… Now I better go lie down for thirty minutes before I start crying again. Yep, in half an hour I am scheduled to get a call from one of the many places I’ve called this week while searching for a new therapist. This will be an evaluation call.

Oh yeah, the thank you once again. I wanted to thank everyone that replied and gave their insight in the post “A Disclaimer and a Serious Question for My Fellow Beeper (BP), Borderline (BPD) and Other Mental BLoggies”.


Search Terms from the Searchers, a Sneak Peak of the Day  

realistic 3d animation 5
stony funny avengers 1
don’t cry say fuck you and happy 1
you don’t know me 1
melancholically 1
you don’t know me 1
picasso manic 1
loki avengers puppy 1
flacid ass 3

I just had to post this because this young woman said what I’ve been wanting to say to my family, this in particular:

“To my family, to my friends, to you, to those I cherish, those who were there when I could not love myself, I thank you for loving me anyway. Your love kept me alive when I couldn’t survive on my own. But your love wasn’t enough. I thought love would heal me, I thought faith would restore me. I thought hope would find me, and maybe it did. Maybe it kept me alive. But fifteen years worth of internal contortions, intense pain and battles that raged on in the privacy of my own head were no match for the virtues I tried so desperately to cultivate…And you ask yourself over and over again, when love seems to fail, where is the answer?” ~Amanda Wang is the lead organizer of RethinkBPD, a peer-led advocacy and support group for Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)


This Rethink BPD Series video also reminds me of how I’d ironically said I thought L had BPD even before I’d found out about my diagnosis. This video in particular moved me. As Elaine point out, it IS strange to say that “Love isn’t enough” because our intuition tells us otherwise. And then I have to wonder, why? I think maybe it isn’t that love isn’t good enough, it’s just that the love we think we give isn’t enough for the nature of the beast. Yes, “all you need is love” as the Beatles song goes. I love that song and I hold the words as truth.

But why would a borderline say, “your love wasn’t enough?”

Allow me to attempt toexplain. Love is an undefinable thing first of all: I can love a lover, I can love myself and I can love life and I can love to love. And well, shit if she couldn’t love herself as we–all of us, but in particular borderlines often do at the depths of depression–can’t “love ourselves” then all other forms of love are out of the question.

Our various expressions of love are different. For my dad, it is to say, “I love you, to cook dinner for me, to give me a big hug and a kiss and to say I love you again,” why isn’t that enough? Well, the nature of my beast denies it. That’s not the same as being ungrateful. No, it’s far more twisted than that. Then there’s the need for validation again–of pain, the need for understanding. That’s the love I have not gotten in many instances.

So when this young woman says, “your love wasn’t enough” she’s not saying that the fact that they loved her wasn’t enough. She’s sayin (and I’m only interpreting here from my own experience) that the nature of the beast wasn’t being cared for in that expression of love. It’s not so much the love, but the expressions people make of that love and the “borderline’s” interpretation of that love.  It’s expression of love in simple kisses and hugs for me was SEEMINGLY not enough. It’s the expressed contradiction of that love in little things with all the small passive aggressive words for example. It’s the love and the trauma. It’s all the black and white! And I say seemingly because I think to an extent it is only what it seems and it isn’t anything at all unless you recognize it, unless you bring it out of nothing. It’s like the elephant in the room.

This statement she made was obviously an oxymoron and a paradox because although, their support (an expression of love) or vise versa her love for them and not wanting to hurt them deterred her from suicide, it was still not enough. Not enough for what? For recovery? Define recovery. And what is this “not enough” if she’s still here like I am still here? She’s survived thus far!

UGggh. I’m running in circles with this. It’d be so much easier if I were just a puppy running in circles and chasing my tail instead of running in circles with this.


I went swimming today again, but more on that later. I think it’s just about time for another one of my Good Lists.


May is Borderline Personality Disorder Awareness Month.

…and thought, “What’s the point?”

Yeah, I’m in a shitty mood. Very shitty. This fuckin’ relapse period needs to end soon. I’m sick of it, been sick of it, been done being sick of it. I’m trying to hold on but the thread feels so thin. And I’m not a spider.

So I wrote a poem.

Progress came to mind in a large scale but also in a small scale–inner and outer, yours and mine. And I think, “fuck it!”

I thought about how much I used to be involved in activist organizations and how even though that helped, I would eventually crash. And I’ve realized how I long for the involvement but how crippled I feel and how trapped in myself I’ve been after everything that’s hit me this year (guys this mental crippling is far worse than the bone condition that has me using a wheelchair).

