Crap Is: The New Blogger Interface and Borderline Personality Disorder

I hate the new Blogger interface. I absolutely despise it. I hope they won't force it down our throats. It would make using Blogger less enjoyable, and I have been using it since 2005, so that would not make me happy. 

In spite of its faults, Blogger is still the easiest platform to work with. I find Wordpress annoying although many people swear by it. Typepad is okay, but overall I still prefer Blogger.

One person commented on my last post that if I got out there and started commenting on and interacting with other blogs, people would come read mine. Yeah...but then they'd get scared and run away. Which is what happened the last time, because I'm too honest about how my condition makes me feel sometimes, and I'm a big snarky curmudgeon who cusses a lot. That frightens the nice "mommy bloggers," who seem to make up about 75% of the blog-o-sphere. 

Also, since I'm old I don't have any young ones, so we don't exactly connect there either. My only child is 21 and I think that most mothers would be offended if I tried to compare my pet issues with their kid issues. "I know JUST what you mean! My stupid cat was meowing at a fucking squirrel outside and woke me up!" Yeah--not quite the same as being up all night with a teething baby.

 Also, I don't have a nice, simple case of bipolar disorder. Not that bipolar disorder is simple to live with, so for fuck's sake don't leap down my throat, but hear me the fuck out. I have bipolar disorder compounded by borderline personality disorder. For those of you who don't know just what an abso-fucking-lute joy borderline personality disorder is, here's a pretty good description.

"People with BPD are like people with third degree burns over 90% of their bodies. Lacking emotional skin, they feel agony at the slightest touch or movement."

--Marsha Linehan

I found this picture on this page. This is your lucky day if you are looking for links to articles about borderline personality disorder! I'm just a regular fucking library!

Here is an excellent page about borderline personality disorder. I don't have an excellent page about trolls because "excellent" and "trolls" can't be used together in the same sentence, unless you are saying "here is an excellent way to kill trolls without leaving a mess." Then I would say that is an excellent page about trolls!

I suppose I may allow my blogs to appear on my profile again. I don't know. Fucking trolls. If I could make a Troll Eradication bomb, the world would be a far better place with more resources for all who remained. That would surely not be a bad thing.

Good Times Bad Times

How does my bipolar self handle finances?
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!

Like the Led Zeppelin song says, no matter how I try I find my way to the same old jam. And with this economy, I can't even afford to buy a new stove or refrigerator. Mine don't work. So I live on things like the Atkins shakes and bars. I go to see my son at night and cook a meal for us so at least I have one meal a day. My family doesn't know how bad off I am but I don't want to lose my home. So I don't say anything. Better living in squalor under my own roof than off the charity of others. Besides, I need my privacy.

You're Nuts: Lower Your Expectations

This is a response to a post by Melody at BP Hope, who once had a doctor tell her that she needed to adjust (translate: lower) her expectations for life because she was mentally ill.

Melody, when I was 16 I had a doctor tell me that I should forget about going into music or theatre because of my "nervous state." Get this: I was diagnosed as a "hysterical neurotic." What kind of stupid diagnosis is that? In later research of sexism and psychology I discovered I was doing one thing right in my lonely teenage nights: giving myself "hysterical paroxysms," which I was sure I was going to hell for! But seriously, it took 22 more years before I finally received an appropriate diagnosis of type II bipolar disorder. 

It is shocking that this dreadful, narrow minded thinking regarding "teh Crazees" persists into the 21st century. Apparently these so-called "professionals" would like to continue confining those with mental illness to attics and institutions. They don't even stop to think that maybe having a skill or profession that allows us to express ourselves in a positive way might be (gasp!) GOOD for us!

A Correlation Between Mental Illness and Addiction

This is a comment that I left on the Naming and Treating blog.

I have both a mood disorder (bipolar disorder type II) and two personality disorders (borderline personality disorder and OCD) and at this point in my life I can't tolerate alcohol even though I drank a lot when I was younger. I could always stop. This isn't to say the potential wasn't there as there are alcoholics on both sides of my family.

I imagine that similar areas of the brain may be "off" in both addictive personalities and mental illness but I don't know enough about it to say which areas these are. I do know that blaming and shaming never cured anybody of anything, so there needs to be a different approach.

A Lazy Post About Forgetfulness

This was a response to a post on my friend CJ's blog. The post was rather personal so I'm not going to provide a linkback.

The last five years of my marriage were impossible. I could do nothing right. My ex husband's pet names for me became "dumb cunt" and "stupid bitch." I actually get along with the man well enough now which is good for family solidarity and less stressful on our son, but those times were horrible. Once I said in frustration "what do you want from me? I'm trying my damndest to be a better person! I don't do drugs any more and I've cut way down on drinking." He sneered at me "well, instead of trying to be a better person, why don't you instead try not to be so damn FORGETFUL?"

I didn't know it at the time, but asking someone who's bipolar not to be forgetful is like asking a shark to become a vegetarian.It seems to me like this woman is impossible to please. I don't want to purport to offer advice exactly, but it's very distressing to be with such an inflexible person.

