This whole blog isn’t actually going to be about lies I tell myself. Because I realize I have to give an update on What Happened to Deanna.
Deanna had an interesting conversation with a police officer and then an interesting conversation with some people in an ambulance and is right now in the hospital, and has been there for a little over a week. We found out through the Vancouver Police. So she’s in a safe place, and I’m mostly concerned with her health and what she will do after she is released. I hope she’s done camping with Occupy just because I think it’s better for bipolar folks who need proper sleep to spend her nights with a roof over her head and a decent bed with enough blankets. My first manic episode was escalated in part to the fact I was sleeping on a thin skinny child’s bed for weeks and weeks. Also all that effexor pushed me over.
That’s the thing, people want to blame the pot for me being crazy but my use has been pretty consistent for years and the main things that caused my manic episodes was all that effexor and the second time it was me going off my meds. Oh yeah and both times I went crazy I was also falling in love and THAT fucks me over sometimes. Love is really stressful. I think I could fall in love now and not get all fucked up though, because I’m on meds that work.
My antipsychotics are SO POWERFUL that they render the effects of mushrooms to absolutely nil! There’s absolutely no point in me doing psychedelics anymore. So I don’t.
I guess it’s a good sign. Especially since if I run out of meds or forget too many days in a row I start hearing music in the white noise. Ooooh I hate that feeling!!! I KNOW deep in my heart of hearts that I am hearing it because I am CRAZY and sometimes I strain really hard to hear English words in it, but I never do. I’m not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing. The only thing that reassures me is knowing I at least have the insight still to resume taking my medication as soon as I am due for the next dose. Whew!
Life’s crazy when you’re a crazy person. Weird shit happens.
Oh yeah, but lies I tell myself.
There are some lies I tell myself, to try and make myself be better. One of them is that if I quit smoking, my ex will take me back and we will have a real relationship finally with long range plans and a King sized bed and a blended family of cats and dog. With such a great fantasy reward, you would think I would have quit smoking by now. But it’s not true, which I know, so it hasn’t really made me as committed to quitting. I should really be focused on my main concern about smoking, which is that I don’t want to get cancer and die a painful death relatively young. I would like to make it at least to 70! 80 even! After that I don’t care. Geriatric chronic conditions suck. Alzheimer’s, Osteoporosis, ugh! But I can at least do all I can now to be healthy. I already do so much just to have proper brain health. But then I smoke and could blow out an artery in my brain with a stroke and be dead or crippled. Aaaaaaaaah! I WANT TO QUIT! It’s not worth the little buzz you get. Cigarettes deaden taste and smell and make me less kissable. Wah!
What other lies do I tell myself?
I tell myself that I just have to make amazing art and everyone will want to give me money and help me live as a full time artist. But that’s not true either. I don’t know many people who can live as full time artists.
Today my mom asked me, “What would be better for you? To have a job or to have your own business?” And I said “I think to have my own business because then I can take time off to go do residencies and stuff.” And I think it’s true. I really have to do some cpr on my fledgling business. I need some clients. That’s really the only thing in my way. I should get some cards made.
I might be digitizing some material for someone soon. That would be good, I could get a bit of money into my business bank account.
I tell myself all kinds of lies about how I could be a better person to be an appropriate partner for my ex, but it’s all so ridiculous. Quitting smoking is the least of them. I also think about doing grand projects like making a feature film with some underpaid actors and my video camera and entering it into Cannes and winning the Palm D’Or. And I think to myself “That will show her I have ambition!” And in my head I am shaking my little fist heavenward.
My Mom recently told me Lady Gaga lives with her parents too, even though she has all this money. I think she is telling me that to make me feel less weird about living in her house. And now also living with my cousin Steven and his kid. It’s a multigenerational household! :O
I feel dubious as to how many dates I can realistically score while I am living at home. I’m allowed to bring girls home, I have in the past, I don’t feel weird about it. But the ladies feel weird about it. That’s what I think, anyway.
I think I will fail at bettering myself if I am just chasing an elusive relationship that’s never going to happen. I need to be more focused on making my life count whether or not someone else is in it.