I don’t care to know what’s going on in the world when I’m depressed (am I depressed?), much of it is because the world can be so depressing and I don’t want to set off my piss-o-meter. But know it’s a perspective. What I know and what I feel and think to know can be so, uhhh, dissociated? Everything seems so foreign, unreal. I’ve been living in a dream again.

I feel like crying but my well is dry.

The more hopeless you feel, the less you think you can do something to change anything. False beliefs. What is reality but what’s in you? As Anais Nin said, “the world is not how it is but how we see it” or something like that. I have the full quote in my Shenanigans page.

It’s a cycle for me, a circle–to jump into the spotlight with others, to embrace this world, to help others, then run away and hide in myself, my womb, not allowing myself to be helped. I am in my own utero, a baby, only allowing myself to be nourished there. Problem is, I don’t have enough to nourish myself. I need more nourishment. I need the nourishment of this Earth, of others. And what of others? You don’t want others. That’s what the Pretty Little Demons (PLDs) say.

Once again, months ago, I become hallow into myself. I’m hollower still.

A need for self-destruction… A ridiculous mind game those PLD’s play.

I must be a cocoon ready to kill the worm inside of that which I am, rebirth the self, re-invent, recreate, reopen.

I’m tightly sealed. There is no drawbridge, only walls. Am I in a cocoon?

I hope so, better than a bricked dungeon, better than steel chains.

I can only hope.

Then, as usual these days, I had the breathtaking, heart-curdling anxiety and the stomach churns when I got out of bed. My chest hurts and I feel like vomiting.

I ate breakfast and still feel like vomiting. Every morning it’s been like this.


Off I go to make some more calls in search for a therapist. At this very moment, THAT is progress.


Here’s another woman, like Anais Nin, another woman I admire: Camila Vallejo.

addendum: Today is Memorial Day. Realized that after the third call was picked up by an answering machine. Ooops. Silly mouse. In that case, I’ll dedicate my last poem to those who’s lost their lives, been wounded (physically and mentally) and who’ve survived senseless battles.

And as far as finding a therapist, well shit, I’ll have to try tomorrow dammit!


May 28, 2012

I took the liberty and
stillness faded,

set into sinuous

For the love of what?

isn’t bred.

© paz

May 27, 2012

Thank you for sharing this Sailor. Made me laugh. This is one of my favorite childhood movies! It took me a dozen views to realize the giant dog is actually a DRAGON! (I’m a little slow sometimes.) And the part when Artax dies is so sad, but even then I didn’t cry, even if I wanted to because I was “THE MEAN CHALLENGER!” Actually, I might have cried just a little. I mean Atreyu’s horse dying is just too sad. Any horse dying is just too sad. And is it just me, or is the “NOTHINGNESS” that takes over the land, that Atreyu and Bastian and all the other creatures have to conquer a pretty deep metaphor? I always took it as those feelings of emptiness, inadequacy, lack of compassion, etc. Damn, sorry, overanalyzing; maybe it’s the film student in me. Ugh, I want my own Falkor too!

So back in May 18th, if I’m not mistaken, Joy and Ruin (J & R) nominated me for the One Lovely Blog Award. Thank you for considering me J&R! I’m honored, tickled and still abashed.

Bloggies, J&R can write! He writes lovely poems and short/flash fiction pieces! I tell you! I mean damn good poems. And I know good poems when I read them, so that means you should go over there and read. Do you like the Misfits? Do you like poems? Well, get on over there!

Anyway, I didn’t want to take the award at first (well I was just waiting to take it later hehehe) because that’s around the time I started fighting with my blog, and then Mouse had to go and start playing with the PLDs, making them more cosy in my skull and shit. Fuckin’ Mouse! Ugh, they’ve made a mess in my head I tell ya–cigarette buds everywhere, pizza boxes, bread crumbs, ping-pong balls all over the place, beer bottles, knives, charred wood and glass, shitted toilet paper overflowing the trash cans, vomit, needles and other drug paraphernalia and they leave the lights on all night not caring about conserving energy–it’s disgusting!


Sigh, I guess I have to follow some stupid rules for this. But I’m only going to follow them the way I want because I’ve always been a rebel with a cause. If you shoot me for failing to comply to these rules, I’d be more than happy because that would make the PLD’s scatter out of my head, along with the trail of blood, like roaches. What?


