends up being about a nine hour trip. Oops.

I was going to make this my year end review post, but I think I'll wait. This is my "I'm bored at work and there's no one to IM and even though the internet has LITERALLY millions of things to read I don't feel like reading anything especially because a lot of it will be about Trump and he and his supporters can go fuck themselves so instead I will write about nothing and will challenge myself to make this the longest sentence I have ever written but now that I just wrote that I am bored by the challenge and shall stop" post.

I'm rarely bored. I always find something to keep me occupied. Not today though, apparently.

This is going to be a very long day.

Thursday, November 10

What now?

The past month has been a whirlwind of emotions. The wedding prep, the wedding itself, being married, losing a friend, and now the election.

I can't stop crying. I can never stop crying, but now these are tears for my country.

I am white, I am straight, I am both agnostic and polytheistic (if that makes sense). I am terrified for non-whites, for LGBTQ, for anyone not Christian. I am scared they are going to be more abused than ever now that the president condones hatred, racism, homophobia, Islamophobia, anti-semitism, the list goes on and on.

I am in the upper middle class. I have no problem paying more taxes to help people survive. I am scared that things will get worse for the less fortunate.

As a 38 year old woman, I am worried for my reproductive health and rights. What happens if I get pregnant at 42 while on Klonopin? It's a class D drug, which means there is a high chance of birth defects. While I hope I never have to be faced with the decision to abort, I can't believe I may not have the choice.

For the middle of the country who feels ignored, I do not understand your logic. You supposedly want small government, you want to dismantle welfare programs, you think people should take personal responsibility for their life choices. If you're homeless, get a job! If you're poor, get a better job! If you're a single parent scraping to get by, you shouldn't have had kids! Why aren't you looking into the mirror and saying the same thing to yourself?  Your coal mining job went away, well then, why did you go into that industry?  Why didn't you go to college and get a white collar job?  Not so easy, is it? The reality is, you want the government to help YOU, but no one else.

I do not want to be friends with a Trump supporter. This is beyond regular Republican vs. Democrat ideals. This is giving power to those who will use it for hate, for violence, and for shame. I am not open-minded or tolerant of those who selfishly voted for this man for their own personal gain. You may not identify as a racist or sexist or anything-ist, but you sure as fuck are okay with it and that means I don't want you in my life. Before the internet and social media, I wouldn't befriend you, so why pretend I have to accept you now?

I am at a loss. I don't know what to do, how to help, how to protect the Muslims in my neighborhood, or any of my minority and gay friends. Do I run for office? If this piece of shit can win, maybe a bipolar woman with a sordid past can?  Do I quit my cushy job and work for non-profits? Do I take self-defense courses to ward off the pussy grabbing?  Do I get my tubes tied so I don't have to worry about my reproductive rights? Do I bother trying to change the mind of those who don't share my values? Do I open up my home to people living in fear in red states? How do I handle my relationship with my in-laws who most likely voted for him? How do I go to work in a female-dominated industry, but male-dominated senior management, where all of my white and rich bosses were joking and laughing like nothing happened because to them, nothing did happen? How do I explain to my well-meaning white, straight male friends that posting "The people have spoken." or "Better luck in 2020." or "Stay positive." shows how privileged they are?  How how how??

Last night I got really drunk for the first time in two years. It wasn't the best idea as I feel like shit today and I shouldn't be drinking on my meds at all, but I needed to be fucked up for a bit.

My head is out of the sand, my eyes are open, my life is changed forever. Now I need to figure out what to do with it.

Thursday, October 20

It's My Wedding Day!


It's my wedding day!


I'm on the train to go get my hair done, then go to Spags' apartment to get ready.

This is crazy. It's here so quickly. That was the point, but I can't believe it's October 20th already.

I don't know what to say. I don't know what to think. I'm on the verge of tears and a big post-coffee dump.

I just want everyone to have fun. I want to have fun. I want MD to have fun. FUN MOTHERFUCKERS! MOTHER-FUN-KERS!

This is crazy. I'm so excited.

Monday, October 17

Three Days to Monego!

Wootie woot!! In the home stretch now!

The weekend was good. Well, sort of.  On Saturday my mood swings were on overdrive, so that kind of sucked. I was happy, excited, cranky, irritable, overwhelmed, calm, cheerful, sad, and HUNGRY. All I did was eat.

