1.  Michael Vick

2. Customer Service people who provide everything BUT customer service

3. "Baby On Board" decals

4.  Whoopi Goldberg stickingup for Michael Vick

5. People who drive below the speed limit. Fuck off and pull over.

6. Two facedness. If you don't like me, don't pretend to. Do you see me making nicey nice to you, bitch?  Let's just agree to hate each other openly.

7. Right-to-Lifers. The little baby feet pins they peddle?   I'd like to take a pair of those little feet and kick them in the ass with it.

8. Radical Feminists who can't take a joke. Go home; shave your legs and wax the ‘stache... all that body hair is making you cranky

9. Passive Aggressive behavior... In other people. It's okay when I do it.

10. Blue Eyeshadow

11. Soccer Moms

12. People who order toasted bagels at the Dunkin Donuts Drive Thru. If you're eating that crap you NEED to WALK into the store to order it. It's a drive-thru, not five star dining. These people almost always drive minivans or SUV's and 99.99% of the time are soccer moms. Bitches. And they're holding up the line

13. Lawn Ornaments

14. People who insist on explaining anything and everything in excruciating he said/she said and then this happened and that happened detail. Skip the gristle and get to the bone please. Tick tock; time is money. Unless, of course, I'm the one telling the story...

15. Moral Superiority........
16. Moral Bankruptcy ......... 
   **There's a happy medium on this one - I've enjoyed it for years...

 

17. Rule Benders.... Grow some balls and blatantly break a rule, wouldja?

18. Pick up truck drivers who meticulously wax and buff their huge truck beds till they shine and never actually haul anything.  I thought pick up trucks were used to pick stuff up?

19. Perpetual Dieters. Put down the bag of Cheetos, get the hell off the couch and stop fooling yourself. The "All Processed and Fried All the Time" diet didn't work the last time, and I'll bet dollars to the bag of donuts you're hiding in your purse that you're not gonna see stellar results in this round either.

20. People who stand in line at Stop n Shop complaining quietly the ENTIRE TIME... "Huff Puff I don't believe this, why do they only have one clerk on a holiday weekend? This is ridiculous!" Shifting from one foot to another... blah blah motherfucking blah. Just shut up and do what I do: Complain loudly ONE time (swearing is optional) about how you don't have time to wait for a cashier to become competent; throw your shit on the counter and leave. It's way more liberating that way.  

21. Having someone read over my shoulder.

22. People who stack their plate in a neat little pile for a waitress at a restaurant, yet neglect to clear even one plate from the dinner table at home..

23. Political corruption

24. Political Correctness

25. Mothers who have no other points of conversation besides their adorable and highly advanced for their age children or their stretch marks, length of labour and c-section scars.

26. Pop up ads

27. People who pronounce lawn with a 'd' on the end of it.

28. A fresh loaf of bread placed at the BOTTOM of the grocery bag

29. People who are always early. It is just really rude.

30. People who make excuses for being early.

31. People who don't apologize for making YOU early.

32. Alcohol breath.  Unless it's MY alcohol breath - then it's fine.

 33. People who talk about you when you are still in the room. How rude...you are supposed to talk about people behind their back... it's called manners.

34. Retail clerks who don't acknowledge my royal presence.

35. People who insist on taking their 2 year old to grown up movies so we can all appreciate the lovely child more.

36. Excessive and unnecessary use of "quotation" marks

37. People who always talk about how honest they are. Truly honest people don't have to advertise. Honestly.


 

 

Over the past two weeks I have endured  unrelentless pain and agony due to eating something that I hadn't tried since my surgery and at one point thought I was going to die it hurt so bad. OnSaturday 4-19-08 I hit a low that I hate falling into, the thought passed through my mind "Do I really have to go through this everyday for the next 60-70 years is it really worth it?" I then came to the realization that yes it is worth it, even though this disease completely sucks it has made me stronger, paranoid, scared, and angry but when you think about it many things in your life make you experience the last three but hardly ever make you stronger. I know that I am stronger then I feel some days, we all have bad days and good days, I wish I had more good but I don't dwell on the bad days and celebrate the good ones. I just wish the pain wasn't so exhausting.