Alright, the rules are:

1. Thank the person who nominated you and link back to them in your post *check*

2. Share 7 things about yourself.

  1. I’m a very indecisive person, CHRONICALLY indecisive (I think it comes with the BPD now), so when I went to college, I switched from major to major so many times that I had accumulated enough credits for a masters degree even though it took me six years just to get a bachelors, granted that I COMPLETED IT even when I thought I was going to die, and I completed it Cum Laud. And in my defense, six years is the average for an undocumented student considering the trials and tribulations and legalities. I finally settled with Media Production though I wanted to get a double major in the school’s English – Creative writing program which I did get accepted to but didn’t go through with. Oh AND I also got an associates of applied science in sound engineering/music production. I say this to boost my low self esteem, not to be haughty; it’s just reminding myself of accomplishment more so, so I don’t start feeling like a failure for the six years thing.
  2. Speaking of music, I play the piano and the ukulele though I’m kinda nearly deaf in my right ear and somewhat in my left.
  3. I was a vageterian vegetarian for two years in college but since moving back with my parents last year, I’ve become a meat eater again. I still don’t eat beef or pork. I just can’t eat piggies. They’re so smart, well, you know not smart smart but smart enough to warrant me not eating them. So I just tell people I’m Jewish and/or Muslim when they ask why. That usually shuts ’em up.
  4. I’m queer.
  5. I got a toy French poodle for my eighth birthday. I was at this flea market with the family one day (it’s an outside market, Mexican/Spanish style) and I saw this little puppy, little fluff ball, curled up with a bunch of pigs! They had him in a pig pen! He was getting beat up by the much bigger pigs who rammed their heads against him nonstop; they were tiny too, but still, that must’ve hurt the little poodle puppy. I felt I had to save him. I told my mom and dad I didn’t want anything for my birthday, except that puppy! I said I’d refuse a cake even. My mom said that if I really wanted the puppy that I should go over to the guy selling the dog (and piglets) and try to work something out with the fella because all she and my dad had with them was 50 dollars. Well, I was a good talker then, and I talked the man into giving me a deal–$150 dollars! I don’t know if it was the cutsie face I made or the wheelchair or both, but he accepted my offer! And he’d let me pay the rest in two weeks! Just like that! We kept our word and came back two weeks later with the $100 and I also brought my new puppy along so he could see his former owner one last time. We named him Tito, like the latin drummer Tito Puente. He lived to be 17 and that’s well over a hundred in doggie years.
  6. I’m legally “insane”… NOT… You actually believed me? heheh. You’re so gullible! Insanity is not a proper term or how should I say, a “politically correct” term, but I do have a case of the mentals–a mental disorder, I suppose.
  7. I am “illegally” here and unless I get dragged out of the country in handcuffs, I’m staying here.

3. Nominate 10 or so bloggers you admire *I’m noting how they said 10 OR SO*

4. Contact your chosen bloggers to let them know *rain check*


Take your pick nominees. I find these awards often have poor graphic design quality, but I admit, these two are pretty well done! Kudos to whoever designed them! Not bad.

Salted Lithium writes about his recovery and maintenance of bipolar disorder.

Sailor Carrie from Hello Sailor is a wonderful mental sailor and blogger! She’s my MFF 😉

The Silver Poet is simplicity and complexity at its best.

Branches of Thought is a blog I just recently discovered on http://www.poetryblogs.org/ and I’m in love already. Her poem, “Transparent Armor” in particular helped me chill out after I was over thinking and letting my Punitive Parent (see Five Faces of Borderline) criticize me for sharing so much. I always carry such a heavy armor. We all do sometimes.

KJP García is another insightful poet I just recently discovered.

Peace the Consciousness by Mari Sanchez is bursting with trippy versus, so surreal. Her versus remind me of what a Salvador Dali painting would look like in words.

Downward Spiral Into the Vortex is a blog I just discovered, like two nights ago. And let me tell you, this girl nailed it for me! She’s also dealing with borderline personality disorder and being a “transparent borderline”. I just don’t have enough words for how much I connected to what she writes. I’ve always said that I can relate to some bipolar experiences more than the borderline ones, but I think I was lying to myself. I relate to the borderline blogs just as much, or moreso. I don’t know, but this one hit it home for me and it’s partly because Haven has such good wealth of BPD information.

Zen and the Art of Borderline Maintenance  (and her other blog How I Developed Borderline Personality DisorderI absolutely love Zen! I’m so glad I found her blog and you should be too. I’m serious.

Not Quite Lost is a funny lady like me. Her writing reminds me that I’m not alone in this rambling head.