MD and I went to Crazy Ass that night. I looked up at the sky and it was a full moon!! No wonder I felt so off! (Juniper is going to groan reading that sentence.)

Yesterday I felt much better. I walked around all day, watched the Giants pull out a win, and had a lovely dinner date with MD.  We went to the restaurant we ate at the night we got engaged. Fun fact: we got engaged eleven weeks ago. Ha ha!!

I'm working from home today, which is good because I'm moody again. Lots of little things keep popping up - more people are coming, some aren't coming (thank god I don't have assigned seating, that must be a nightmare), questions, and what have you. Nothing crazy, but I feel a bit overwhelmed. I just told Bakes that I'm going to mentally picture myself in catcher's gear, so that I can field all the fastballs, curveballs, and wild pitches flung at me over the next few days.

My to do list is super short:

1. Tonight is dinner with my mom and her best friend who I haven't seen in years.

2. Tomorrow I'm dropping off everything at Houston Hall

3. Clean the apartment because MD's brother, sister, and her boyfriend are staying here while we're at the hotel.

4. Pack for hotel and pack a separate bag for the Wedding Day.

5. Practice make-up because I'm too cheap to hire anyone and the only trial I did made me look like a hooker clown.

6. Try try try to enjoy this week! It'll be over before I know it!

Friday, October 14

Vodka soda splash of cran, hold the vodka.

I don't know the last time I had a drink. I mean, the first last time. The last time I had a drink was Monday at a dinner with my friends who were in town for comic-con and won't be back for the wedding.

I slowed the drinking down a bit in 2014, the year of mental illness hell. In 2015 I believe I had five drinks - two glasses of wine on Christmas, three on New Year's Eve.  This year I've drank more - a glass of wine on Valentine's Day, a couple of glasses of sangria on my birthday, a glass of sangria in California, two glasses of sangria on the day we got engaged, a couple of glasses of wine...obviously there's a pattern. For some reason I believe drinking sangria and wine are okay. They're fruit, right?  I'd say maybe once every couple of months I have a glass, although I have been drinking a bit more the past few weeks to take the edge off.

You know what else takes the edge off? Weed. It's great. I don't smoke often, but I am stoned now and feel mighty fiiiiiine...

My favorite alcoholic drink pre-wino '16 was vodka and soda with a splash of cranberry. Now all I drink is water, coffee, and seltzer with cran.

For the past hour I've tried to get myself off the couch to go get seltzer.  Braless and pajamaed, the odds were pretty low I'd go anywhere. I texted MD to see if he'd leave the bar and bring me some:

          ME: Can you bring me seltzer? I don't want to get up.

         [one minute passes]

          ME: Don't ignore me.

          MD: Haha! No!

          ME: Now I gotta put a bra and pants on. Thanks Obama!

          [one minute passes]

          ME: I'll give you a hundred dollars.

          MD: NO.

          [two minutes pass]

          ME: Can you bring me seltzer?

I FINALLY put on some jeans (no bra) and went to the store. I bought two 20 oz plastic bottles.

I kid you not, it took me 7 minutes to open one of those suckers. I twisted and twisted until my hand stung. I was going to use my teeth and thought, "I'm getting married, I don't want to crack any!" Then I used a knife and thought, "I'm getting married, I can't cut myself!" Then I tried tongs, but there was no grip. I twisted again and still couldn't open either of them.

So then I used my teeth...

and I'm fine. Nothing happened. Cap came right off.

My drink has sat on the table for the 20 or so minutes I've been writing. I forgot all about it.


Six Days to Monego!

I picked up my dress Wednesday night and had a little meltdown. The back looked really baggy for some reason. I brought it home anyway because I didn't want to deal with another round of alterations this close to the wedding.

I cried to my parents and they were amazing. They came right over yesterday morning (I worked from home) and fixed it. Apparently one of my EIGHT layers of tulle was bunched up inside, so now it looks perfect.

Four of those layers were of this big puffy slip I was pressured into buying. I totally fell for the upsell. I already ditched the corset because THEY ARE AWFUL and now I ditched the slip, too!! I feel SO much better with none of that shit underneath. Unfortunately my gut sticks out now, but I like to think of it as "a pot" a la this scene in Pulp Fiction:

Last night Juniper helped me put the favors together. They're perfect! I won't say what they are in case anyone still reads this shiz.

