I'm tired, but don't feel like going to bed. I want to keep reading a book I've read before, on the couch in the living room, covered with an Indian print sheet of fabric I picked up in Galway. The quiet cleanliness of the living area and the sound of a light rain pattering on the poplar leaves outside is a balm on what ails me.

I don't really know what ails me. Nothing new, I suppose.

Cigarettes I light, burn too quickly in the ashtray. There isn't enough time from when I wake up to going back to bed to fit in all the leisure activities I want to indulge in. I guess this is where the wish to be independently wealthy comes in.

Grateful for joy in small places.
- I still have a carton of 'Irish' cigarettes left in the freezer.
- there was no ring on his left hand.
- my washing machine works perfectly.
- the water that comes out of the faucet is hot and ready.
- Matt gave us a preview of a track from upcoming album on his website.
- my living room is unpacked and I have a new reading perch.
- the wind billows the dining room curtains in a quiet wispy way.
- the rain.
- I have 14 new-to-me movies to get through.
- Bailey is starting to forgive me.
- my laptop still plays music to me, like a lover.
- I bought a new copy of Micheal Clayton and have watched it 3 times since I got home.

Above photo was taken shortly before we left Inishbofin to get back to mainland in Ireland. I lagged behind, smoking and taking photos. Thinking to myself. Lighting more cigarettes.

I'm told one will be in a funk after a vacation. While feeling not too bad, there are small periods of melancholy that sneak in. I take this to be normal. For me, anyhow. I catch myself planning another big move and mentally tell myself to stop, enjoy the current location as it's only been a couple of months and everything is good here (so far). I feel like a shark that can't stop moving.

I feel like I could like the taste of blood.

Labels: depression, joy in small places, melancholy, settling, settling in

Not really working on anything right now. I was actually looking at this photograph and missing the girl I used to be. That must be part of age, or maybe it's just egoism. I should embrace any changes that have been made to my molecular make-up and see them for what they really are: just a part of life.

But I hear the clock in this room ticking, and it feels like it's timing down to something. Like a quiet clicking race, one that I'm going to come last in. Then I feel like listening to The Tea Party, and my over-the-counter heartburn medication isn't working even though I've taken two tablets and it's supposed to be 'extra-strength'. So, I just sit here with the music on, lighting cigarettes from the ends of candles and trying to pick a movie to sleep with, but I can't because everything I've seen has already been seen and we all know what happens when they end.

My dreams are filled with the matching bed sheets of past relationships and the kisses of those that I coveted but never felt. Those pairs of brown eyes both exciting and disappointing me, at the same time. The sleeping pills maybe make these people more real than they actually were, and because it was so long ago, maybe that's true.

Or I feel like a keyboard you can click on, a link that leads you to spam pages and pop-up windows. Free cursors, smileys you don't want and ads for Viagra or penis extensions. Click, click, click. Close.

The dogs sleep at the foot of the bed, they don't know I will not be here on this day at the same time next week, that they will be sleeping alone with each other. And I wonder if they care. But that doesn't matter because that's just the way things are. That's just the way they are.

Labels: Apostle, depression, Gish, late night, melancholy, neurotic, pharmacology, sleep, underwater, we all lose in the end, writing, zopiclone

A live with a new laptop, at last. I'm not altogether too sure about the bonding process as there seems to be little quirks this laptop likes to through in at inopportune times. Maybe it's the brand, or the way I'm pushing it around so that it can resemble at least partly my old laptop.

Just dreams. Wishes.


That's Buckley, he's more interested in the ground these days. I don't really know if I have the heart to drag him to New York. All thoughts of Columbia are on the back burner for the time being. I'm half thinking of heading down that way within the next few months. Early, very early.

Or maybe Ireland. I know what it is. I just want to run away from whatever has it's hold on me here. The friends I thought I could count on have troubles of their own and I can't waste anymore of their times with telephone calls and emails.

Dinner with my sister today. We both left halfway through the meal. I'm considered rude and defensive. I think that some things should be left alone. There is no win-win here. It's like we're back to where we were before I had any kind of breakdown.