Personal Issues and Bipolar Disorder

Autumn is a nice trans-woman who is undergoing an important genital reconstruction surgery in the near future. She has cyclothymia (or, as she says, bipolar 2 1/2) and was addressing how this effected her choice of what particular type of genital reconstruction to get, opting for an orchidectomy. I do not claim to understand the details of gender reassignment surgery, but if you are or know anyone who is a male to female trans person, you/they may wish to check out Autumn's story here.

Good luck to you, Autumn. The thing that a person should do for themselves is to make the choice that's best for THEM, not to do what "everybody else" is doing. I give you my best wishes.

I can relate with the bipolar issue. I have type II bipolar disorder as well. There are certainly days when I think I'd forget my ass and my head if they weren't attached. As it is, there are days when I think I've managed to interchange them. I lived a number of years being shamed for being so "forgetful." I've had to learn to write things down--which is great, except for when I forget to write them down! ;-)

I am a natal woman (I like "natal" better than "cis") who has a lot of problems with her plumbing but is reluctant to get surgery of any kind. For now I've opted to just put up with the leaking from my bladder and to wear Poise pads. The medications to control this are all anticholinergics and I don't like my mouth and nose to be constantly dry, nor do I like constipation. The mesh that they use for urethral reconstruction has recently been dubbed problematic. So for now, no meds or surgery for this old kid!

I know your surgery is a far more personal thing than any of my "piddly" problems, but I can kind of relate. I give you a virtual purple heart for your heroism!

You'll Pry My Intellectual Brilliance from my Cold, Dead Brain!

I guess that there are people who argue that persons with bipolar disorder tend to be more intelligent than other people. I've actually never heard that argument. What I've heard is that there are a disproportionate number of people who would be ranked as intelligent who have bipolar disorder. I have also heard that bipolar disorder and creativity tend to be linked. Apparently creative pursuits access the same areas of the brain that are affected by bipolar disorder, so this would make a fair bit of sense.

I read an article which postulates that people with bipolar disorder are actually less intelligent than people who do not have bipolar disorder because we are cognitively impaired. And on this, I must disagree. I must also point out that while I disagree, I'm not ripping on the author because she wasn't being an asshole, she was simply pointing out her belief that there was no correlation between bipolar disorder and high intelligence. She herself lives with the disease.

Since I grew up believing that I was retarded due to being somewhat dyslexic, I refuse to have anybody take away from me the fact that I learned that I could pass the test to get into Mensa, much to my surprise. I opted not to join because I did not want to come off as an intellectual snob. I don't care for snobbery of any kind. 

I would argue that intelligence (IQ) and cognitive impairment are two different things. There are extremely intelligent people whose learning disabilities make it difficult for them to express their intellectual gifts to the world. I am not saying I am particularly gifted in any area because my thoughts do tend to be scattered and my attention span is terrible. I have OCD as well as bipolar disorder. I have often been accused of being a "space cadet." I have to write everything down, otherwise I'll forget to do it.

Nonetheless, I'm not letting anyone tell me I'm not intelligent. I spent too many years hating myself and believing myself to be stupid to allow that to happen.

Faycin the Failed Thief

This week's Writer's Workshop prompt is to write about a time you got in deep doo-doo as a kid.

As I mentioned in this post I've decided to continue doing the Writer's Workshops even though I guess I won't provide a link to my post there because while in a miserable mood I kinda made an ass of myself and said I was not going to participate anymore. I'd like to do it, it was kind of fun, but I really don't think I'm welcome after my meltdown. So no more trying to get new readers because I'm the kind of person that's a born pariah. I'll just do my thing and my -666 fans can continue to come visit me as usual. 

When I was twelve years old I was a very troubled young lady. I was not violent, I've never been the sort of person who even likes getting in a fist fight although I've been in a few. But I had started smoking weed and sneaking nips of alcohol. I started occasionally ditching class, and unfortunately I followed my friend "Junie's" lead and began shoplifting. 

Junie came from a troubled family: her parents' divorce had really unsettled the children. Her mother was angry and bitter and her father was negligent. Her little brother swore constantly and enjoyed playing pranks on his sisters. Junie's older sister compensated by being the "good, responsible one." Junie wasn't a bad kid, she was just unhappy. She was constantly teased for her weight and was a very lost soul. She compensating by engaging in activities such as smoking pot and shoplifting.

As I realize now, my own bipolar disorder had onset at puberty, and I wasn't a popular kid either. I was an ugly, awkward girl with long, greasy hair, acne, and buck teeth. I got picked on a lot too. In an effort to make myself seem "cool" I started trying to play the part of the "bad girl." Not sexually speaking, I was very inexperienced in that department and thought that a "blow job" was blowing in someone's ear. I had never even kissed a guy. I was afraid of sex, despite rumors that would later be spread about me. No, my goal was to appear to be "tough" so no-one would mess with me anymore.

It's kinda hard to look tough while wearing Martian headgear, but I digress.