Today after lunch I went to Century 21 to buy some pearl earrings. I'm not really a pearl girl - necklaces maybe, snootch - but the hairclip I bought has some pearl in it, so I thought it might look nice.

I totally had a mini-anxiety attack. I'm on so many meds now that I don't usually go full blown. ACK ACK ACK ACK. I'm getting married in six days! ACK!

MD has stayed out late every night this week and probably will next week, too. I'm trying not to take it as a personal blow off, but really dude?  He's only been going out twice a week for months, but ever since we got engaged he's been out all of the time.  I know that's his way of blowing off steam and stress, but I'm annoyed. Blerg.

I don't have any plans this weekend and I can't tell if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe having too much time on my hands will make me go mental. Maybe I should go drinking with Cuba Gooding Jr. until 3am one night. (That was MD's Wednesday, not kidding.) Maybe I should be wasted from now until Thursday! Fuck it, I'll be wasted from now until eternity!! E-TER-NI-TY.

BLAH. (I just said that out loud while sitting in my open-floor plan cubicle. Oops.)

Wednesday, October 12

Kicking Ass and Taking Names

Before we got engaged I referred to us as "The Monegos", which comes from combining both of our real last names. I started using that on our Christmas cards once we moved in together.

When we got engaged I decided to stay Thighs McGee rather than changing my name to Thighs Donkey. Who is this Thighs Donkey chick? What is she like? What is her deal?  Am I still me? If I am still me, why change my name?

It was only this past Sunday when I had a change of heart. All of a sudden I liked the idea of being "The Donkeys". I felt like I wanted to be a family with one name, but at the same time I still don't know if I want to be Thighs Donkey. I guess I could still call us "The Donkeys", but that might get confusing. "The Monegos" are confusing too though. UGH. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO.

Thankfully I don't have to make this major decision now. Yes, changing my name is a way bigger decision than marrying MD.

I've spent almost 40 years trying to figure out who Thighs McGee is, 10 of those years I've shared on this blog. Why the fuck would I change my identity now? Would I have to spend another 40 years figuring out who Thighs Donkey is??

We got our marriage license on September 6th, our SIX YEAR meetiversary. I signed it McGee, so it's too late to change it now. I'm glad because I have a feeling I will regret it. 

It's a shame women change their name right away, unless they are absolutely sure they want to change it. Stress and emotions are so high right now that I seriously can't imagine making that lifelong decision and dealing with all of the paperwork that goes with it.

So instead I got three names - Thighs McGee, The Donkeys when we're with his family, and The Monegos as our return address name.

Done and done.

MD's Surprise Visit 2012

I did write about it.

Eight Days to Monego!

You know the hardest part about getting married?

It's not MD's nerves (and boy, is he nervous). It's not my nerves or mania (well, more on that later). It's not the commitment, although strangely enough I'm having dreams where I'm hooking up with randos. It's not the planning or the money or any of the normal stuff.

No, for me, the hardest part about getting married is the love.

I've never felt this loved in my entire life.

I fell in love with MD pretty quickly. It took him about a year later to fall in love with me. I'm not exactly sure when I was fully able to accept his love.  I think it might have been December 2012. I probably wrote about it. We broke up "FOR GOOD" on Election Day. Stuff happened, then one day right before Christmas I left my apartment to buy Rippie a gift. MD was standing at my door. He missed his flight and couldn't get another one until the next day. When he left the airport, all he could think about was me, so he came right over. It is the only time he's ever surprised me.

We didn't officially get back together that night because he still was dragging his feet on his divorce, but I think it was then that I realized how much he loved me and truly accepted it.

This summer I came to terms with the fact that my parents love me.

And now, with 130 people coming to my wedding and 50 others who wish they could be there, and the amazing well wishes from people I didn't invite, I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that my friends love me, too.

Isn't it ridiculous I am unaware of this?  I mean, I love my friends more than anything. Of course they love me back! It's just that I never really consciously thought about it.


Holy shit.

What is this life???

Tuesday, October 11

Nine days to Monego!


Our big day is October 20th. We're going to City Hall with our families around 1pm, having lunch at Spring Street Natural after, then heading to Houston Hall for a reception at 6pm.  


