Sex

I've been blessed with great sex for the past few days. Hooray for me! My husband has been acting the big stud, and I am quite convinced. Of course it helps that The Boy has been working and we have had some uninterrupted hours in which to play. Gotta love adult play time.

I did not get very into sex until I was with the man who is now my husband. We started our relationship kind of as a one night stand of exceptional and prolonged activity. Then I came back for more, and more. My first marriage was on the rocks after my ex's disclosure of pedophilia, so I never even felt guilty about carrying on an affair. So gentlepeople (and those not so gentle) it does go to show you that fantastic sex and extramarital affairs can lead to committed relationships.

Of course, after the initial explosion of constant, wanton sex, we did slow down. Once the kids moved in with us it got even more rare. But it was always good. For a while I was on Paxil for depression. This was before my pdoc figured out that I was bipolar. For those who are not familiar, treatment with SSRI anti-depressants and no mood stabilizer for someone with bipolar disorder can push said patient into rapid-cycling. Lucky me. So now, instead of a fairly predictable cycle of depression and mania, I have these very unpredictable and mixed episodes. So much fun. But back to the sex.....

On Paxil I was completely without sex drive. I remember breaking down and crying one day and explaining to my husband that I understood if he needed to pursue a sexual relationship outside of our marriage because I was completely incapable of fulfilling his needs. He just held me quietly for a moment before he kissed me tenderly and assured me that he had no problem waiting until I was ready. And eventually, after stopping the Paxil (and suffering a week of hellish withdrawal) we had a marathon weekend of sex, as my sex drive came back with a vengeance.

So sex has been on again, off again with us mostly because of my bipolar disorder. When I am down I have very little sex drive. But when I am manic I am insatiable, and crazy. But you can't have it all.

Right now, I am un-medicated and the sex has been fantastic. Well, not completely un-medicated. The Herb has been my friend, keeps the highs and the lows away much more effectively than lithium ever did. Lets me sleep too. Without any medication I lay awake, sometimes all night long. I have gone for months without sleeping the night through. I have gone for several weeks several time without any sleep. That is a very surreal experience. But I am getting off topic yet again...

But wait... so much writing.... not enough activity....

The Conversation

Had a talk with My Friend And Neighbor Next Door (Foliwoman allow me to use your fantastic method of initializing people's names) MFANND. Over a couple of margaritas for me and rum and cokes for him, the discussion became animated. I do love a good debate.

He took the position that there is a life after this one, and that influences his decision to live a good life. Naturally, I had to take the opposite view that there is nothing after this life. I live a good life because I want to, because I choose to and because it makes me feel go to do so. As the discussion continued MFANND get agitated and even upset that I did not believe in any afterlife or god. He suddenly stopped and said "Now, I know why you want to die.... you have no hope."

Well, OK, maybe that is true. I suppose one reason that religion is so successful in all it's permeations is that it is intolerable for most of us to believe that this is all there is. We need a reason to do good. We need to believe that all of the evil in the world, children dying, rape, murder and injustice will somehow be atoned for in some glorious and happy afterlife where the good will be rewarded and evil punished. It is appealing. But just because we wish it to be so, does not make it so. Religion was created by man as a way to control other men. You will behave because the god(s) are watching. Even if you get away with evil in this world, god will get you in the next because god sees all. How appealing. How controlling. A perfect social engineering solution. Never to be proven, or more importantly, disproved.

But, does not believing in god and the afterlife cause one to have a surfeit of hope? Is that why I place such a small value on my life? Is that why suicide is constantly on my mind as an acceptable and normal solution? Hmmmmmmmm, something to think about.

One Week To Go

I gave my husband a deadline a month an a half ago. If things do not improve with The Boy, I am moving out. Not in a separation prior to divorce moving out. No this was to be a refuge, a home away from home. I needed a place I could go when I just couldn't handle The Boy anymore.

I know, I know, it is a bad thing. I am weak. But in my defense, at the time I felt very unstable mentally. I have always struggled with my mental illness and had gotten to the point, yet again, where suicide was looking oh so inviting. I thought that maybe a place of refuge would help me avoid that particular low spot in my life. Needless to say, and yet I say it anyway, my husband was not in favor of the idea.

So it is one week to go. Things are looking up. The Boy is becoming more like a human being and less like an angry orc. He really is a fantastic human being when he chooses to be. I guess he is really a fine orc as well, if you like the orc thing. Me, I'm not really into the orc thing. I prefer cats. Much more cuddly.