This last week was one of the worst for me. My pain was so intense, I told  my fiance that I just wanted to go "home" to God.  Between this pain and the depression thatset in, I didn't want to be in this ravaged body any longer. Thank God this man that I love with my heart and soul is so very loving and caring. He always gets me through these bad times. He's so patient and trys to help me with so many things.

I went to the doctor on Friday. My doctor is very supportive with all of my ailments and put me on a different fibro pain med. I just got off the Lyrica after trying it out for  the past two weeks. This is probably a good med, but just not for me. I had such bad migraines from it, that I just had to stop taking it. We'll see if the new one works better! 

Well, today I woke up from having horrifying dreams of my daughter....My daughter was recently threatened with a gun by her ex and now he is in jail and she is in a rehab..He is a real scary guy andhas threatened to kill the entire family....real big man...My night mare is that she walked out of treatment..

We have been dealing with this guy for the last 6 months....Her calling me up scared....helping her get away and then she runs back....I'm so tired...I sure hope this scared her enough...Her friends sure have had enough of her.

 

My best friend knows a woman that is a BIG time drug abuser. She went to the doctor paying in cash and walked out with Hydrocodone 5mg. her first visit. Her second visit she walked out with 7.5mg hydrocodone. Next month they are going to give her 10mg.

The only reason this lady wants the pain pills is so that she can trade them off for things she can inject into her veins.

All she did was walk into the doctor and said I have back pain and POOF. They hand her over exactly what she wants!

I wish there was a way I could find out who her doctor is because I would call him or her and give them a piece of my mind! She has track marks all in her arms so she won't be able to lie her way out of it!

Here I have been siffering for a year and a half and this drug addict can walk into some doctor office and get something she doesn't even need! Yes I'm furious! This is not right.

I don't want her doctor to get in trouble because then it will only strengthen the fear all doctors have about treating peoples pain. I just wish there was a way to get her in trouble.

It's people like her that make it hard for people like us.

I hurt today I don't why well maybe casue I fell off the bed yesterday and did something to my foot possbilly jammed my toe what this chemo does to me is hell but I have to live with it it's whatI go throu gh

another one of those weekends where, when you come to the end of it, you are more exhausted than you are at the end of a week.

I have 3 sons and a husband.  The children are at the  "make noise for the rest of our lives" stage.  Two of them are at the "run round and round the house till you can't run anymore" stage.

I can't even begin to tell you the number of loads of laundry I do in a week/weekend.  Let's see, this last week was kind of busy so I didn't start laundry until Friday night.  By yesterday evening, I had done something like 6 loads of laundry.

Today, I have done 9 loads.  By my estimation, I have somewhere, in the neighborhood of 7 more loads.  That is 22 loads of laundry for a week!!!!!!!  (not that I think you can't do math - I'm just as shocked as you at the total).

And you know what, 3 of the 5 people in this house, don't have a care in the world because when they open their dresser the clean cloths are always there.  They just magically make it from the laundry sorters back to their dresser.

I cannot wait until they can start folding and putting away laundry.  I also can't wait until they can do the dishes, vacuum the house, dust the house...........my time of living in the lap of luxury is a mere few years away (what can I say, my idea of luxury is not having to carry the burden of the housework, on my shoulders).

Needless to say, it is Sunday evening.  Hubby is out in the living room watching a movie.  The washing machine and dryer are running in the room across the hall.  I am here, in the "spare" room, on the computer and looking at those laundry sorters.  The kids are supposed to be asleep, in the room next door, but they are fighting it.  And the extended king bed, in our room, is slowly chanting my name and calling me to come lay my head down on my pillow.

Relaxing thought broken by the sound of our youngest, screaming like a banshee..... 

Recently I got an email from a woman in Germany, desperately seeking advice on how to communicate with her BiPolar friend who is acting 'strange' (Imagine That!).  I get at leasta dozen of these type of emaials a day from my art web site (The Bio section, where I candidly talk about my depression). 

