I Almost Believe That They're Real

You were bigger and brighter and whiter than snow. Yes, Robert. So correct. I am.

After two weeks of one good accommodation, one bad accommodation and one (the same one) who saved my ass. I am still sick. I am still lost. I am still spinning. I can't do antibiotics. They make me reel and gag. Vomited again today. I just can't with these pills. I am a disease. I belong no where. Or, at least, that's what I'm told. I am surrounded by people who make me feel like I am a problem while they ignore looking at their's. This is not my shit, it's your's. Stop seeking me out and smearing it on me.

That entire neighborhood had a vibe that was just blackened, diseased and volatile. I bear the physical symptoms of this. I don't want to clean up cat pans and pick up trash and other's waste. I don't. I just don't. I need help. So much help. But it never comes. I need more money. The good jobs don't show. I plead and I beg, but they don't show. This country is not made for people like me anymore. We are slaves. Drones. Used like rubber bands until we snap. And I have. Oh, I have. I will not be blamed for other people's lack of care or stupidity.

I am still in a weak and vulnerable state. My food intake has basically been one meal a day. My urine output has been nothing, which is why I drowned myself in gatorade and pedialyte the other day. Thank God for urgent care. I knew it was there, waiting. Between stress, the meds, bronchitis and these damn quinolone antibiotics? Oh, god, I've been done in.

My emotional needs are simply too much for anyone and I'm starting to snap. I'm starting to break. I cannot control them, I just want to bust out all over. Unfortunately, they come out in anger and no one wants to deal with that. I am too much and shoved into a corner. I have been dismissed, made to feel like waddling shit, made to think that I am a continual problem. I am supposed to minister to everyone and no one does to me? Unless! There are conditions. Always conditions: don't touch, don't feel, don't think or do anything unless it's like US. I am not allowed to be me. FUCK THIS.

I have tried my damndest to be acommodating, pleasant, giving, sweet and caring. FUCK YOU 100 WAYS. Look in the mirror to see why I have left you behind. If I cut you out of my life? Chances are you gave me the scissors.

DON'T FUCKING BLAME ME. I am sick as a dog. A little sympathy. I little empathy. I am tired of walking on eggshells.

And for the record, the tv was NOT broken, you just don't know how to use it. Glad I got home in time before you chucked it into the trash. But I AM THE ONE made to feel stupid?

I cultivated a personality, intelligence and a type of brain that no one appreciates, or wants to use. Okay, I will stay away. I only understand anyway.

Just like heaven...

Missing Thelma, Forgetting Peter, Taking Pain Pills

Well, yesterday was really something else. All night I watched the rest of the Fox Noise "debate", thought of the 10 year anniversary of Thelma Carter's death and yes, it finally hit me: Peter Jennings HAS BEEN DEAD 10 years. Why did I not remember it the first time? Let's recap.

10 years ago this week, The Weasel & The Bald Snake pushed my department (and the 2 admins left) into 50 hour weeks. I had to cover and catch Conchita de Goddessa Punanney's mistakes EVERY DAMN DAY. This meant I had to come in on WEEKENDS unpaid to cover OVN's (Online Video Network orders --youtube had just launched) and 2 foot stacks of contracts that The Weasel would sit on and not sign for days. I had just been formally and definitively diagnosed with fibromyalgia (which no one believed I had, and basically I thought would go away) while being "guinea pigged" (my word) on big, fat horse pills. The amount of thinking and multi-tasking I had to do was INSANE, which is why I was afraid of pain pills. My anxiety levels were hitting the ceiling and beyond, so Alprazolam was given to me. Praz pills (again, my word for them) is the generic form of XANAX. I was on 1 mg, but for a person who never took medications before, this hit me like an elephant driving a mack truck. I had hangovers in the morning after coming home each night (and sometimes going into work) having full-blown THEY'RE-GONNA-GET-ME-I'M-DOOMED-THEY-KNOW-WHERE-I-LIVE PANIC ATTACKS. If you've never had a panic attack? You are a blessed human being with people around you that care, something I have had very little of. Those 50 hour weeks soon turned into 55 hour weeks when I started going into the office on Saturday AND Sunday, just to catch up. There were also nights I was still at my desk at 7 or 7:30 pm. The average week for me, even WITH job interviews, in May 2006, became 62 hours, and I was only getting paid for 35 hours, an overtime violation. This sent me off to HR (who didn't care, thank you Evil Longoria with The Buck Teeth), and later to the EEOC and Vincent Hammond (MY HERO) at the New York State Labor Board. When payroll "forgot" to cut me my last check on my last day, I sicced Vince on them, and my money showed up. Nothing like a good lawsuit threat to wake up bad management.