Solving The World's Problems

Every one has been there. You are at a party, imbibing whatever social lubricant you enjoy. After an hour or two when everyone is relaxed and open, but people haven't gotten too stupid yet, it is time to Solve The World's Problems. Some topic comes up and people debate and express, emote and berate. Eventually this devolves into a shouting match with possible pushing and shoving, or people realize that indeed we cannot solve the world's problems. But it is so much fun to try.

So the topic the other night was prison reform. At least it started as prison reform, but I quickly got off the subject of cable TV for prisoners and onto social reasons that prison is used as a method of punishment. I believe that prison is not so much about justice as it is about retribution. Prison gives us a way of exacting revenge as a society while maintaining our superiority as enlightened individuals. After all, we do not chop off hands or feet in punishment of crime. We do not stone women who have had the audacity to be raped. We do not beat women who dare to show a little leg should they trip and fall on the way to the market. No, we send people to prison who smoke marijuana to relieve pain. We imprison those who have mental illnesses that leave them less capable of being responsible members of society. We imprison men who grew up suffering intolerable abuse and neglect and who later commit terrible crimes.

What to do, what to do. I have no idea. But I do know that desperately holding onto our illusions of justice is a bad thing. As a society we talk about rehabilitation in the same sentence in which we talk about meting punishment. Does anyone else see the problem here? You cannot rehabilitate and punish at the same time. The purpose of imprisonment, society's legal revenge option, is not to make the criminal into a better person. Imprisonment as a form of punishment is used to force the punishee to consider their actions and atone. They are to suffer for their sins. And yes, let us bring in the religious connotations because religion and imprisonment go hand in hand. Imprisoning criminals makes society feel better. It is a catharctic release. We temporarily remove a problem citizen and life is oh so much better. I hear people positively gloating as they imagine the conditions a prisoner will face. They want these men to suffer abuse and rape. They want pain and suffering to rain down on him as he rained suffering down on them.

Well, OK. I can see wanting violent criminals to suffer. Rape and abuse is over the line though. But what about non-violent criminals. What about people who had the misfortune to be born into bad circumstances? What about the mentally ill and those who grew up in abusive homes? What about those who are in prison for simple possession crimes? I think we should have two justice systems in place. One should be a rehabilitation system. Petty crooks, drug addicts, mentally ill, severely abused etc should be given an opportunity to recover and better themselves. We should do this, if for no other reason than to turn them into producers in society instead of consumers. Come on, my taxes are high enough, let them help.

And the big, bad meanies? Short of chopping off limbs..... prison is all we have. Or is it? Who has figured out the solution the this problem of the world? Come on, have a drink or two and respond.

Sunday Morning

Everything seems possible on Sunday morning, especially when I don't have to work. So twice a month, the day stretches into an infinity of possibilities. And then life hits me upside the head and we get back to normal. But on those lazy Sunday mornings, about the 3rd or 4th cup of coffee when my thoughts really begin to race and I talk way too fast, I make the most grandiose plans for the upcoming day, week, month, lifetime, and sometimes next couple of lifetimes. I can be very productive on coffee.

I just realized that it is Saturday. Think I need more coffee.

Family Mottos

When I was growing up my parents attempted to impress all of their knowledge and values into my tiny, developing mind. And although I do remember things like, "stove hot, don't touch", "never wipe with leaves that look like that", and "always hire the best, most unscrupulous lawyer you can for a criminal defense". I think what really sums up my parent' s important knowledge are the two family mottos I gleaned.

From my father's more bohemian youth, I learned "All Things To Excess!" I really like this one. I never do something half-assed. This works well in employment. I really work my ass off. It works less well with some forms of experimentation. Some things are best done in moderation. But over all, All Things To Excess has done well for me.

My mother on the other hand, was much more practical. "Never Pass Up An Opportunity To Pee" Words of wisdom indeed, especially when dealing with small children, or while on a pub crawl.

I live my life by these two mottos, and when they are not appropriate for the situation, well.... I have disappointed my parents before, they will eventually get used to it.

Little Old Ladies

Note to self - don't post while intoxicated. Not only is it more difficult to say what I want, but I also sound like an idiot (well, more of an idiot than usual).

Feeling better today. Honestly, sometimes the Herb works better than anything else. Either that or I am cycling back out to some kind of normalcy. Worked a long day for a Little Old Lady. If I can feel normal after a full day of dealing with a LOL, then things must be better.

