Why is No One Getting the Memo???

I heard a friend wailing that question. And I thought: Yeah.

How many time have I told them yadda yadda yadda…


It’s a great question.

Can you help me answer it? All suggestions are welcome.


Madness by Marya Hornbacher Is my Self-Help Manual

Marya Hornbacher‘s Madness is her memoir of living with bipolar disorder. It’s a bit rough and, well, mad. But poetic. It’s the poetry in the prose that gets me every time. I’m thinking off the top of my head current authors Barbara Kingsolver and Janet Fitch.

Is there something wrong with using a memoir of insanity as a “Life for Dummies” sort of manual?

Absolutely. But it sure helps more than those treacly self-help tracts that all melt together like a convention of bumper stickers at the equator.

Because Marya (may I call you Marya if I spell it right?) –she’s okay today. As I’ve said before, functional is relative. Some would say she’s no role model, her memoir of anorexia triggers, she’s not a serene guru… but she is real.

And those of us with racing brains (25% in an article in the New Yorker about Xanax I read whilst waiting in my doctor’s office for my regular prescriptions for my myriad conditions all of which will be CURED once I set up and learn to operate and grow the wheatgrass for the new JUICER that arrived today–does wheatgrass have gluten and am I gluten-sensitive…um…)

U C what I mean about racing brains.

Humans were not DNA’d to think at the speeds at which info is being tossed at us from all directions night and day. Yet we become so used to all this inundation, we think there is something wrong in a moment of quiet.

I had a spouse who would NEVER relinquish the clicker, and I used to crave power outages when even the refrigerator stopped humming for the 15 minutes to and hour it took to repair the damage caused by a gecko in a transformer or a pelican pooping on a wire somewhere up the Keys. (Like US 1, there’s one line out and one line in. And it’s the same line. Like Life, teh Universe, and Everything….)

I felt it a victory for LOL catspeak when my spellcheck finally gave up trying to make me spell teh t-h-e.

Thing is, Madness is a memoir about bipolar disorder. I believe I relate so well because I have unipolar plus DID which means one of my personalities must be a little manicky to balance, but depression has been my fallback mood as far back as 5 years old.

I am attracted to Strong Women, But Afraid of Falling for another Narcissist

I believe that the difference between the common meaning of “Heartless” and “discerning” is compassion, which I have a tremendous amount of and which I offer on My terms alone.– Mistress Didi

My point of enlightenment came after months of brooding alone that brooding alone will not bring me an answer to a question I was not able to answer before I retreated into my cave of self-indulgence. (Sorry, I’m being kind to myself…I have been mangled spiritually, aut0-immunity-wise, I’ve not understood for decades how I’ve allowed the holes to be punched poked gnawed chewed in my protective aura…I’ve had no obvious guidance and much distraction.)

It’s important for me to understand but not to dwell. I’ve been suffering smarter for a time now…and denying I have the ability to help myself.

Well, who can blame me? I’d been so helpless for so long. After a while, the white rat starves rather than risk the shock from hitting the pellet-release bar. Even though the power’s been off for days and isn’t coming back on ever again.

‘Just hit the bar,’ you urge the fuzzy skinny little rat. Trust. It’s OKAY now. You might convince her but maybe by the time you do she’s too weak to walk over to the bar. So you think, ‘Fuck her. If she can’t even be bothered to TRY. God helps them that help themselves;’ as for the rest…they fall into the tide and die…that poem about the Footprints is a LIE.

But I can use my mouse medicine today. Because I love my mousey self. As much as I love my roars-like-a-lion self. I need them both. They interplay. Play is the key. If wewewe are not enjoying it, overall…there will always be struggles, and rocks to roll up Sysyphisian walls…

I’ve got enough alternates to be good company for quite a while but even I need outside stimulation to avoid the void.

I went out a few times…and nearly cracked up. I live in Key West where enough is never enough and there is sustenance round every bend. It’s like San Francisco in that way. Just when you’re tired and can’t walk another step you turn a corner to see the prettiest shade of lavender n lace house overlooking a bay full of birds and clouds and rainbows, best of all, the rainbows, oh, even just the rainbows would be enough. Takes me time to get used to all this other wonderful stuff. So I ran back and hid a few more times–is okay because I love all my selves today and some of them, hoooo boy, more spoiled than cats more hyper than cats on Show days.

I have had 5 Abyssinian full-breed cats in my life; 3 still with me now; I’ve never shown them in a ring. I don’t judge anyone who does, because cat breeds are as special as dog breeds and no one would say ‘stop breeding beagles as long as there’s one stray mutt in the universe. ‘

Big For Instance before I forget…how I get trapped in mind boggles/monkey mindtraps

too late. damn. The cat is chewing on someting and I’m ultra-vigilent as to what the 3 fuzzzy albatroses my 3 sysiphian trials…what am I saying they are fuzzy wuzzu wittle kitties and I adore them …. but they interfere with my ART, dammit.

Managed to remove all humans from my living space (wised up or actually the universe wised me up) at age 48 so it’s only been not even a couple years.

I keep dreaming my family and my ex-now spitefully departed-spouse are yelling at me. Everything makes me want to cry…

I’m afraid to B seen in public