That's pretty much why I never noticed Peter Jennings has been dead for 10 years. I barely noticed it the first time. 2015 has been up and down so far, but 2005 was a pit of black, spiny depression and pain--physical and emotional. Thelma Carter's death pretty much shoved me over the edge. Age 60, gave her life to AADA, a true hell of a school if I ever I saw one. I wonder if the place is being run with any integrity now, because it was a festering pit of ineptitude when I left, the same quality that eventually took AP into the abyss, as well. It continually amazes me how incompetent, asskissing narcissists are allowed to pump up their own salaries and egos at the expense of good staff and people that care, as if it's all a game. TRULY DISGUSING, which is why I am trying so damn hard now to find a way to work for myself.

Thelma Carter gone. Tracey Trevett gone. Janis Powell has a heart attack and LIVES? Proof the devil protects his own. But karma took her down a few pegs--Thelma eventually became Dean of the Day program, Evening Program lost all its funding with the recession, and I have heard NO ONE have anything good to say about this woman since the day I left, April 6, 2001.

So, in the scheme of things? Me not noticing Peter Jennings gone is not really that shocking. I was bewildered and a bit embarrassed, but there was so much going on 10 years ago, I totally missed it.

I do not miss AADA at all. I do not miss the AP at all ( I miss the old SkyRink where my desk eventually sat). I will never give creedence nor be beholden to those that take pleasure in treating others like complete garbage. In 2010, I heard the Weasel got his--he went home for Christmas vacation time, and was told not to come back. I might have quit (and goddamn, it took a long time), but that joke of an executive GOT SHOVED OUT.

That is truly joyful. News Membership (Eventually News Markets) was wiped off the 16th floor. Who knows who sits at my desk now. Not that I care, I still remember walking onto a cool sheet of ice in 1981 with my friend Kathy Seddeducatto from the Broadmoor (the pre-1994 rink) and twirling around. THAT will always be my 16th floor.

I miss you, Thelma. I'm sorry, Peter. I wonder if I'll ever get things right.

CCPs continue

I swear to God, this fat, useless CCP is the worst thing my mother could have ever brought down upon me in my life. Now I am getting lectures about the CCP and her lack of understanding. CCP went thru 12 years of this blog (although not much content after 2009) and has interpreted certain inserts, comments and cries of physical pain to mean that I am going to kill myself. Since CCP, too, is so ignorant (gotta love our crappy public school system PLUS her mental illness). I am in no way going to kill myself and was writing from a place of pain, something CCPs don't understand. NUANCE. Look it up. Jeb Bush doesn't get it either. CCPs are not smart enough. It's also the bipolar: they see things only in black and white, not from a gray area, a spot in life that I have lived repeatedly.

The way I am going to analyze this: Black or White. If I am going to kill myself, that would mean that CCP would be able to weasel their way back into my mom's good graces, and she's always been easy to manipulate. I am NOT, and CCP hates me for this. I do not, nor did I ever, want to get close to this person. She is useless, simple, basic and very "middle school" in her immaturity. I cling to culture (dance, art, figure skating, photography), while she clings to her fervent fantasy of wanting to be Mariah Carey. Immense waste of a good voice, if you ask me. Nothing breaks my heart that seeing someone for whom autotune is not needed, but they are afraid of success. I have tried to succeed in so many ways, but keep getting knocked down. I ask, beg, send emails to people, artists, various HR depts, and nothing. I get auto-filled email responses or typed letters of "Good luck in your search", "We cannot help you at this time", or "You'll find something." I NEED FUCKING HELP TO DO THAT, I'M SURROUNDED BY THOSE WRAPPED UP IN THEMSELVES. WTF am I supposed to do? Oh, to have the world and chances handed to you and you get to toss them away. I am not CCPs dead sister, it's not a sibling rivalry.

Rereading some of this blog, I'm sure it's really hard for someone to just drop in, absorb it, and suspend disbelief. CCPs are not the only persons with whom I've had a twisted time of unraveling nuance, too. There is another person in Staten Island who I will no longer visit who is also bipolar, who gave me an awful look and screamed at me for being on so much medication--PCOS is not a joke! Hormones are needed to balance the cysts, or I get ovarian cancer. I came close in 2007. "I'VE NEVER SEEN SO MANY PILLS IN MY LIFE WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU OMG I CAN'T TAKE THIS." I calmly (and it took all my might with that blast of ANGER in my face) told her this is my life now and then I asked why was she so angry? I got a look that, if it could kill? I'd have had a hatchet embedded 2/3 down the center of my face. NO, I CANNOT DEAL WITH ANYONE WHO IS MENTALLY AND EMOTIONALLY ILL ANYMORE. I have taken to screaming and yelling out of sheer frustration because no one and I mean NO ONE listens. Even the last two years with my own therapist did not do a damn bit of good. We were a weekly habit at that point, not patient and doctor. I won't go back, either. It simply hurts too much, and a world of hurt is one in which I am living.