I knew it. True colours always bleed through, no matter who you think the person is.

Labels: depression, dinner, family, melancholy, New York, run, running

my hospital room
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

I've been purposly ignoring my ailing laptop these past few days. Save for checking email and a friends' website, I've mostly been watching tv or re-reading one of my countless books. And thinking. Always with the thinking.

Sometimes, thinking can take me to places I used to dream about. Sometimes, thinking can land me in the right place when I've done a wrong thing. For instance, taking your life. Ending it all. Offing yourself. Whichever phrase you use, it means the same thing in any language. And I've been known to try stupid things. Lots of stupid things. But I've also been lucky in that it only took until I was 31 to find out what the answer to all my stupidness *and* greatness stems from. I mean, I'm not a rockstar, nor a famous painter or photographer.

But I've got this brain that never seems to stop. From that, good and bad things happen. At this point in time, I'm focusing on the good things. Like this photograph of my nephew:

taken but his Aunt Niibin.

I also did a lot of thinking in the hospital. Not really much else one can do when they aren't allowed to leave. I've been thinking about Bipolar and my creativity. Or what to do with the issue of school. My family wants me to wait until I'm more 'settled' which seems silly to me. Why would one get settled only to up and leave again? Or a job. Or a real life, instead of the half life I was living.

I don't know the answers to anything small. I just have one big answer that I have to break down into something more manageable.

And dammit, I want to see some new live shows.

Labels: Daniel Johnston, depression, drama, family, how not to be an idiot, job, Matthew Good, nephews, neurotic, New York, photographs, photography

out of gas
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.
The level of fuel in my car is usually low, and now that I don't have a job, I've noticed the 'out of gas' light light up more often than as previous. But this time, I think I hit an all-time low.

This is where one can say, ah she's hit her plateau. What I would say in response is that there is no plateau for me. Not yet. I'm not running around with a sticker on my forehead that says I'm crazy, but on the other hand, close friends of mine know what's going on. Because there are quite a few hours I spent on my own, but do not recall, no matter how hard I've tried.

It's morning time, where I am. The air is a bit spoiled from the brewery behind my house. I live near the Labatt place and sometimes when the wind is right, you get a wiff of something that just makes you want to retch. The sun is out, and it feels like a cool Spring morning. The weather online say it is to thunder and storm later on. But looking out of my bedroom window, one wouldn't have any idea.

lying on the gurney, staring up at the blinding light. Thirsty. So thirsty. Nothing floating through my mind, with the exception of getting home as soon as possible. You weren't there, and neither was the other one. None belonging there, I suppose. It's been awhile since I've felt there was someone below to catch me with a net, like all those silly Saturday morning cartoons from 1983.

Only it's not 1983, it's 2007 and I have no excuse for my behaviour. I need to take responsibility for my actions, not my family and/or friends.

Oh, Interpol was just playing on my clock radio, and I had a sense of Deja Vu where it felt like I was living in the house I bought 2 years ago, but sold one year ago. Early mornings spent in the hammock with coffee and cigarettes. The knowledge that no one knew I was back there unless they came through the back yard.

I miss that house. But its just a material thing. And lately, there isn't much room for fancifull day dreaming.

Labels: depression, family, Gish, Matthew Good, underwater

Ok, so I don't want to make a big fuss about anything, nor do I expect anyone to fall at my feet because of what I am about to tell you.

ok, first things first. It's a cool Monday morning, and I've just brewed my first pot of coffee in my new coffee maker. Not a big deal, huh? It is to me when I realise I've never owned a coffee maker before, nor was I ever interested in the subtle differences in french roast, columbian picked, or fair trade coffee.

I wanted the Fair trade coffee but because of the price, settled for something a little different. French vanilla roasted beans that I ground up in the gorcery store while my older sister watched me with my new treat. I'm enjoying this cup of coffee now, even though there isn't an cream to be found in the house, so I must drink it black.

Bold, hearty and robust, and french vanilla-y, is how I would describe this coffee. Tasty, even without cream.

