Epiphany #5

This “I’ll work on me, you work on you babe” while taking a break instead of just breaking up seems beneficial to our relationship.  We are actually talking to each other now and, in some ways, we are in a better place then we had been there for awhile. It is nice to remember what we like about each other, what attracted us to each other in the first place, and how much we actually do love each other.

I’ve been sharing my little epiphanies… from “I am here, I’m still me” to the “I don’t really know you” with a list of stupid questions like, “Do you own a cast iron skillet?” Yeah, there are a LOT of little things that I do not know about this man.

He got the point:  I need him to be a little more open and honest with me and he needs me to stop hiding aspects of myself that, for reasons real or imagined, I felt like he might not be able to handle it.

Where do we go from here? Who knows? Right now, it is just one day at a time.


LATER:  I was thinking about how to tell the new student doc assigned to me at the family clinic that when I ask for an antidepressant, I want a low dose SSRI, preferably Lexapro, NOT 300mg of Wellbutrin (way too much, that’s enough to send me over the edge so I’m NOT taking it) and suddenly, I got hit with Epiphany #5.

How do I tell him? He thinks I lost my me… oh my gosh!

That “strong vibrant woman” he met and fell in love with ye 3 to 4 years ago (I didn’t jot notes on a calendar or keep a diary) was riding a prolonged cusp on the edge of mania, self-medicating with 100 proof peppermint schnapps straight up (hey, alcohol is a depressant) plus Jacks & Coke and a few other things when we first got together.

I ended up back in therapy, bailed out and eventually crashed, series of harsh things took me down into depression… that’s easier to hide. I have a lot more experience going down. I blogged about some of it, from Wired in August 2015 on up past the new year, mixed in with other stuff.

So, basically, he has seen me up and seen me down, both ends of my mental health spectrum, but might not have realized it… stable is the middle ground. So he thinks I lost part of my me… that my stable me is missing something?

Epiphany #5 just opened a frikkin can of mental worms.

Stable me is NOT so vibrant. Stable me doesn’t drink, mainly because I know alcohol is a depressant and I tend to cycle down a lot more than I cycle up. Stable me is a responsible human being. Stable me doesn’t make as much art, doesn’t read poetry on street corners, doesn’t do wacky things.

Humm… I’m going to have to think about this for awhile before I venture to bring it up in conversation.

Thanks for reading!


Lost in a Blue Moon

Amazing what you find when you clean out and organize your work space… this is dollhouse size art, a little drawing done in Faber-Castell Polychromos (oil based colored pencils). Since I could not recall the original title, it was renamed “Lost in a Blue Moon” because the girl looks so sad.

Thanks for looking!


Little Changes

Chin up and Cheerios, to hell with resolutions… it’s time to make some little changes.

I put a work table in my office, still have some boxes stashed in there that need unpacked, but I need to start making art again.

Doc added Welbutrin to my med mix to kill two birds with one stone as that anti-depressant should also help reduce nicotine cravings. I’m not allowed to drink while I’m on that and I still have about three inches left in a pint of Rumple Minze that I stashed back to have something to toast in the New Year, so pills can wait until January.

I’ll be so glad to see the holidays over. Christmas was not a good day for me.

Like, on what planet is it okay to wake up in your girlfriend’s bed on December 25th and not give the woman you supposedly love a present? It doesn’t have to be extravagant or expensive, just some little something that says “hey babe… this reminded me of you… I thought of you…” Hell, it could be a used coffee mug or a 75 cent sherry glass from a thrift shop, one frikkin pencil, or even a wrapped up candy bar. Anything… after all, it is the thought that counts.

If it’s the thought that counts, giving me nothing makes me wonder if I count.

I’ve racked my brain trying to figure it out… stepped back, looked at the bigger picture. There’s some strange dynamics going on… as far as I can tell, I somehow inherited some agreement from his previous relationship, perhaps made in lean times, to focus on children and now that the children are raised, the focus is on grandchildren.  I know he gave money to the mommies to buy gifts for young ones… but he did not exchange gifts with anyone, not even his adult daughters. I am the only one who gave him a gift… wasn’t much, just a scarf, but that’s really kind of messed up.

Yes, the whole Santa thing “is for children” and the holidays are way too commercialized, but damn it… my inner child wants to open a present on Christmas day.

I did not say anything… we did not discuss it, still haven’t… he gives me gifts on other occasions, perfume for my birthday, came in today with a blood pressure monitor that he ordered from a catalog, so I don’t get the Christmas thing.


LATER:  New Year’s Eve was a quiet, sober night at home. He said that he wanted to be asleep before midnight, but ended up picking on me, yakking on his phone, and watching television. He was playful, not mean… but to hell with any fantasy of bringing in the New Year right.

I’m up in the wee hours…  between the “I’m watching that” basketball game and his snoring like a freight train (obviously not watching that) and a few tears on my pillow, I had enough… got up, found my pint, poured a cup of coffee, and started a new drawing. Couple hours later, he’s breathing easy and the TV is off. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.


Here’s the start of the new drawing, quick snap by cell phone. It’s so not done yet… just laid in some colors along an idea of sweeping changes through my life. Thanks for reading.