I mean, I'M GETTING MARRIED. I never thought I'd get married. Well, I WANTED to, but I never thought I'd find love. I never thought MD and I would get our shit together. I never thought MD would ask. It's amazing and scary and exciting and nauseating.

MD finally came around a few months ago. He asked my dad for my hand on July 26th. The anticipation of him asking me drove me nuts, so on July 31st we argued and he proposed to shut me up. How romantic.

Actually it was perfect. I came home from brunch and the movies. MD was supposed to talk to his family about when they could come for our wedding, but he didn't. I was like what the hell you were supposed to talk to them blah blah blah. He kept saying, "Well I wanted to talk to you first." I was like, talk to me about what blah blah blah.

Then he said, "HOLD ON." and came back with a box. Oh shit!! I cried, he cried, and he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. It was classic us.

Now he doesn't remember saying this, but he 100% said, "Let's get married before the end of the year because I don't want this over my head next year."  Again, romantic.

August and September were too soon, November weekends were bad because of the NYC marathon (not that we're running - HAHAHAHA - but it would be a shit show for people to travel), the election (which I don't know if we'll feel like celebrating), then we're in Italy for two weeks. December was too holiday-y, so that left October.

By August 4th we had visited and booked Houston Hall for Thursday the 20th. I love, love, LOVE HH. It's a beautiful space and I can't wait to party there.

August 19th I bought a dress.

August 25th we went to Pittsburgh and I had a Sister Day with MD's sister and sister-in-law. Now I have two sisters! (Three if you count Rippie's girlfriend!)

Mid-September I had two wonderful bridal showers with family and friends.

There's been lots of stuff in between that I can't remember, which is why I'm writing about the next nine days. I don't want to forget any of this!!


Wednesday, December 30

2015, yo!

I'm so excited to be writing right now. Maybe I said this in my last post over a year ago? Probably not because last year was a mindfuck. Thankfully 2015 was a good year. Was it odd years that are good and even years that are bad? Whatever. This was a good odd year.

The rundown:

1. Last September I hurt my back pretty bad. I wasn't able to sleep or sit or stand or do anything. I would never, ever, EVER wish back pain on anyone. It totally fucked me up physically, emotionally, mentally, everything-ally. After chiropractor visits, physical therapy, and a steroid shot to the sacro-iliac, I finally felt better in January. It occasionally hurts if I lift something too heavy or sit for too long, but it is nothing like it was last year.

Thank you 2015 for being back pain free!

2. The same time my back went out, my brain went out, too. I was emotionally destroyed with panic attacks, depression, anxiety, the works. Lamictal did not work for me at all. I came off of it, stayed on Risperdal, went back on Zoloft, and started taking Klonopin last November. This regimen seems to be really working for me. I probably only had three rageful outbursts and four or five depressive episodes, which is pretty good for me. The manic episodes are a bit more often, but I kind of like being manic, so I'm okay with this. 

What does being manic mean?  Basically that I want to do everything and anything I can at THIS VERY MOMENT. The sense of urgency is urgently urgent. The best way to describe it is the exact moment you're about to sprint, when your whole body leans forward and your heart leaps and you are focused on running, except you don't actually go anywhere. I had this feeling a couple of days ago and MY WORD it is hard to pull back. I wanted to run and run as fast possible. I'll take this feeling over depression any day.

3. With all this figurative running, I decided to join a gym and start literally running again. I've gone a few times. It's been okay. I don't feel fantastic after leaving the gym like others do. In a weird way, I feel like I just got punished. You'd think working out would increase my endorphins, but it doesn't seem to, maybe because I'm on so many meds. It actually makes me feel sad. Weird, right? 

4. GET THIS. I quit drinking. My psychiatrist (I have to check if I have a nickname for him) told me not to drink on Klonopin and I actually listened. I had half a glass of sangria and two glasses of wine in the past 15 months. I'm pretty proud of myself!