Anyway, I responded to her in my blog.  Check it out if you arre interested.

 http://www.uswalker3.blogspot.com

 

 

The Story of how 'Daily Good Dog Feedings' Started.

It is one of those stories that can change your life, forever, ignitinga spark of hope and offering up a powerfully effective yet simple technique. The story of the Good Dog has changed my life forever and as you will see, the lives of many others around the world.

Often, when I'm suffering from my mental illness, (Bi-Polar II), mania and depression as well as severe ADHD, when hope fades into desperation, I pray, No, I plead with God to listen to me, to help relieve of my suffering ... yet, I hear nothing but that maddeing silence.

This story is about how God answered my pleading prayer, not only giving me hope and strength but also giving me the idea of lighting a single candle that has already lit thousands of other's candles all over this planet, providing a little daily flicker of hope that others can light their own candles and find their way out of the dark.

Oh, back to the story ... sorry, I do get a bit manic when I write ...

About a year ago, I was undergoing a particularly bad bout of debilitating depression, hiding it from those around me, as usual, while dying inside. I was at an alcohol support meeting when someone shared a simple story.  My life has never been the same since then.

Funny how sometimes somebody says something that sticks, that becomes a permanent fouundation on which you can rebuild your entire life.  Perhaps I was at a place in my life that I was worn out and ready to listen. That day, God answered my pleading prayer, through one guy, that I had not seen before or since that meeting, one of my angels - there have been, many!

Finally ... The Story that Changed My Life, Forever ...

ABOUT 'Daily Good Dog Feedings'

A Native American Elder told a story about his people believe that we all have, within us, a 'Good Dog' and a 'Bad Dog,' that are always fighting to be in control.

My friend asked him, "Which One Wins?"

The elder simply replied, "The One That You Feed."

That anonymous angel shared that story with me in January of 2007.  At the time of hearing it, I thought, "Cool story, after 20 years around this place, it's amazing to hear something I've never heard before."  That was it, just a simple story that I thought was pretty cool.  I filed it into my brain with all the other clutter accumulated from 54 years of mostly useless thinking and went about trying to survive another day of my life.

That very next morning (mornings are the hardest time for my depression) I seemed to be especially aware of my thoughts. I watched as my mind instantly went towards fear, dread and self hate; it's as if I was watching myself watching myself and condemning myself.

My depression, especially when mixed with extreme mania at the same time, can cause me to feel disconnected, totally fragmented from my-self (whatever self is) and the rest of the world.  That morning was especially harsh, feeling as I was hovering over myself, watching this pathetic human parasite in that dirty bathrobe smoking a cigarette and filled with hate and disgust and anguish of feeling so alone and anger at God for feeling like such a victim for having to endure this kind of pain.  You get the picture ... it was a pretty atypical morning for me. 

Normally, it would take a full pot of coffee and a 1/2 pack of smokes before I could start making a meager plan for coping through the day.  This was my life, trying to figure out how I could hide from everyone around me, for an entire day, pretending like I was normal, until I could close the door to my room, alone, put on my dirty bathrobe and finally, feel a sense of relief in closing off the world, until morning.  And it would start over again.  Every single morning, day after painful day, it would start  over again like a perverted mnetally ill version of 'Groundhogs Day.'  This was, my life.  But this morning, looking back, was a morning unlike any other morning I had ever experienced.  This morning something would change my life forever ... back to the story ...

That January morning, slumped in a chair, sucking coffee and cigs in my dirty bathrobe, suddenly a thought, a clear thought (that's a novelty in and of itelf) came to mind.  The story of the Good Dog vs. Bad Dog popped into my foggy little mind as well as the words of Eckhart Tolle. 

Eckhart Tolle's The Power of Now, which I had studied for years trying desperately to find relief, asserts that ...  Emotions are Caused by Our Thoughts and Our Thoughts come from What We Think and What We Think is Determined by What We CHOOSE to Think!

That's what God was telling me through my angel and his story of the Dog, and through my memories of the words of Tolle ... that I have the power of choice of how I feel.  "Oh Sure I do," I thought, "Right!."