One morning before going to school, I had a sore throat, so my mother gave me two bucks to get some cough drops. This was 1977, two bucks could buy you a box of Sucrets. So I went to the local drug store after school. When I got there, to my dismay, I discovered that I'd lost my money. Well, no problem for a slick five-finger discounter like me. I slipped the box of cough drops into my pocket and slipped out the door.

A few minutes after I'd gotten out on the street I heard a voice calling "excuse me!" I looked back to see a store clerk running towards me. Now, if I'd really been the smooth criminal I thought I was, I would have busted a move and run for it. I don't think this young lady would have chased me very far. But in reality I was a complete naífe, and I turned to her and said very cleverly:

"Yes?"

"Did you take something from our store?" she asked.

I even more cleverly responded "Uh..."

She reached into my coat pocket and brought forth the cough drops, then grabbed me by the arm and dragged me back into the store. People on the sidewalk were laughing, and I wanted the Earth to open up and swallow me.

Granted, I had done something wrong, but the security guard was one of the biggest cunts I had ever met. She shouted at me and berated me, calling me a little criminal. She told me to look at the camera so she could take my picture. I started to become defensive and told her I wouldn't. I sat with my arms crossed. She grabbed my face and squeezed my jaw in an attempt to force me to look at the camera while the clerk took the picture. 

"So you think you're tough, do you?" she yelled. "Well, we'll just see how tough you are when I call the cops!"

At that point the scared kid came out, begging her not to call the cops. Of course she did. The cop was much nicer than this bitch was. He saw me for what I was: a scared, troubled kid. He did not handcuff me. He let me ride in the front seat of the police car. I told him I was sorry, that I'd never done anything like this before. He said that he imagined I never would again either, that it was just a stupid mistake and to learn from it and not do it again. He was a nice fellow.

My parents were, of course, very upset with me, but in retrospect I think they overreacted and that their overly harsh punishment caused me to start disobeying even more. There was three months left of school and my father grounded me for all three of them. I think that a month would have been sufficient. I would have obeyed rather than sneaking away from school to meet friends and get high, pretending that I was "going to the library." My mother told me that the shoplifting would ALWAYS BE ON MY RECORD no matter what the cop said. He told her that it would be erased when I turned 18. She said that because of my indiscretion I probably would never be able to get a good job and would never be able to get into college. At that point, dumb though I was, I told her that I was sure other people had made stupid mistakes when they were twelve and that things turned out fine. Of course I got holy hell for mouthing off.

So, that was the experience that kicked off the beginning of my extremely troubled life as a teenager.

Faycin Goes Nuclear

I usually try to be polite and educate the general populace about the fallacy of stigma against the "freaks" of society, but the crotch who wrote this so-called "article" really rubbed the old crazy beeyatch the wrong way. I suppose my missive to her may be a tad juvenile and is definitely sarcastic but damned if I didn't want to slap her upside her so-superior "dynamo" head.

Well, so glad that you're not bipolar, Ms. Dynamo, because as everyone knows people who are mentally ill are lesser and just plain suck. I always hate it when the so-called "normal" populace takes a superior tone when it comes to mental illness. I have bipolar type II and was misdiagnosed for years because most counselors don't look for the more subtle signs. Bipolar II does not present with full-on manias, and while these "lame" quizzes may seem oh so trite to a perfect "dynamo" such as yourself, they might help a sick-o loser like myself seek for a better explanation than "you're just a little depressed and anxious and need to stop thinking the way you do."

Then again, it may just be that people like you are the reason that people like me need medication.

People like you are definitely the reason that I'm considering stopping receiving Blisstree in my feed. The articles here piss me off more often than not.

Faycin's Expert Opinion: Charlie Sheen and Bipolar Disorder

Take a look at this post on Pink is the New Blog to see the latest out of control behavior in Charlie Sheen's meltdown. As well, the news outlets have already prepared an obituary for him "just in case." I really feel for his family.

This was my commentary:

If Charlie isn't type I bipolar, possibly with psychotic features, I'll eat my own shorts after wearing them for a week! He may have been bipolar all along, which pushed him towards self-medicating that spiraled out of control, or the substances may have triggered the bipolar disorder. If the code is in the genes, this disease can be triggered at any time. He really needs help to get his life into balance or he is going to end up dead, no joke. He is manic, and these hangers-on in his life don't care if he ends up dead. I suppose he will have to hit rock bottom before he ever gets help--if he does then. It's really sad watching someone implode this way.

By the way, bipolar disorder is not funny, nor is it fun. I have the type II version which does not present with full manias but can throw one's life into turmoil nonetheless. Once the disease is recognized it can be controlled and a person can live a productive and reasonably balanced life. I hope that this can happen for Charlie.
The people he surrounds himself with don't give a rat's ass about him, they just want to be taken along for the ride. It is part and parcel of both addictive personalities and bipolar disorder to desperately crave more excitement than life on this planet tends to deliver. He really needs to be on a mood stabilizer. Of course that takes away the highs, but it also evens out the irritability and paranoia that are also part of both bipolar disorder and addiction. He needs to get rid of these parasites in his life. Of course he won't do that until he hits bottom and they scurry away to find a new host.