Ok, so I was diagnosed as being Bipolar type 2 last week. It took me a few hours to get used to the fact that I am now labelled as having a potentially serious mental health problem. When I say hours, I mean that I drove around saying 'holy shit' to myself in the car. Clutching a new bunch of prescription notes, I went to the pharmacy and had them filled. The bottles rattled around in my backpack like a new song.

As Mattie would say: I felt like I could potentially open my own pharmacy with the amount of prescription drugs I now take. This is bothersome for me, because apparently I will have to take this stuff in order to avoid any serious 'episodes' in the future. The language of Bipolar is interesting, as well. Episodes, disease, hypomania, 40% of Bipolar type 2 population attempt suicide.

So that's it. I have Matthew Good as a friend who understands what I'm going through, he knows the lingo, he understands about the drugs. He *gets* it. It's hard for me to explain, but I could be saying something and he'll finish the sentence. And that's comforting. I also have the goodwill of my family, mostly because I think for them it explains why I do a lot of the things I do.

And you know, I was going to make this a friends only entry, but now I'm saying Fuck it. I'm bipolar, big deal, so is half the population.

the end (for now)Love,Gish

Labels: bipolar, depression, family, Gish, habits, how not to be an idiot, inspiration, Matthew Good, neurotic

If photos were feelings, this is how I feel. This photo is from a couple of years ago. My slightly distracted/disinterested look while I suck back hot coffee.


london
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

It's only 10 p.m. and I am going to bed. I haven't been sleeping for about 2 weeks, and have instead been in a state of 'high as a kite', drunk off my ass, or cranky beyond belief.

Thinking it was a good idea, I tell a 'friend' he can come over and hang around the apartment. Now, I just want him out of my face, off my couch, out of the fucking house because the very pitch of his voice is driving me nuts. I'm nuts already, but I mean fingernails on a black board kind of way.

And it's hot. So hot that I just want to sleep in my underwear and not have to worry about how sexy or inviting I look, even though I feel the exact opposite. I have a bunch of movies I will put on before I fall asleep, ones I haven't watched in awhile. Based on Mattie's recommendation, I was trying to find Deadwood on dvd but haven't been able to track down season 1 yet.

Oh and the Sopranos. I can't tell if that last episode was really deep and totally flew over my head, or if they are just setting up for a movie. Movies of series are all fine and good, but you don't end the series which a freaking anti-climatic episode such as the last one of the Sopranos.

Kind of makes me want to watch M*A*S*H again, but on tv not on dvd. God bless Nick Drake. If that seems random to you, then I guess you don't know what I mean. *sigh*

Anyway, I'd better go. I have spare baggage that I am kicking out of my apartment and an early doctor's appointment in the morning.

Arg. go home.

Labels: depression, Gish, how not to be an idiot, Matthew Good, men, sex

weapon
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

here by my side, it's heaven
here by my side, you are destruction...

I'm not one of those girls that has a gazillion huge tattoos all over her body. I have 5 small ones, one is a drawing and is about 1.5 inches in size. The other four are choice words or phrases that I like and they are all hidden from view, or can be with bracelets.

For instance, the latest one is Weapon. I put it on my right wrist. We hurt other with our hands We type or write words that sting like nettle. It's also the title of my favourite song by Matthew Good. That song came from a time I believe as having woken up from a suburbia-induced coma. My right hand is connected to my heart.

The only problem with that is, once you're awake, you can't ever get back to sleep. careful...

I wanted to write something more whimsical, but I'm sleepy now. The telephone was ringing off the hook yesterday but I hid from it under the sheets. Today not such a good day, I guess I was crashing from the good days I had earlier this week. I feel as though I can slowly wind myself up in the red curtains Sylvia Plath was making when she killed herself. What a poet.

So...bed time.

Love, Gish

Weapon - Matthew Good

Labels: blue pills, depression, Matthew Good, melancholy, neurotic, photographs, song, Sylvia Plath, tattoos, zopiclone

Mother
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.
I took this photo a little while ago. The word 'mother' stood out to me. My mother is worried about me. I adore her, and it hurts me when she is worried. I'll talk about my mother in more detail at some point.

