November 29, 2012
I went to therapy today. We’re back on our regular Thursday schedule. I told my dad I’d take the bus but he said I was so humble about it that he would drive me there. We didn’t argue this time!
My next assignment for therapy is to work on logging down my interactions with my pops so we can debrief the next session. I told her about the nightmares I’ve been having. They pop up every other night. In my dream last night–or this morning rather–I was getting severely beaten. I won’t say by who. Luna heard me wake up screaming and rushed into the room with ears turned back. The fluff ball jumped on me and we cuddled. She’s so good to me.
Brunet Young is helping me get into a DBT group that should start in January. She found an outpatient DBT program, but it’s too many hours–it’s outpatient, almost inpatient and I no longer need to be outpatient (funny, when I needed it, I couldn’t get it). So she’s looking for a less intensive program. She’s also seeing if I can get into an animal shelter as a volunteer! It will be yet another support system to implement my therapy.
What else? I pulled a muscle this morning while rushing to the restroom. I think I’ll still go swimming tonight though; Mouse and I haven’t decided. Besides, no broken bones from yesterday evening’s fall is good enough for me.
I admit though, I shaved off my Movember Mousestache. It was getting real fuckin’ itchy. Anyway, here’s what I shot on my way back from therapy.
For being the fourth largest city in the United States, we don’t have a very impressive downtown. Most of the buildings are scattered about like leaves in clusters, each cluster miles apart from the other. There is the medical center which is a downtown of its own, then there is uptown and midtown. I think if you combine the three, you’d have a hell of a downtown, but otherwise, it’s puny.
But this weather is nice. It was around 50F this morning and now it’s 68F. Beautiful.
Personally, Main Street downtown is very pretty since a lot of the buildings there are nineteenth-century and early twentieth century art-deco. Mostly though, there are just plain sixties and seventies post modern blocks with faceless facades. Houston grew with the baby boomers of the ’50s, the development of 1950s inter-state highway system and oil boom. There you go.
November 28, 2012
I thought I’d missed the mark. I really did.
“Fuck’a’doodle doo P!” Mouse yelled in my head, “You fuckin’ forgot your Bloggers for Movember post!”
“I didn’t forget Mouse! Ugh. I just had a lot of shit going on. What with the immigration, the surgery, the–”
I had nothing to say, no comeback.
I thought I’d grown my Movember mustache for nothing (see my mustache here).
I was so happy I’d finally managed a decent ‘stache, one that could rival Jen’s wispy whiskers–my arch enemies. Then I nearly cried realizing all the fun and games of Movember are over. All of the contestants had gone home with their prizes.
Then, last night, something MAGICAL happened. Mr. Penis’n’Balls–who I’d never met before–came to me in the middle of the night and whispered in Mouse’s ear: “MsMousie! Wake up! Mousie! You can still blog for Movember. Balls and I would appreciate it so much. I mean, $1200 or more or something like that have been raised for prostate cancer awareness and care. Spread the word. You got TWO MORE DAYS!”
“Holy shitballs! I do have TWO WHOLE DAYS to blog for Movember Mr. Penis’n’Balls!”
So I woke up, did a bunch of stuff like swimming only I couldn’t ’cause the pool was closed so I lifted three pound weights instead and, I fell in the bathtub, thought I’d broken all my bones, thank heavens I didn’t. So no broken bones and I think, “Right! I still haven’t written for Movember like Penis’n’Balls asked”
That’s when I realized I’d have to rush a post. So all I’m gonna say is, I think all of you Movember bloggers are awesome, especially these guys: Bloggers for Movember – A Final Recap, For the Love of Your Healthy Prostate, and Rockin’ it for Movember.
What is Movember anyway?!
For those of you still unfamiliar with this, it “is a moustache growing charity event held during November each year that raises funds and awareness for prostate and testicular cancer.”
That’s about all I know, so don’t ask me more questions.
Look, women tend to get it in the breasts, men tend to get it down below. I know for sure my dad had to get tested after he started having trouble down there in his older years. He’s clear fortunately, but his grandpa and my grandpa as well as many men aren’t.
Prostate cancer grows in the prostate gland, just between the urethra, seminal vesicle, rectum and anus. It’s literally a PAIN IN THE ASS TO HAVE, and it is a pain that kills.
I would draw a mouse sketch of a prostate for you, but I’m late enough to the party as it is. So I gots nothing to bring except a Google search of pictures of prostates (no hairy balls this time, I promise).
So hats down to those Movember bloggers, particularly those I’ve mentioned. And LE CLOWN for being a champion of the cause!
For more info visit
There’s still time to donate and help out! At least I think there is. Is there?
TWO DAYS YALL!
If not, at least take a look at your balls to make sure they’re okay and enjoy the the Mouse. I worked VERY hard on those sketches (not really, kinda though).
ALL SKETCHES ARE CopyRighted by PAZ 2012
November 25, 2012
Southeast Texas is beautiful this time of year. A lot of the coastal birds are filling the sky and chirping all around–on trees, light posts, stop light, electric wires (yeah), and big signs that stick out of shops.