"OK," I thought, "I'll give this a try. Like what do I have to lose?"  At first, trying to think of something positive when I had grown morbidly accustomed to the gloom and doom of endless years of depression, seemed impossible.  Yet the concept of the Dog made so much sense to me.  I had to reach for some hope.  I was watching myself die.

I forced myself to make a mental 'Gratitude List,' something I had done over the years with success, when I remembered to do it.  It was like trying to turn around the Titanic, after it had sunk, but I tried, God I tried to think of things that I was grateful for, yet I was filled with such self hate, fear, rage, and fragmented thinking.   I did manage to scribble a few mental gratitudes.  Within minutes, I noticed that my depression was 'different' ... not as overwhelming, still there and very powerful, but not taking me over completely. 

As the weeks went on, forcing myself to listen to the Good Dog and forcing myself to stay firmly planted in the present moment (as best I could), I was noticing a change, a BIG CHANGE in depression, on a more permanent basis.  I was getting help, medically, but I believe that this mental trick, this forcing my head to focus on something positive, worked and worked better and better each day.

Running out of positive thoughts and things to be grateful for, I started reading and researching to find life affirming quotes, poems and short stories.  I started writing them down as I searched for positive 'Good Dog' reinforcement.  Then I started emailing them to my son, who said he was having some depression.  I would research and put together a daily email with a combination of quotes, short stories or poems and send them out with the title ... 'Daily Good Dog Feedings.'

Before long, word spread like wildfires, as people forwarded these 'Daily Good Dog Feedings' to their friends and family.  As I am writing this to you today, there are thousands of people from all over the world that are receiving the Dog, which I affectionately call it today.  I am in contact with dozens of people every day.  I am making friends with people I have never met, yet feel a bond as strong as those of close friends, why ... because we understand each other.  We are survivors and we are all in the same lifeboat together.  We need to help each other, not to die, but to get stronger and live, to recover from a disease that can be managed, if we choose to recover.

Anyway, I'm rambling cause I'm pretty manic today but hey, rather ramble on about something positive than hide in bed, beating myself up.

I have spent my entire life in this painfully lonely and dark place; the insanity of mental illness. I'm done suffering!  If I suffer now, it's my choice because today I have tools and I use them.  I have my Good Dog choice, my doctor and medications as well as many other tools I can use if I CHOOSE to heal. 

Today I choose life and today life is sweet, even though there are painful episodes from time to time.  Today, even the pain feels good as it reminds me that I'm alive.   I'm not going back into hell.  I've been there and it's not all that it's cracked up to be.

Hope you decide to have great weekend.

God Bless Us All, We Deserve It.

Louie (uswalker)  http://rochonsculpture.artspan.com/mbr_bio.php

NOTE:  I am happy to share the 'Daily Good Dog Feediing' with anyone that wants it ... just email me at uswalker3@hotmail.com  I am not doing this for two reasons, first because this daily practice keeps me alive and secondly, because it feels really great to be able to help others. 

 

This SharePost is a response letter to a friend from this forum as it represented where my head is at this am. 

Hope you don't mind, MC.

 

Dear MC,

 

Thanks for your comments. It's true that when I write, I challenge my intentions; it's almost like I have discussions with my 'self,' on paper. Hey, why not? We do it all the time in our heads. It's kind of fun when you write it down as you can actually see the demons working away at you, each trying to have their way with you. Kind of P_____sses them off when you see them, exposed.

 

I wrote a blog a month or so ago, in which I saw for myself, firsthand, this ongoing discussion - (fight for controlling interest of my head).  Check it out if you are interested ... http://www.uswalker3.blogspot.com/

 

I write a daily email inspiration (positive life affirming quotes, poems, parables, etc).  This daily mailing which has taken on a life of it's own over the past year, growing each day to include people from all parts of this planet, is called the 'Daily Good Dog Feeding.' 

 

Here is the story about how Good Dog was born.  I mention this because it reminds me of those two voices in my head ... as well as inviting you to receive it as my gift to you, if you'd like.