This was a HUGE adjustment for MD and I. If you've read Thighs from the beginning of our relationship, you know that I was a drunk stalker. All we did was get bombed and bang, then I wouldn't hear from him, I'd cry and track him down, we'd end up dating, he wouldn't finalize his divorce, we'd break up, I'd cry and track him down, we'd get bombed, repeat. When he got divorced and we stopped breaking up, we still got bombed and banged. Our relationship was based on a shared interest in partying. Once I stopped drinking, we didn't really have much in common. I'm laughing right now because it just occurred to me we still don't have much in common, but thankfully we made it through my sobriety. Or I'm making it through his drunkenness? He's actually cut back a lot, but there are times when I want to slap him sober. I'm laughing again. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

5. In case you're wondering, I'm at work. There's no one here. Seriously, out of the 27 people in my department, I'm the only one. I took off last week and everyone else took off this week. I didn't really need to come into the office today, but I'll probably work from home tomorrow so I thought I should come in. I really like my boss Tank and I thought he'd appreciate me being here.

Did you read that?? I LIKE MY BOSS. Whaaaa??  I've been here (again need to check if I have a nickname for this place) for two and a half years. I might actually make it three years somewhere!! It's a good job, I'm paid well, I have great benefits, I like my coworkers, I like what I do. I still have my problems with authority and mismanagement and spinning my wheels on projects, but it seems a bit easier to deal with. Yay mental meds!!

6. Life in general just seems easier this year. I went on a few trips, saw a lot of friends, plays, movies. I love living with MD even when he's annoying me. My family's doing great, in fact they'll be in Queens tonight to drop Rippie off for his flight back to LA in the morning. I've read 43 books, which I probably haven't done since high school. The Mets were in the World Series, but unfortunately lost. Star Wars Episode VII was amazing. My psychiatrist told me it's okay to talk to spirits and visualize group meditations on other realms. (Don't ask. Maybe I'll talk about it one day.) I did some puzzles. I cleaned out some closets. I saved over $10K and paid off $25K debt. I only have $1800 in credit card debt now. I mentioned joining the gym. I donated to a few charities and bought a bunch of Christmas gifts for kids in need. My aunt had cancerous cells, but they successfully removed them from her lungs and she's okay now. I stopped getting into internet comment wars with people who I will never agree with and who will never agree with me. I decided I'm voting for Bernie Sanders even though I don't think he'll win the primaries. What else...

I think that's it! 2015 was a great year. It makes me so happy to say it and mean it. I'm usually so negative, but I feel good. Happy New Year, yo!

Wednesday, August 27

Home A'lonely

MD visited his family in Pittsburgh for a few days. He left Wednesday night and returned Monday night. It was the first time I was in our apartment by myself.

Guess what?

I didn't like being without him AT ALL. I missed him so much that I cried a little everyday. Is that romantic or pathetic?

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't in the fetal position hiding under the bed or anything. I had lunch with Breen and Bacon, walked around the neighborhood a lot, finished reading Harry Potter, went out to lunch on my lonesome. All of the things I'd normally do had I still been single in Delilah. The difference is I wouldn't have felt so damn lonely.

I rarely ever feel lonely. I couldn't remember the last time I did, so I actually searched Thighs by "lonely" to find out. I figured I would have blogged about it.

I did. The last time I felt lonely was May 29, 2009. How lucky am I??? That was when Bacon stayed with me in my apartment for a month. So there ya have it! It's cohabitation's fault! Moral of the story - live alone forever!!

Just kidding. I guess it's obvious that with every new chapter in life there will be new feelings and perspectives. I just didn't realize how many.

This weekend I was scared of becoming codependent, that I was going to be one of those women who can't do shit without their man. I've always been so independent and carefree, doing whatever the fuck I want when I want. But what happens if I was independent only because I was forced to be because I was single?
That doesn't seem right, though. Not all single women are independent. I don't know many who would travel to new cities by themselves. And I do plenty of things without MD, like go to museums, movies, shows, and ballgames. I just prefer he was with me, so we can share the experience together.

That's it!! I'm not codependent! I'm an independent woman who is in love and feels lonely when my boyfriend isn't around. That's completely acceptable normal person behavior! PHEW!


I always seem to have one friend who is hurting my feelings at any given moment. It usually starts with seeing pictures on social media from a dinner/bar night/house party/trip I wasn't invited to.

I immediately feel hurt, then think well why WASN'T I invited? I'm in that crew of friends. If I invited one of the crew somewhere, I have and would always extend the invite to the entire crew.

Then I think, okay, maybe it was just an oversight this time.