I’ve been back in therapy since sometime in early July (or was is late June?), and I’ve taken a few snapshots when I get the chance to stick around for a while. It’s good to be able to do some art therapy right after psychotherapy I usually stick around when I take the bus there. Last week my dad took me; the week before last, I didn’t go because I had surgery.
I took these sometime mid-October, soon after my birthday.
There are still more but I’m just putting ten for now.
Oh! I also started swimming again today! The water was freezing cold (not really). But last night, I had an attack of the mentals as Le Sailor might say. I don’t know what happened. It just came on so sudden. I’d been relatively stable–as in kind of “normal”, whatever that means. But the last few days have been strange, like a sort of spike. Here’s what I wrote on my Facebook page last night. I still don’t know how to describe this feeling.
“I feel strange. I can’t even put words to it. I hope it’s not the darkness and the PLDs settling in again. No, no no. I even yelled harshly at Luna for licking my nose. Of course I asked for forgiveness, which she immediately did. I feel a rage surging deep down within me though. I’m starting to sense that I can’t trust anyone.”
Fortunately, two of my lovely blogging buddies send me some comforting words. Thanks guys!
Here’s where you can see the post Campus Crawlin’ – Part 1
NOTE: I didn’t watermark these because I think they look better without a big ole copyright sign on them and a big ole PAZZZZZZ. You know the Monkey Bee (see below) WILL STAB YOU if you dare copy these as your own. She don’t play.
November 22, 2012
Edit 5:53pm 11.22.2011:
This is my introduction to the blogosphere.
There are a total of what, twenty billion blogs out there? Twenty eight trillion maybe, to be sure? And most of these are far from being hot, hardly lukewarm. And the world doesn’t need any more lukewarm bloggers popping out like malnourished crack babies. I’ve never really even enjoyed being lukewarm and though I’ve never been a malnourished, lukewarm crack baby, I imagine I wouldn’t enjoy that either. But to you, and often times to me, it doesn’t really matter what I do or don’t enjoy.
So I begin my blogging journey. I begin by wondering if I may as well continue writing like a madman—lost to the world in my nonsensical, ranting and raving–battering my poor, hapless notebooks.
A part of me rebels though. I get tired of that lonely rambling. I get tired of putting it aside as hogwash.
I want this to have a clear purpose, a focus. And I think what better focus than to share my whacked-out thoughts on the WORLD WIDE WEB!
THE WORLD NEEDS TO KNOW THESE WACKY THOUGHTS!
Plus, I can stick my timid, mutant turtle neck out just a little from under the shell of anonymity. It would be good for my crawling self-esteem.
But the true motivator here is the fear that I’m at a breaking point again. And maybe I have something of value to share? If not, then at least I’ll be writing again.
Now that I finally decided to open this account, my self talk went a little like this:
“Well, it’s done. You’re signed in now. What hell are you going to make this about? Yourself? Fuck no. There’s lots of shit in this world you wanna talk about. No? Well, what do you think to get out of it? What’s the point in it? To fuel your narcissism, yes? Come on, you know you want to. You know you do. No really though, I don’t. Yeah really though. Are you really that self-absorbed, you punk ass? Yes. Yes I am”
Most writers find an intimate experience in the process of laying words to rest–to rest in the world, the solitude, the page– all transmitting and transcending the inner being to the unknown, endless landscape that is this universe, the mind, the infinite particles of thought.
But the truth is, despite this intimacy, I suspect most people who write also have a deep need to speak and be heard; that somewhere deep down (even if they refuse to admit it) they want to drag people into their world. They too are narcissistic. In kinder words though, people who enjoy writing want to share that intimate experience with others.
“Maybe I’ll really enjoy it”, I thought. And since I’m in desperate need of an unchained creative outlet (seriously, this blog may become my only outlet for maintaining sanity) I figured, “Eh fuck it, I’ma do this shit! I’m gonna write to my heart’s content“.
The dilemma is, I’m a very private person. Any kind of personal exposure is terrifying for me, even with Facebook occasionally tempting me to whip out my dirty (I mean splattered with virally infectious verbal diarrhea dirty) drawers. And if I ever did secretly want to start a blog, which I’m pretty sure I did, I always ran from the idea in fear that it would become a spiraling vortex into my strange little world, into my swirling mind.
I would be giving others a ticket to enter my thoughts, to judge me from every angle until my longed-for-death. I’d end up having to wear an anti-mind-reading helmet made of aluminum foil and toothpaste.
So, I told myself: Write, but the personal is forbidden!
To make things worse, I’ve been encouraged to write about myself in the last few years. Two years ago, my brother’s co-worker told him to tell me that I should write a memoir. For all she knows, I could be illiterate. She’s never even met me!
I even had a complete stranger say this to me: “Hey you! Yeah YOU. YOU, you. You should write about YOU!”
Ugh, I’m guessing all this is because I’m somehow “special”. Trust me, I’m not that special, please don’t inflate my ears with such nonsense. I did find out I was in SPECIAL ED in tenth grade and it confirmed my suspicions that I am mentally retarded. But this is another kind of special.