 

 

ABOUT 'Daily Good Dog Feedings' 

A friend shared a story with me about a meeting he once had with a Native American elder. This story had a great impact on me. The elder told my friend that his people believe that we all have, within us, a 'Good Dog' and a 'Bad Dog,' that are always fighting to be in control. My friend asked, "Which One Wins?" The elder simply replied, "The One That You Feed."

 

______ . ______

 

I started researching and sending out a daily inspirational message to my son as well as to reinforce the 'Good Dog' in me. Thinking my friends might find it of value, I added some people. Soon, it took on a life of it's own. This simple story, from my friend, has grown into something that has greatly improved the quality of my life and from what I hear, from people from all over the planet. What a blessing. Want to be added to the list? Email me ... uswalker3@hotmail.com

 

You or anyone else reading my rantings are welcome to receive Good Dog.  Just send me an email.  Cancel any time, if you don't like it and I will NEVER sell it out with Ads or use the names. Promise.

 

I really love to share this with people. It makes me feel great to do something that I know makes life a little better place for others.

Kind of selfish, but hey, I'm human.

 

 

You know, MC, this email column that I write every day is one of those 'God Shots,' a powerful tool that I use every morning, and have for over a year now.  I get so many positive responses from people, that I have come to look at it as a responsibility for me. 

 

Even when I am suffering from extreme depression, which is usually the first few hours of most days, this mandatory self-requirement forces me to turn my minds attention around towards a positive 'Good Dog.'

 

Without this tool, I'm afraid that I would spend many days hiding under the blankets, feeling sorry for myself and falling victim to my disease.  I am so done with that energy - having done that all my life and really don't have time for it these days! 

 

I have to admit, this may sound simple, (changing your mood by focusing on Good Dog) and it is simple ... but it is FAR FROM EASY.  Beating mental illness is not whimps!  Many days, it's like turning the Titanic around, but you know, I've found that I can always turn it around, with constant steady pressure.  Some days, it runs my ass over.  Oh well, 2 steps forward, 1 step back - Progress, Not Perfection is my goal these days.

 

Good Dog always helps turn around my attitude, inspite of my mind's intentions.  I have found that my attitude is a direct reflection of my emotions, and my emotions come from my thoughts and my thoughts come from whatever it is that I CHOOSE to focus on.  Seems to be totally backwards, putting the acrt before the horse, but it works, for me. 

 

I have found this to be a valuable tool for my emotional survival, something I need to work at, very hard, each and every day, hour by hour, minute by minute - sometimes.

 

In the Dog, I always use quotes, poems or parables that seem to address what issues I need to focus on. Funny how that works; it's almost as if I do my part and sit my ass down at my laptop ... then God takes over and writes what He wants. I am not claiming to have any inside connection with the Big Guy - it just seems that whenever I do my part, ideas pop into my head.  I just have to type. 

 

It's pretty much the same with my sculptures - I have to do my part and walk out into that cold studio when everything within me is screaming NO ... and usually, within a short time, ideas come to me and I start getting excited.  All I need to do is allow my body to move around and put stuff together and eventually, VOILA ... something is created that was just a pile of stuff.

 

One thing that I have found out for a fact ... I have never written one word or created one piece of art, from under my blankets. That is where my disease wants me to be - in bed, despising myself for my illness, trying with all it's might to convince me that I am a worth-less, use-less pathetic parasite carbon based life module.  I say F______ the disease ... I got stuff to do.  I have a life to live and even though it seems, some days, that I can literally feel it's cold breath on my neck as I am moving on, I AM moving on.  If I stop, then it catches up and takes me down.  Most days, I out run it.  Some days i don't.  That's' life.  Those days, I just stand there and hurt and that's OK. 

 

The real miracle for me these days, is that I don't feel desperate to run around trying to find something to put out the flames.  Being a Dual Diagnosis (recovering from BPII as well as an alcoholic) it is my nature to feel the need to not feel the pain, to obliterate my emotions when they hurt so bad.  In all actuality, I am addicted to damned near everything.  I am addicted to 'MORE,' more of anything has always been my answer to pain and suffering, which of course causes more pain and suffering.  You name it, food, alcohol, legal and illegal drugs, workaholism, relationships (or in my case - hostages), sex ... i mean, there is NO END to where my 'self' wants to hide.  I have spent my entire life is FEAR, which up until an accuarte diagnosis of BP and proper meds, FEAR stood for F--- everything and Run.  Today is stands for Face Everything and Recover.