Then it keeps happening.

Usually around the third time I feel completely left out and slighted. Then I start to think well, maybe I did something wrong. Maybe I didn't do enough to keep the friendship going.

So I reach out. If I don't hear back or get a terse response, I know it's done for whatever reason. If I get a sure, let's hang out, I'm golden.

We hang out and have a nice time. A few days later social media shows me I wasn't invited to the next shindig.


I'm 36 years old and I still get hurt by "friends". Isn't that sad? I truly don't know how to stop letting stuff like this affect me.

I want answers to everything in life. I need to know why why why at all times. My gut reaction to disappointment is to confront the situation to find a resolution. This time around I'm wondering if I really need to do that.

If I have an issue with a friend who I've known and been close to for a long time, I'd confront her in a heartbeat. We have way too much history to throw it away and in that case, I'd HAVE TO know what the hell was up.

But if the friend is fair-weathered, why do I care so much? Say I did confront them. What would I learn?

If I did something wrong and didn't know it, I'd immediately apologize. Do I want to be friends with someone who isn't woman enough to address the situation from the start, though?

If I didn't do something wrong and I just wasn't thought of, then what? Do I want to be added to the next guest list just because I whined about it?  Who wants to be invited to something out of pity? Do I want to be invited just so I can say no?


What I should really be exploring is, why give so much time and energy to someone who doesn't deserve it?

Whenever I'm hurt by someone I try to remember that I have many, many wonderful friends in my life and that I don't need to focus my energy on one bad egg.

I also try to be a good friend, too. I like to think I am one. You can tell me anything and I won't judge you. Anyone who's read this blog from the start knows I am the last person to pass judgment! I also make a point of keeping in touch and hanging out when possible. I do bail on plans sometimes, but that's only when I don't feel well. Between my mental and stomach problems, I sadly get sick more often than I'd like at times.

Why is it so much easier to focus on negative people? Is it easier for everyone or just me? 

Wednesday, August 13

I Want to Live by Erika Moen

Not even an hour after I wrote my last post, I find I Want to Live in my newsfeed.

The struggle is real. And I am not alone.

Robin Williams and Me

Robin Williams passed away this week from an apparent suicide. It's hard to comprehend.  Like most celebrity deaths this is a public reminder that we are mortal, that dying is a part of living.

For those of us with mental illness, it's a reminder that our struggle is very real and sadly, can lead to fatal consequences.

I've been wanting to write all over Facebook about what it's like to have depression, to be diagnosed as bipolar, to me me me his death. I want to shout and scream and say HEY, this isn't one random case, many people suffer, and two weeks from now when you're posting dancing cat videos, I will still be struggling to stay afloat.  I didn't do it, though. I'm not sure why. I guess it makes me feel more self-absorbed to declare things like this on social media rather than my personal blog. Maybe I'm a little embarrassed, too.  I don't think I've ever "came out" before other than here.

When I was diagnosed as bipolar in January it was, naturally, bittersweet. On the one hand I finally understood why I have such intense emotions and manic behavior. On the other, I felt like my whole life was a lie. Who am I really? Who would I be without my ups and downs? Was I born this way or was it learned behavior to survive my childhood? If I was emotionally stable, would I have left so many jobs? Had sex for sport? Speak my mind? What does emotional stability feel like? Will I know it when I have it?  Will I ever be free to be me, whoever "me" is?

It seems the real confusion over Robin Williams' death is understanding how a hilarious man who brought so much joy to people can suffer to the point of no return. The quick answer is to say he was wearing a mask to hide his pain, the old sad clown idea. I don't think this is true, though. At least it's not for me. When I am up I truly feel positive, joyful, connected, and loved. When I am down I truly feel hopeless, despair, depressed, and angry. There are no masks. I've always been a mood ring and could never hide shit about how I feel. And I bet Robin was the same way. Or maybe I just want him to be like me.

This year has been really hard. I started weaning off Zoloft in August, then went to Lamictal in January. I was all over the dosage spectrum starting from 25mg going up to 300mg back down to 50mg. I was down all of the time. My depression, anxiety, anger, and irritability were awful. I hated the world and I hated myself. If I did laugh and smile, it was involuntary. I never really felt like I was doing either, if that makes sense. I didn't want to do anything, except curl up and hide. Basically I didn't want to exist. Thankfully I never reached the point of being suicidal. I wanted to vanish, but not die.