Millie Ho is such a talented artist. She paints and doodles and writes nice flash fiction and what-have-yous.

My Medicated Cartoon Life is the blog, well, one of the blogs that inspired me to write this blog. See, when I first opened up a WordPress account, I had no idea what I was going to title it (as many of us do), but I did know what topics I wanted to cover. And I knew I wanted to doodle my stories in a cartoony fashion which I haven’t done enough of. Anyway, I had google searched “comic and illustrated blogs and depression” and BAM, I found the Bitter Animator of My Medicated Cartoon Life, and thus, my Melancholically Manic Mouse came to life. We’ll, she’d already been living there in my head for fifteen years or more, but I brought her to the spotlight when I found Bitter.

Kyle Mew is funny, is risque, is so entertaining.

Broken Light Collective, I thank you.

This Blithering Idiot  Hansi’s Hallucinations inspires me to draw again.

The Howler and Me makes me howl.

Dotty Headbanger | Notes From a She Hermit | Mental and Loving It is so dear and so dotty. And Dotty I know you won’t accept this but just know that you’ve inspired me in more ways than you know.

Bipolar Muse thank you! I just cannot say thank you enough. I think you know what I mean. 😉

Jen and Tonic is another bright and funny lady. Sip on some jin and juice and read this lady’s tonic. Wait, did that come out right?

Laments and Lullabies  is yet another funny mental lady. She draws nice things like four eyed mommies. She’s also got a funny husband over at A Clown On FireI like to pick on the Clown.

Totsymae is another tough southern lady full of wit. She’s also a talented artist. I’ll go on and pat myself on the back for finishing this now. I know Tosymae, these blogging awards are hard to accept. You don’t have to. Just keep being funny and southern and artsy and totsy.

Brainsnorts is the creative and wonderfully funny writer and nut that will stalk a neighborhood nut (you know how there’s one in every corner) and write blog post about it, with pictures and stick figure diagrams included! Oh right, and the snorty-brainiac (his name is Rich) has samples of his novels too. I particularly like “Disconnected”.

Disorderly Chickadee  just got me with her latest doodles, so she’s been taken as a last minute addition. Oh and she has a lot of good info about bipolar and in particular, bipolar II. You know, stuff like how to do mood charts, how they work and gummy bears–lots and lots of gummy bears.

A Canvas of the Minds is a wonderful space for discussing mental health issues. I have met some wonderful bloggers and dare I say even friends there.


Argggh. I hate this! I feel like I left so many out! BAGHaghahagh. I want to add more, but I think I’ve gone beyond taking my liberty. Ah, fuck it, I’ll be back with more nominees, eventually. And to Dear Dotty, THAM, Totsymae and a few others, I know you won’t accept this. I get it; I was indecisive about it since these awards can be silly and nerve wrecking. Well, I feel like I’ve gone with a lot of female bloggies in this one, so I’ll make it up to you fellas. I’m just in a feminist mood; I’m always in a feminist mood! hehe.

Also, I wanted to particularly post some of the mental/mental-health bloggers, the artsy bloggers, the poetry bloggers and the humor bloggers because they’ve helped me so much. Thank you guys.


Oh, I still have the Versatile Blogger Award in the closet; it was given to me by Beautiful Rose from But I’m Beautiful, actually I take that back. I have TWO. I got one from Zen also. So when I decide to dust them off and fully accept them, I’ll add those of you that I feel I’ve left out.

You all are great!

Much love from the Mouse and P (we’re one today).

I finished it! The first one.  Now I have the other one to do. It’s been taking me forever to do things.

So here’s where Mouse and P fuck up. (I’m angry at Mouse at the moment so we are NOT one).

About a week and a half, two weeks ago. More or less, I don’t know. Anyway, sometime before or after my incident, I’d applied for a job Mansietold me about. Now if you know, I cannot work legally in the States, so let’s keep this hush hush. It’s a temporary paid internship so they may not bother with the paperwork as much as they normally would with a “real job”. But it pays and it revolves around things I can do well, like writing and designing and other multimedia stuff.

So I guess sometime on Wednesday (so three days ago), the hiring guy emails me and asks if I can meet Friday morning for an interview! But guess what? Mouse is too busy fuckin crying and playing ping pong in my cerebellum and cerebral cortex with the Pretty Little Demons. Those little fuckers have been playing pranks on and fuckin’ with my lymbic system again–my lizard brain, my amygdala. One of those in particular has me overeating again.