 

OK, now I've noticed that my mania has kicked in as I'm rambling on and on.  Sorry mania, time to cool your jets for a while.  I'm in control these days.  Thanks for listening to my head.

 

 

God Bless Us All, We Deserve It.

 

Louie R (uswalker) http://rochonsculpture.artspan.com/mbr_bio.php

Hello to all,

I have an endocrine disoder known as Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, or more commonly, PCOS.  I also suffer from Reactive Hypoglycemia in which my blood sugar plummets1-3hrs following every meal. Eczema has also been apart of my life for some several years, and I was dx with Major Depression Disorder in Jan. 2004. Fortunately, I've not allowed life to get me to that point anymore, though I've been depressed.

 As of late, I've been depressed and down with my situation. I'm a full-time college student and unemployed. I used to be a truck driver but a pinched nerve in my lower back ended that opportunity. But, it opened up an opportunity to return to college.

Though I'm studying to be in Office Systems Technology, my natural passion and gifts lie in becoming an artist/poet/singer/novelist. Anything in the arts I can pretty much do. It's a gift. I will show a few of my drawings below.

 

Looking back over what I have written, I apologize (no, I don't) for ranting a bit ... I am a bit, a BIT manic right now, and blurted out some memories.  It's helped me.  Here it goes ...

 

I have learned to be very careful with who I share my mental ilnness issues with, as I do with my alcoholism.  Unfortunately, there is still so much misunderstanding about depression, with 'normies' that experience situational depression from time to time.  They look at us with contempt, as weak because they had the strength to 'pick themselves up', 'think happy thoughts' or whatever form of self discipline they used that they judge us as lacking.

 

It really isn't their fault.  They simply don't understand.  I'm learning this even more, everyday, especially the last few days with all the comments I've gotten from 'normies' that have expressed that they have a different way of looking at those they love, struggling with mental illness.

 

The most maddening part of my journey, was the ignorance and misunderstanding of my illness and symptoms from the very people that I have always believed I could trust - the medical profession.

 

Sometimes it would take me a year of intense suffering before I was worn down enough to be able to crawl into my doc's office and lay out all my symptoms, only to be told "Sounds like you a have a bit of depression." 

 

"A BIT OF DEPRESSION, YOU .......... .........!" I think.  Then she gives me that nervous, almost scared little smurk of hers and shoves a piece of paper with 12 questions into my hand, leaves the room and asks me to evaluate my 'bit of depression.'   Hell, I can't evaluate up or down, black or white, reality from delusion ... I can barely hold the pen as I am shaking so bad from the inside out and she wants me to calmly assess MY condition?

 

Then, she comes back, glances at the paper, and says, "Yes, seems like you are pretty gloomy these days."  OK, that's about it!  This ...... is going to get a a good healthy dose of MY reality. 

 

"Hey doc, do you think it's normal to wake up in the morning and the first thought of the day, is that you want to be dead.  Do you think it's normal, that in order for me to even fall asleep at night, I create these elaborate fantasies of my own death, complete with my hands folded neatly across my chest, which fills me with a sick sort of peace, that lulls me into a fantasy that reassures me that the pain is over, that I have to fool myself into thinking I am dead, in order to function?"

 

"Well, does sound a bit serious."  She uses that word 'bit' just one more time, and I think she will get a first hand lesson and example of exactly what 'going mental' looks like, right here here in her little cubicle.  "OK, calm down wacko, let's try and get some help," I reassure myself.

 

"So, what do you think we ought to do?" she asks, ME!!!! 

 

THAT's IT ... I'm done acting sane.  I can no longer control it and start shaking and crying ... ****, I hate that.  A 54 year old man, that has always prided himself on being able to handle anything that life has to throw at me, has totally broken down in front of my incompetent medical expert. 