Risperdal was thrown into the mix at some point. I started taking one as needed to help me through my panic attacks. Now I'm on 75mg of Lamictal once a day and .25mg of Risperdal twice a day. I'm happy (YES HAPPY!) to report I feel much better now. I've been on this regimen for three weeks and feel more up than I have all year. I still have some issues, but at least I'm heading in the right direction. It has not been easy trying to find the best dosage. Maybe I'm not even on the best, but I'm definitely on better ones. I hear this is a very minimal amount of medication, so I guess I'm lucky? I don't know...

Lucky to me is MD, who can feel happy, angry, sad, anything without questioning if he's too happy, too angry, too sad, too anything. Lucky is someone who doesn't doubt what they feel and think is real or valid. Lucky is someone who can simply be.

But do I really think having a mental illness is unlucky? Since I'm feeling good, no it's not unlucky. It's a shame to have to go through this, but it is what it is. If I asked myself this a month ago, I'd probably say fuck you you fucking fucktard.

I don't know how I want this post to end. Maybe it's because I don't know how my life with mental illness will end. I hope for the sake of my family and friends, it does not end in suicide. I know this must be a horrible thing to read, but unfortunately it could be the path I take. It could be the path for anyone, really.

Hopefully Robin Williams' death will reduce the likelihood of this happening. Maybe now there will be more awareness and acceptance of those suffering, as well as financial investments into clinical trials and making mental healthcare more affordable. If I didn't have help, I don't know where I would be.

If you or someone you know needs help, please call the Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255). You’ll be connected to a skilled, trained counselor at a crisis center in your area, anytime 24/7.

Wednesday, July 30

Work from "Home"

When Harpoon moved downtown, my department decided to give us a work from home day for morale. Such an awesome gesture. I picked Wednesdays to break up the week. WHIP'EM OUT WEDNESDAYS! "EM" are my thighs not my breasts, though. I never wear pants when I'm home. This is probably why I never have guests either.

Home. Living with MD has been wonderful. Sincerely. I love waking up with him, snuggling as we watch TV, cooking (!!), going to bed together. My favorite is hearing the door unlock and knowing he's home. It is everything I imagined it would be. Of course there are things I didn't imagine, but I'll get to that.

Yesterday was our six month moveversary. It feels like I moved ages ago. While I love living with MDLL, I really, really miss my old apartment.

Delilah Foray was the first place I ever truly felt at home. I never felt at ease in Jackson. I really liked my college apartment, but it was a shithole, I had 3-6 roommates at various times, and I was rarely sober. My grandmother's apartment in Bay Ridge was comforting because I felt her spirit with me, but I only stayed there a few days a week to get away from my parents and shorten my commute from NJ. It wasn't until I moved to Astoria that my life changed.

"Home" became somewhere I was safe. Somewhere I was free to be my true self. Somewhere without pain, confrontation, and stress. Somewhere that gave me strength. I never knew a happy and healthy home could do this because I never had one before. 

I have a habit of naming inanimate objects. It's kind of my thing. It was different when I named my apartment, though. It somehow had more power and impact. Delilah Foray was more than my home. She became my best friend and now she's gone.

We decided I should move into MD's place for financial reasons. Delilah was cheaper, but his apartment was only a couple hundred more a month for two bedrooms rather than one. It is a nice place and as everyone who's visited has said (I do actually have guests), it's an upgrade. Dee was an old apartment with lots of decorative molding and scratched up wooden floors. MD's place was renovated a few years ago and has a cleaner updated look. I guess.

I realize now we should have gotten a new place. If you're money-focused, then moving into a cheaper apartment is probably all that matters. If you're like me, and looking for a safe-haven, then don't take the easy and cheap route. Find a place that speaks to you. MD's apartment doesn't. Or maybe I'm just not listening.

Maybe it would have helped if I had all of my stuff here. Delilah's furniture was hand me down, so I tossed it all except for my bed, desk, and bookcase. They are set up in the second bedroom along with most of my other belongings. I guess I feel a bit like my stuff is banished to the room we never use. Actually I don't know why I never use it. Huh. I need to make a point to hang out in there more often.

