Mood Poisoning

I got off the phone with my depressed best friend who hates his life and who feels that I’m doing nothing with mine, so I cried into my pillow for a half hour, and decided I’d blog my feelings out, because I’ve grown into a woman who can’t express hers to anyone anymore. It just causes disagreements, confrontations, and in both situations the arguing leads to absolutely nothing. I may even regret some of the feelings I’m having right now, but at least I didn’t waste time saying things I might regret, and then linger on it for a week(s), or month(s).


Since May 9th, I’ve applied for 58 jobs. Job hunting is like fishing, you drown a lot of worms and lose a lot of cheese cubes before something bites, and when it does there’s not a 100% chance you’ll actually reel it in.

“Just get any ol’ job even if it’s not what you want to do, or part time.” Is collectively the bottom line of what I’ve heard from extended family and my very best friend. Repeatedly. I want to be a forensic psychologist, so I’ve already applied for 58 jobs I don’t really want to do. But who cares, right?

You need money so you can move out of your parents house and make something of yourself. Because you’re a big loser who does the same crap every day, right? Being a caretaker to your aging parents and your developmentally disabled sister, looking for a job, working out, finding a few hours to watch a show or book you like because you can’t stand how stuck you are and need an escape?


Oh, you’ve been working out consistently for the past several days now that you’ve started and you took a day off? How dare you! You have to work out 7 days a week to make up for all the years that you didn’t work out, right? “If were working out I’d be ecstatic.”

You’re depressed all the time so you need to change your entire life immediately to remedy that, right? What am I supposed to do with the little in my bank account I scrounge together to pay my bills monthly? Go learn how to jet ski and enjoy the summer on Lake Michigan? Learn pottery? Study literature?


You know, I would love to get my own place. I’m grateful to have a family willing to house me for free until I’m financially independent and through school as well as being there for me when I’m in dire need of them at the ends of my rope on both sides of my bipolar disorder. Without the bipolar and ocd life would be a hell of a lot easier. But boo hoo, change your attitude and take your western medication, right?

It was a common thing on both sides of my family to live at home, save up, take care of the family, and then when you get engaged move out, live in an apartment until both of you with duo income can afford a nice house, then start a family. If that’s not possible, then you get a pet, or build a pond in your backyard and collect nice things to enjoy. Thanks individualistic culture for making it more embarrassing for every generation to need to move out at 18. As if I didn’t have enough to feel bad about. Even the anthropologist in me can’t put up enough of a fight about it. Maybe I could just move in with some pygmies in some forest being chopped down, traveling on foot and having to leave our elderly and sick behind for the survival of the tribe.

Of course all I want to do is help privileged white people who have cerebral palsy or night terrors in a cozy office. I’d never venture to a third world country to live or to provide care. I’m not at all a supporter of global human rights movements or preserving small cultures.


I’d love to have enough money to buy my own 4 bedroom house at 26. I’d like to have a steady job, something I don’t hate, because my brain chemistry is so shitty that it’s easy for me to get depressed to a point where I’m completely stagnant because I hate the stress of my job that I don’t like and am not good at because I’ll likely not be trained properly as has been the standard of the last several jobs I’ve had.

I know that I’m stuck, and I hate it, and I’m trying, but not quick enough for some people apparently. Apparently I’m just a big loser doing nothing with my life. And my dreams of owning my own house are outrageous, right? Having a quality job? Ha! What a joke. You’re not making money and you never will. And if you do? Who cares, because you’re not doing it fast enough.


You know, I already assume I’ll die alone. And as my immediate family passes (which I hope doesn’t happen for another few decades) I’ll be ever closer to that realization. But believe me, I’ll do it in my big house with my nice things and my western medicine, and my PhD and hope that the afterlife is a hell of a lot more pleasant than this one has been.



Forever Young

My sister has been 12 years old for just shy of 13 years. Indeed she’s a 24 year old young lady with Asperger’s Syndrome. She was developmentally normal once, but now there’s only evidence of that in pictures and cloudy memories.

I live at home with her, so it’s not something I sit around thinking about regularly, but last month she went out four times with a couple friends she’s had since junior high school. Once to a barbecue and the other times to the mall by the house, something teens and preteens in the area do.

I never heard many of the details. The most I got out of her was a nod when I asked if she had a good time. She barely speaks to me, or speaks much at all for that matter to any of us in the house. When she does its in a tiny voice. The loudest she ever gets is a “normal” inside voice tone when she’s really mad at me. So mad her brooding silence isn’t enough. I hear about the things I do that piss her off from my dad on occasion. Never from her personally.

She doesn’t often look at me, or respond if we’re talking to her, or asking questions. It used to bother me a lot more than it does now. Now I just feel sad that I may never have a normal relationship with my sister, whose going to be all I’ve got when my parents pass away one day.

Will she be able to take care of herself without them? She’s babied at home, and reminded to do everyday things like eat and shower. She spends her days on the computer or sleeping. She’s not often bothered to help out around the house. She doesn’t like swearing or drinking, she’s a vegetarian, dresses VERY conservatively and she watches mostly reality TV and kids movies.

That last part is pretty much the perk (not the reality TV). I get to have a longer feeling childhood living with a childlike sister. For instance, I trick or treated into my 20s with her until my mom insisted we were too old. She was dressed as an angel for years. One year I got her a pair of light up wings to go with her costume.

She doesn’t often smile and never with teeth. Her laughs are muffled, like she’s trying to hide them. I should have cherished those experiences more, because being an adult sucks.

Mostly I’m frustrated though. She’s not easy to live with, and though most of the things she does drive me crazy (and our parents pretty much let her do her thing so she’ll be content) she really is important to me. She’s my little sister.

Back to her seeing friends, I wonder often why they’re friends with her. Do they feel bad for her or genuinely like her and just excuse her odd behavior? Historically, she’s gone out about once a year during the summer with those friends to the mall. She doesn’t drive, so we give her rides and made sure she’s met up with whoever it is before leaving.

My mom refuses to let her take public transportation because she worries something will happen to her, so we take turns driving her pretty much anywhere she needs to go, mostly school.

It pisses me off thinking her friends may not genuinely care for her. I worry about them taking advantage of her or talking about her behind her back. It brings out a protective side of me. Oddly enough, it also gave me conflicting emotions on how I feel about her “growing up” and being social. She hasn’t seen her friends again for the last month, and I wonder if that makes her sad.

The thing that made me want to write this post was how angry I was a few days ago when she and I were shopping at the grocery store with my dad. We were picking up bagels and she saw her friend who works in the bakery. My dad happily encouraged her to say hi. She stood there awkwardly for a minute, a smile on her face without saying a word, then had a 60 second exchange with this girl whose face expressed that she wanted nothing to do with my sister. Maybe she was having a rough day at work, but it both enraged me and made me very sad. It didn’t seem to phase my sister.

Having a family member with Asperger’s is hard. I’ve often felt bad for my parents, who have two abnormal children (myself being bipolar), but we’re well loved, and our mom and dad are grateful to have us as we are to have them.

Annual Manic Episodes

My thoughts have been racing all week. About a thousand things to tell you about, none of which make it from my mind to my fingers fast enough, so while I work on that, here’s something to make you smirk, or giggle, or laugh – like, a lot, if you’re having a manic episode.

chickenbipolar easter bunny 4-9-09EDIT: Also…


EDIT: Also, also…

We’re live on Twitter!