 

"What do I think we should do,"  I shout at her. 

 

"Do you have any idea what it took for me to walk in here today.  It took me 6 months of agony to even pick up that damned phone to make an appointment and now ... NOW, you ask ME, what I think?" 

 

"I CAN't Think anymore, that's why I am here.  I don't trust my thinking.  I'm scared.  I'm scared to death that I'm losing my mind.  Do you have any clue how terrifying that is, to believe that you are actually losing the ability to control yourself, to function or to even pretend to be OK?  Do you have any clue as to the fear I have of what it would be like to be locked away, forgotten and written off, lost forever in a coma of insanity?  I NEED YOU, to HELP ME!!!!  I don't know what to do.  For two years, I've been coming to see you, beating around the bush, always afraid that you are thinking in the back of your mind, "Oh here comes that hypocondriac ... wonder what new symptoms he has now.  My sick mind won't even allow me to look into the eys of your staff nurses imagining that they are all laughing at me as well, hell, they probabaly laugh about me at lunch.  This is the what my head thinks about ... Do YOU think normal people obsess over these kinds of things D O C T O R ?  I need help, please, help me."

 

I felt better.  Relieved.  Had a sense of hope that maybe she will finally understand the depth of my suffering, that I'm not making this stuff up, that I need help .... until ... once again, I see that scared, nervous look on her face as she attempts a smile and says, "Alrighty then, I think we should try an anti-depressant." 

 

"Oh GOD!  I have so been here before, for 15 years, I have so been here, and have tried every kind of anti-depressant known to medical science," I think to myself.  Maybe I should just walk into a mental hospital, lie down on the floor and let them whisk me away into Zoo-land ... I just don't care anymore."  This, was my experience with the medical community, for many years.

 

As I've written in my journals, it took many more years, before I happened upon the perfect storm, a set of circumstances that availed a new opportunity to get the proper care, medical professionals that understood what they were talking about.  Do I regret those years.  Not really.  Guess it took what it took to get here.  Do I wish I would have found the proper diagnosis earlier in life, saving so many years of pain and suffering.  Yes, of course, but that's just not the path I was supposed to walk.

 

Today, I will NEVER stop trying because I KNOW what it feels like to be alive and even though I may not be there, as I write, I've been shown the miracle of sanity.  It was possible once and it is possible again.  I will never give up on myself.  This disease is treatable.

 

For anyone out there that is suffering and has lost hope and feels embarrased and humiliated - I suggest that you GET MAD!  Do whatever you need to do to get listened to and don't be afraid to express your pain and ask for help.  My ego held me back, for so many years from uttering the three most powerful words I have ever verbalized, resulting in almost instantaneous results ... "I NEED HELP.  Please help me."

 

God Bless Us All.  We deserve it. 

Louie R. (Uswalker);

http://rochonsculpture.artspan.com/mbr_bio.php

I don't know if anyone will read this or not,but,at least it's a safe place that i can vent.My 10 year old son was diagnosed with bipolar back in August. He is getting increasingly violent towardsmy husband and I and now the dogs,too.He is on Abilify and the manic episodes have stopped.But his "spoiled rotten brat syndrome" has only gotten worse. He now uses his bipolar and his biological father's absence as an excuse. I tell him no or tell him to do something that he doesn't want to do and he just explodes.My stomach hurts tonight from him repeatedly kicking me.We've tried to get help from numerous agencies,all of which tell us they can't help.The psych hospital won't take him because he's not suicidal or homicidal,the juvenile detention center won't take him because he's only 10 and has a mental disorder.He only sees the psychiatrist every 6 weeks and is on his third because the last two quit.Getting them to return my phone calls would take an act of God!If something isn't done soon I'll be the one with the mental disorder!We've been dealing with this since August and the violent episodes are now happening at least every other day if not every day.They will last anywhere from 15 minutes to over an hour. I'm at a loss as to what to do next.Everyone tells me to be patient.But how can I be patient when he's getting worse not better and he's getting more and more violent.My mantra has become "Prozac,Take Me Away!'.But,no happy drugs for me,just more bruises.