Not much to say. Waiting to see if this cycle is really leveling out or if I am in for a roller coaster ride. Wish there was a way to know for sure. Come on all you doctors out there, there has got to be something better. There has to be a way to treat this disease in such a way that the cure leaves one fundamentally altered. Every medication I have tried has had such pronounced side effects that the "uncured: state is often preferable to the "stable" one. Well, preferable to me. I know my family prefers me to be medicated. With all the money being spent to improve erectile quality, length, girth and lasting power.... how about a pittance more to allow some of us to be full time productive members of society.

Rant complete. For now.

Self-Medicating... Self-Abuse

So after all that happiness and light....


Still off all medications. Not quite stable. But I am still committed to giving this lithium free life a shot. I still see this as a temporary thing. I don't think I can last like this. I don't think I can fake it forever. At some point I have to commit to living or dying. I am however, on the fence right now.

I think of suicide like dating. When one first starts to "date" as a teen, one starts with holding hands and other fairly innocuous stuff. It may take months or even years to progress to that stage with the first boyfriend (or girlfriend). Then one gets a new Significant Other and one progresses down the physical relationship path much faster. One gets to 2nd and 3rd base much faster. Where exactly are 2nd and 3rd or 1st for that matter? I am pretty sure I have a handle on a home run, but the rest of the baseball analogies escape me. By the time we reach late adolescence and young adulthood, it is not unusual to get heavily physical very quickly. Each relationship moves us down the path much faster than the one before. We start at a more advanced stage and more readily move forward.

That is my relationship with suicide. At first I just flirted. Coy looks and dark thoughts preoccupied my days and nights, but that was about all. Then more serious, talking with others and planning were hallmarks of my path. Now after a couple of "failed" attempts, I feel close, naked in bed, with death. I may not actively want to die on Monday, but I know that I can be carnally attached by Wednesday. From what I understand, most normal people don't feel like this. Most of them don't even want to die most of the time. Must be something...... wanting to live. Wow.

So I have been "self-medicating". Although, lets be honest. I have been drinking and using "performance enhancing" herbs. Self-medicating? No. Simple escape. I recognize that, but it does not change my habits. No, my self-medicating involves a razor blade or scalpel dragged across my skin. The pain is a better anti-depressant than anything else I have ever tried. But of concern to me is the depth I have been cutting and wanting to cut recently. Before a simple line of blood was enough, now I need to have a crimson wash down my arm. Maybe it is simply another step in my dance with suicide. Maybe I am that much closer to being ready. I hope so.

Anyway, a link for those who believe that substance abuse is bad for the mentally ill. To add to the hundreds of sources that say it is bad, I have one that says it may not be so bad. What a ringing endorsement.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/4606475.stm


When our own words fail us we turn to the poets, and so as Langston Hughes wrote in a poem entitled Advice

Folks I am telling you
birthing is hard
and dying is mean
so get yourself
a little loving
in between.

Indeed...

Stupid People Tricks

I am a contractor by trade. Not a lot of women in my field of work, but I kind of like it that way. I like being a barrier breaker for womankind. I like it even more when I see some of the stupid things some homeowners and landlords do to their properties. Really the only amazing part is that more homes don't fall on people's heads or burn to the ground.

One of my favorite calls was from a man who said he needed work done on his roof. I went to take a look, and sure enough his roof was not in good shape. It was bowed in the middle, at least a foot and a half lower than at either end. He informed me that this had "just happened" and he had "no idea what could have caused it". At this point the man's wife comes out to talk to me. She informs me that her husband and his friends got drunk the night before and took a chainsaw and interior wall to enlarge the family room. At this point the husband gets a guilty look on his face and disappears. The wife and I go inside to look at the damage. Sure enough, her lovable spouse has removed about 10 fee of load bearing interior wall. Not only that, but as he indiscriminately cut through the wall, he cut though electrical wire feeding power to about a third of the house. Apparently, the only thing that stopped the boys from cutting more was the arrival of the wife home from her swing shift at the hospital. Unfortunately, she did not arrive soon enough. I took the job and permitted it. An inspector showed up and declared the house uninhabitable until the work was complete.

People think that home repair is easy and that all projects are DIY. I blame it on The Home Depot, Lowes and all the so-called Home Improvement stores. Not everything is DIY. One should avoid taking out load bearing walls in one does not know what one is doing. Playing with live 220 wire is not a good idea either. Plumbing should not be done by people who think that water should flow uphill because they want it too. Decks should not be built by people who do not understand basic engineering principles. Are these things complicated? Of course not, but just as I would not perform "routine" surgery, there are some "routine" repairs that should not be done by an unqualified person.