Anyway, here I am writing about myself.
But I don’t want to take myself too seriously. I really don’t. Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I’m a joker. I enjoy kicking back my child-sized shoes and laughing at the absurdities of this world, and most of all, the absurdities of my creation.
I’m REALLY not THAT special. Subtract the special-ed part from school and I get pretty close to not being special at all.
One thing I do know is that I plan to enjoy myself and hopefully learn from this. If this dies here, however, it dies. If it lives as a serious, boring or humorous, self-deprecating facet of me, then it lives.
In any case, without further ado, I present to you my…
So, what the hell is this?! The paragraphs above were written in November of 2011.
This was my very first post, an introduction of sorts. I never even published it then, but it’s been saved here, an ENTIRE YEAR!
When I sat in front of the glaring blue light of the computer screen a year ago, I was covered in darkness. The only thing lighting me was the screen. The depression had hit again and I was falling deep into my little mouse hole. I was reading an awesome illustration blog then called My Medicated Cartoon Life. It’s written (or was written) by an animator of children’s T.V. programming. He dealt with deep depression for many years, most of his life actually. I could relate to so much of what he wrote.
That blog inspired me to open up my own blog here on WordPress. I didn’t do anything with it for days. It just sat here all lonely–an abandoned dumpster baby. It became a malnourished little baby, the very thing I didn’t want.
BUT, here I am a year later. My baby has grown. Over ten-thousand views! I can’t believe I’ve written for this long. I hardly ever stick to something for this long. One thing I didn’t mention in the original post was that at the time, I had recently finished reading Marjane Satrapi’s graphic/illustrated memoir, Percepolis which, along with Allie Brosh’s hilarious blog, had also given me inspiration for my blog.
Here’s to writing, blogging, sharing and loving!
More than “lukewarm” blogs, I found a ton of really talented, amazing writers, photographers, illustrators, artists, humorists and like-minded mental-brainiacs. I’ve made some really wonderful friends I didn’t expect to gain! I also got the chance to write as a Canvas author and be part of their wonderful mental health community.
And of course, I appreciate everyone who’s passed through this little year-old blog.
Melancholically Manic Mouse, born November 22, 2011. HAPPY BIRTHDAY LITTLE GUY! I’m thankful that you came to life here.
Maaan, that was saccharin! I don’t like tears… I better go stuff myself with more stuffing.
And to review my year in blogging, here is a list of the blog’s categories. CLICK DAMN YOU:
November 22, 2012
I’m thankful to still be alive, despite all the hell I was in this year. I’m thankful for regaining some semblance of mental stability and for my lifelines–little Luna and swimming, this blog, and yes, even my wonderful wacky family who have all been my support as of late. I’m thankful for their unlimited love. I’m thankful that I have a relationship with my brother again. I’m thankful that he has a great girlfriend.
I’m thankful the operation finally went well.
I’m thankful that there was FINALLY a cease fire in Gaza!
I’m thankful for Monkey Man’s ukulele, the best memento I have left from him. Rest in peace my lovely man. I’m thankful I got to know you, to know your love, and I’m thankful that you were in my life you crazy, crazy borderline bastard!
I’m thankful for having had the chance to meet all the amazing people here in bloggie land!
You have all been my lifeline too, more than you know. But…
I kid. I know, I always have to throw in something ironic, cynical and vulgar. But it’s just me and my PLDs (Pretty Little Demons for those of you that don’t know).
November 21, 2012
I was a metal-head and a punk, but my appreciation for music goes far beyond that. I was a musician. I guess I should use that in the present tense–I AM a musician. But I have trouble accepting that, always have.
I’m now faced with declined hearing due to the OI. I’m starting to wear my hearing aide more often (I have two but one needs adjustment), particularly when I sing and want to enjoy undertones in music. Going deaf is one of my biggest fears. I often think that I’ll definitely kill myself if that ever happens.
But lately, I’ve been calmer, more generally content–not happy, just content. I don’t like the word happy. My contentment, however, has reached back out to the warm embrace of music, the one thing that has saved my life before.
I picked up my ukulele a few months ago when I was in the dark and the PLDs had moved in again. And though I haven’t played recently, I still plan to play it and eventually maybe write songs again. Most of my songs start off as poems anyway, so maybe (just maybe) I could adapt some of my NaPoWriMo poems as uke songs.
Oh right, Lana! So on my Borderline Girl Song Week Thirteen post, I posted a Lana Del Rey Song. Her real name is Lizzy Grant. In that post, I called her pretentious but good. I suppose though, that pretentious is just a label given to any musician that takes their music seriously. So I will back away from that word. I’ve been listening to her more and more. Surprisingly, despite my minuscule stature, I sing better in her register, or rather, women who sing in lower, contralto registers like two of my favorites–Amy Winehouse and Fiona Apple.
I’m liking her more and more. I want to sing again and shout out loud. But I’m afraid. Afraid I’ll fail. Afraid I’ll quit like I have before. I can’t let the fear of my hearing loss take control of my actions though.
Here she is singing live. Oh, yeah, and it turns out she CAN sing very well live. It just depends.