Anyway, I didn’t get actually see and read guy’s email until FRIDAY. I saw my psychiatrist, FINALLY, on Thursday but went home and slept all day. It turns out I’m fighting a cold because everyone in this house is sick and how can my immune defenses take full charge when I’m on all these psychiatric drugs and when the PLDs (that’s Pretty Little Demons) are in managing things so much?

Well, I got nervous as all hell. I emailed the guy back and apologized for having “overlooked” or “missing” his email (I don’t remember which term I used, it took me forever to decide). Then I said, I would be very glad and willing to meet with him for an interview next week at the soonest, at his convenience and whatnot.

The guy has not replied. 😦 And I’m getting nervous, nervous, nervous. I kinda want him not to reply and then I again, I REALLY need this money. I have no source of income right now and my parents need a break, they’re… blegh. I’m not going to talk about them after my recent battle with the blog. Oh that’s another thing. I’ve been fighting this blog too. Only I never feed it as much as Dear Dotty does. My blog is like a snake, it gets stuffed with one mouse for weeks and has to digest that shit slowly. I’m just trying to figure out whether to nuke this blog completely, split it into three–one private, one poetry and one open–or just step away for a while or just write poems while I figure this out  (I’ll need an intervention too pull out of here though. You guys got a hold ‘a me).

Anyway, I suspect Mansie, friend who’s “hookin’ me up,”  is talking to hiring guy to give me a push on the job, errr, internship. Thank you lady! MUAH. But here’s the thing. Considering the upped suicidality (I hate that word), I don’t know how I’d handle ANY job, even if this job is only ten to twenty hours a week.


This is where I get to my second fuck-up.

Remember that I do photo restorations once in a blue moon? Well, the one I had from last month was incomplete, then I got that other one I wrote about the day I had to make a deal right after getting out of bed. Well, this first one was from a guy my dad “helps out” sometimes–another one of those wannabe photographers. Anyway, this other wannabe photographer asked me if I could do a restoration for a friend of his. I’d said yes and offered it up for one hundred bucks. (I’m GIVING MY WORK AWAY!) The guy’s friend said eighty so I settled on eighty bucks (that’s 51 pounds for you Brits).

So the week before last, this wannabe photographer calls and asks me if he can come over to pick it up. I say how about another day since I wasn’t done with it. I told him to call me back anytime the following week and I’d have it ready in his hands. Well, fuck me, I went crazy that week and nearly went voluntary at one of  those scary general hospital psych units.

Last night he calls me, says he’s coming over. And I start with the anxiety. I start to panic. Heart thumps-and-a-thumps. Oh no, I haven’t finished it yet! How do I tell him I don’t have it ready like I’d promised because I nearly offed myself the Sunday before last?

The guy wasn’t happy but I managed to tell him I’d have it ready this morning. And voila! 


(Click to view them in gallery form.)

If you notice, I didn’t do a great job on the nose and left cheek. I’m not too proud of this one, but fuck, for 80 bucks only, I wasn’t going to go all out. Besides, I had to rush in the end. The starting bid on this should really be $300. BUT Costco will do it for only $30. SAMS CLUB which is owned by WALMART will do it for $25. You know what they do? They send it to some kids in China and have them do the work, pay them $5 bucks and print it for .10 cents. They then get 20 to 35 dollars in profit. Meanwhile, the poor Chinese/Indian/Colombian kid gets 5 bucks (he can’t even get a living with that) and I have to struggle to get a decent pay.


The guy said he was going to call me this morning to come over and pick it up. Well, he hasn’t called and it’s already noon here. Meh. It’s done! 🙂

Yesterday, though, my mom said, “Why do you take jobs if you can’t complete them?” And I had to brush it off.

Funny thing is I heard her voice this morning, long before the alarm rang: “P! P! Wake up! Wake up!”. Then I heard the door slam. Turns out it was just me hearing things in dream mode, knowing I had to get the fuck up and finish this things.

Sigh. If I do get a reply from this other guy, how am I going to handle working ten to twenty hours a week if I can’t even handle doing this one photograph in a three and a half weeks time? If I feel I still sometimes feel I need to be committed? Also, won’t the MIGRA get me? I feel immigration is reading this and waiting to charge!

Oh and FUCK Walmart!

Shhhhh. Don’t tell the Walmart peoples and the immigration peoples I’m still here, please bloggies, don’t.

*disappears ninja style*

Youth eyes knowingly.
I am keen, keeping his pace.
Crisp pages, leaves fall.