Sorry for the rant. There have been a lot of stupid people calls this week.

On Fencing and Tennis Balls

Sorry for the lack of posts this last week. I haven't felt up to it. And I didn't want to spend all my time blogging ranting and crying and wanting to die. Because, let's face it, that is just a drag. Hopefully this current cycle of rapid-cycling is tapering off.

But what I really wanted to talk about today is the prevalence of fencing in our society. This sport can be found on any street one walks down. Many times evidence of extensive fencing is plainly visible. This teasing, potentially violent sport is indulged in by young and old, male and female alike. I admit that even in my own household, fencing occurs with a rabid, frenzied violence that I would find highly disturbing anywhere else. As it is, I find fencing highly amusing. In fact, I love sitting on my front porch after a long day at work ale in hand, watching my dog fence with my neighbor's puppy. My normally quiescent dog gets a positively wild look in her eyes as she bounds up and down my neighbor's fence trying to get another dog to bark. After a while, I let my neighbor's dog out and the two of them run around my front yard drooling on each other (it is important to have a large bucket of water for this phase to encourage good drool and slobber production). After a while one of the dogs will find a Tennis Ball. Normally, neither cares a whit about tennis balls, but if another dog has one, the Tennis Ball becomes all important. They will run each other ragged stealing the Sacred Tennis Ball from each other. And I, I just sit sipping my ale, knowing that today I do not have to take her for a walk.

So, there is my silliness for the day. For later, some stories about gratuitous stupidity, and the (mostly) men who do them.

History

I read the news this morning and saw one of the almost inevitable columns about a sex offender who preys on children. Automatically I looked to see if it was my ex-husband.

I married, for the first time, when I was a naive 18 year old. I divorced 3-1/2 years later, after I discovered that my husband..... how to put this delicately.... Preferred his women to be prepubescent. He had 12 (yes twelve) felony convictions to his name. Convicted at age 17, his records were sealed and he did not have to register as a sex offender. What genius judge thought this was a good idea.... And how could I have not known. Thank God we never had children. I still feel violated, knowing I had sex with and loved a convicted pedophile.

Last I heard, he was trying to become a police officer. It frightens me. It should probably frighten many. He probably is a cop now. I wouldn't be surprised if he uses his position to abuse kids. I really don't want to know. I am still afraid of him.

Suicide

I don't know that I will ever be able to go through with the act. I think too much about it. I think about how it would affect my husband. I don't know that it would really affect anyone else. My family already believes I am bound for Hell. I am, after all, a lapsed Catholic in a family of extremely conservative Catholics. I lived with a man for several years before I married him. I will never have children. I do not attend church. And although I have the deepest respect for the Catholic faith, I do not believe.

So suicide would merely confirm what my parents and siblings have always known. Suicide would definitely end the pain for me. I would cause some concern for my friends. But people move on. In a year, no one would remember me. My husband would be devastated. But his kids would take it in stride, maybe even be relieved.

So why can't I do it? God knows I've tried. But I will have to do better than the half-hearted attempts. All I have had are failures. And why is it that a suicide where one kills oneself is "successful", while an attempt that does not result in death is a "failure"? Now I have never had any attempts that ended in hospital. The closest I ever came was with a misfiring bullet. Dragging a razor up my arm has resulted in lovely scars, but I never seem able to cut deep enough. Attempted overdoses result in staring at the bottle in disgust with myself, and never taking the damn pills. Over the years, I have come to realize that I will always be a failure when it comes to suicide. And I know that my desire to suicide is not actually a desire to die, but a need to make the pain stop. I would be quite happy to make it stop any other way.

OK. This is quite rambling. I don't know why I am even talking about this now. I am trying to make a go of it without the meds. The last thing I need is to dwell on suicide. But it is always on my mind. Is that normal? Do normal people think of suicide every day? Do they want to die all the time? Something makes me this way, and I keep thinking that if I can just put my finger on it, those thoughts will disappear.

So I will continue to do the only thing I know. I will act like everything is fine. Try to hide depression and psychosis from all around me. And hope that by living a life that appears sane and normal, I will become sane and normal. Nothing to lose. The worst that will happen is that I will jump off that bridge. And really, that's not so bad.