But kill myself? No, that's too easy. It's also what so many people want. Former boyfriends, former bosses, oh, how the demons would dance and frolic! (again, you see? that's a nuanced statement, it's meant to be metaphor, not literal, but CCPs do not understand nuance.) The mentally ill mind can twist and "interpret" things in a way that is half-assed fucking backwards, not forwards. I can no longer deal with these people, even in small talk. They crush major parts of my very nuanced brain. (CCPs will not understand that last sentence at all. I'm not explaining.)

In good news, my Kindle awoke today. Just flicked on, like a vampire at sunset. (see, that was simile, not metaphor. I'm going to work in language arts lessons into CCPs.) And now, I'm going to inventory the whole thing. Just so I don't lose anything. Lots of samples, kindle singles and all those archived news pieces. ACK, as Bill the Cat would say! And Berkeley Breathed's coming back after 26 years. His last strip was August 6, 1989, a sad day indeed.

So, like Ronald Ann in her anxiety closet (another Breathed reference), I will leave you, gentle readers.

UPDATE: A quick runthrough of all I've posted led me to 2 wistful posts from 2006 and 2010--apparently, CCPs would read this "think of me when I'm not near you" flavor in my writing as "I'm Going to Kill Myself." How fucking stupid you are, CCP! N U A N C E. And a link to the actual definition. Cut and paste, CCP, if you know how to do that on your kompyoooter. http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/nuance

And...my Kindle died.

So, it's off for a trade-in so I can get my work-at-home stuff up and running. Funny how certain cuntrag people keep thinking that I am in no way doing anything to improve my lot in life.

Hard to do anything down here with no car, and this community is one you go to AFTER you made your money, not before. I have been rejected numerous times due to "overqualification." Exceptionally difficult to go from a non-profit experience at almost $50k per year to minimum wage, but that is the South!

Certain deranged people are also unaware that I am still meeting plenty of women and men in my age-range that have not recovered from the recession, despite many degrees and previous work experience. It must be so nice to be able to sleep with anyone that comes along and have great bj technique in order to catch a man and keep him, despite full-blown mental illness. And the man certain mentally deranged people chose used to be on heroin, no? Stop throwing stones. The facts of everyday life are simply not there.

With my fibromyalgia, PCOS, 3 cancer scares, Con Ed pushing 200+ of us OFF the test roster (despite having passed), it's so easy to make fun of me and bitch how my mother (and my now non-existent savings) must help support me. Did certain people know that Kim, Chris, Donna and Ed are in the same boat? We are all in our 40's, and are just barely getting by. We are all back with our parents, grandparents, and unable to get divorced, piled up in houses that only were meant for one family, not 3 generations. This is my reality. Despite what certain people say, I will endure. I always have. I am also looking into amazon publishing. Tricky, but then again, I'm a helluva writer. Time to figure out how to put some of these incredibly unbelievable (yet all too true) stories down on paper.

And today my kindle up and crashes. Where I had all these links and job ideas. School's out, so nothing there until next month. Etsy is promising. Even Sheena wants to get up on Etsy. I hope she does. Her candles are great. So nice to have my oldest friend back. Certain people never met Sheena during the 90's. Oh, oversimplification! Know 1/16 of the truth, throw in a few embellishments and a few lies, and POOF! You have the newest, most cherry-flavored version of the "truth." Oh, certain people haven't really been in my life since 2002. Recession didn't affect you, why would it when certain people (let's go by CCP for short) have a man to support them and a little job on the side. I believed in working a corporate life (with no union to be had), and THIS is what it got me. After the nervous breakdown, the unending fibro pain, and then judgment of CCPs I can't stand. Keep it up, CCPs. I know the truth and all its details. You don't. You're not here. You weren't a help, just a hindrance. 22 million americans know what I'm going thru. I trust them. Not you, CCps.

I think of Bela Karolyi's famous quote: "I'd like to personally shake the hands of my enemies. They drove me further than any friend ever could."

And hello, new readers! My original 100+ are back, plus newbies on Google+? I hope so.

Oh, Robin

How I feel every time I hear the word "actor" and Robin's name. This movie is sacred to me for this one reason. It also reminds me of why I sought out Robert Sean Leonard and Ethan Hawke's work in Malaparte during 1993-95. Depression is not a joke. Your sorrows can destroy you.