I also don't really like the layout. The stove shares the wall with the bedroom. How is that possible?? I've never heard of such a thing. I asked MD if we can switch the bedroom and living room, but the living room faces the street so it's super loud. Oh that's another thing. Our building is an "H" design, and we are in the "-" part so we don't have a view or get a lot of light. Delilah was super bright with a great view and the stove on the opposite end of the apartment!!! She was the best!! WAH!

Our apartment number is 3EB, so naturally I named the place Threebio like C-3PO's Threepio nickname. Naturally. The name isn't really sticking though. I find myself saying "Bye Dee" still, then quickly saying "Bye Threeb!" as to not hurt its feelings.

I just really want my best friend back. Yeah, yeah, I live with my real best friend now and it's awesome blah, blah, blah. It's not the same though. Delilah and I were together for ten years. TEN YEARS. It will take time to get over her. Or maybe I never will. She'll always be my first true home.

MD to MDLL to MD

Obviously I've had quite the tumultuous relationship with M. It took us a long time to get our shit together, but in the end it was all worth it. I learned two very important things:

1. Never give up

2. Never surrender

Okay, I might have learned that from Galaxy Quest, but it applies to our relationship as well. I did not give up on M. I did not surrender to "logic" or the idea it was over, at least not until last January when I really was done. Then HE didn't give up. HE came after ME. That's when I knew we both would keep fighting and last a lifetime. 

So, in the beginning he was MD. 

Now I'm going back to MD. He has become the man I always knew him to be.

Tuesday, July 22

Stink Stank Stunk

I hadn't shaved my armpits in about a week. A strange oversight since I usually shave them everyday or, at least every day I shower.  Weekends are iffy.

Today I finally remembered to shave. GET THIS. My armpits stink! Noticeably so! I did not smell bad with hair. Someone look up if this is a thing. I'm too lazy to Google.

And I forgot to put on deodorant.

Friday, July 18


It's Friday night and I'm home.  I didn't have any plans this week except for two therapy appointments. That's kind of my life now. Or is it? I don't know. I have this habit of forgetting what my life was like a week ago, a month ago, whenever.  The laps around the fishbowl are getting shorter.

I feel like the most boring person in the world. Why you ask?

Well, I kind of gave up drinking.


Obviously I've always been a big drinker. HUGE. Thighs "Binge" McGee.  This year has been different, though.  I don't really want to drink.

I started my bipolar medication, Lamictal, back in January. I drank like usual through March, except for a week in New Orleans which was 10 times more than usual.  By April something changed. The urge to get drunk left. I don't want to get fucked up. I don't even really want to go to bars. It's the weirdest thing.

The first time I drank I got bombed off of Strawberry Hill Boone's. I was 12. So that's about 25 years of on again/off again drinking. I loved getting drunk. I loved beer. I loved being a barfly. Tonight I went to Crazy Ass to give a friend a birthday gift.  I drank two sips of a vodka soda and half a Captain and Coke. All I wanted to do was come home.  WHAT. THE. FUCK.

The only thing that's changed this year is my medication. I always knew getting fucked up was a way for me to self-medicate, but maybe the Lamictal changed all that.

Let me clarify though. I still do occasionally drink, but it's nowhere near the amount I used to down.  I barely drank April and May. Not even once a week. This past Saturday at my parents' party I had maybe 7 or 8 vodka drinks over 12 hours. That's nothing. MDLL's birthday two weeks ago I probably had 10 drinks over three days. So it's not that I'm done drinking. I'm done WANTING to drink.  

I was worried MDLL would think I was boring. For a couple of days I thought maybe we had nothing in common.  Our whole relationship was built around drinking until 5am. Now I can barely stay at a bar for an hour if I even bother going at all. When I told him my concerns he lovingly laughed and said, "You could never be boring." I'm smiling.

This would all be easier if I had other plans, but lately I've been a homebody, too. A sober homebody. I'll probably go into this in another post, but one bad thing the Lamictal has done was increase my depression.  Or, as Cee said, it could be I'm more depressed because I stopped drinking. Who knows? I don't really feel like doing much of anything, so I'm just bumming out. UGH UGH UGH. I don't want to be a bummer!!

Is this post stupid? I feel like it's stupid. Regardless, I'm so glad I'm writing again.