I've been listening to a lot of Matthew Good (for night time music) and Ani DiFranco (to get my Bitch on). Instead of cursing anything that has gone wrong the past month, I'm in the unique position (again) of concentrating on getting even, and looking at things to do that I would normally pass on.

The evil nasty down mood hasn't been around for a couple of days, I actually feel like my old self today. Yesterday was a little manic, I did some things pretty impulsive. I got two two new tattoos (small ones) for a very reasonable price at Addictive Tattoo here in London. I also bought some new skirts as the plan is to remain in skirts, tshirts and flipflops all summer. I also splurged on a manicure and pedicure (30 dollars) and some Starbucks coffee (which I normally don't bother with). I was a buying machine yesterday.

Today, I will see my two nephews, Riley and Danny for the first time in 2 years. I was able to work out an agreement with their father who used to be quite unapproachable (I think the court papers I prepared had something to do with it) and now, I and the rest of the family will have regular access to them. So, later on today I am sure my mood will change as I will have a lot of questions to answer.

The weather around here is on crack. 35 degrees one day, then 18 degrees the next. Consistency would be nice.

There are a few concerts I would like to attend this summer, but with having no job I doubt I will get out there. Buckley likes to eat watermelon, which I usually snack on before bed.

And thanks to Mattie, I have a thing for cheese now. Freshly grated Parmesan and asiago on top of any pizza I'm eating. I can only hope I do not move on to Tapas after this addiction, as I'm currently broke and can't afford such things *grin*

Anyway, my youngest nephew, Nicholaki is having a birthday party tomorrow, he turned 2 earlier this week. I got him a ball he can jump on. I better put a helmet on him, just in case.
Love, Gish

Labels: coffee, depression, family, Gish, habits, layers, Matthew Good, nephews, opinions, relationships, spending

sanctuary
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

I haven't had anywhere that I would particularly like to be. Not for a long while. No place to rest my head and feel that I was ok, normal, loved and most importantly, safe. This past year has meant a lot of changes for me. The first, obviously moving to this new writing space. Which I am still not sure I will maintain, future food for thought.

When I lost it, my mind I mean. I never thought I would have any kind of meaningful support other than an imaginary kindly old nurse that would pat my knee reassuringly while I was being fitted for the straight jacket. I know that in myself, in my speech and some beliefs I have, I perpetuate the old myths of mental health. I know this, it's not intentional, at the same time it's not something I can see changing any time soon.

Given the events of this past week, I now know a few more things. That when you check into emergency by sliding a note stating "I'm going to kill myself" across to the receptionist behind the bullet proof glass partition, they whisk you away only to make you wait in a chair next to a drunk throwing up what seemed like gallons of red wine two seats over.

From then on it was completely "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". You can all cheer and think it was a great thing when the indian guy broke the water fountain and walked away from the institution, but shit like that doesn't really happen. Instead, I was held in a room painted blue, they told me to put on the gown, I declined until further notice. I hadn't yet seen a doctor. The door, I remember, had a round fishbowl-like window in it, and they locked from the outside.

I lay down on the gurney, wrapped a sheet around myself and tried to be as small as possible until the ordeal was over. This is the latest in events that have been my effort to seek help for the severe depression I've been suffering.

I hear things like 'bi-polar', 'crazy', 'she's just one of those that are never happy people'. In ways I can't even explain, moods come over me and I'm helpless to stop or manage the emotions. It feels like I'm crazy, so I often refer to myself as such. It could be a lie, who really knows.

My family is angry and hurt that I didn't reach out to them for help. But even if I had, I wouldn't have had the words to tell them what's wrong.

I still don't.

Until then, I'm floating on a very thin carpet. I eat icy green grapes for dinner and pet Buckley whilst reading old Margaret Atwood books in the hope I make it through another night in my sanctuary.

Labels: cry, depression, how not to be an idiot, insomnia, layers, lockdown, lorazepam, Matthew Good, melancholy, neurotic, pharmacology, Sylvia Plath, writing, zopiclone