Turkey Trauma

So now that Thanksgiving is over, I'm feeling pretty at ease. I blew my diet, so I made sure to blow it hard- I stuffed myself with turkey, stuffing, and cheesecake. Come on. I got to squeeze as much in as I can before the day is over, right?
Speaking of eating all of this crap...
I waited to eat until we actually had our dinner. I was pretty damned hungry by the time we sat down to eat. You know how it is when you wait all day to eat on Thanksgiving. Smelling that delicious bird cooking all the live-long day. Your eyes are 50x bigger than your stomach, and you fail to realize this until it's too late. You know. After you wolf it all down, then toss in some cheesecake because you just can't go without that.
I literally ate myself miserable.
Twice.
I'm talking I looked pregnant.
With food.

Sure, I bet you're thinking, "What about her diet? What good has this done for her?"
Let me tell you. It certainly reminded me as to why eating so goddamned much is stupid!
Now it's time for me to be thankful:
I'm thankful that Thanksgiving is only once a year.
Now can someone pass me the Alka Seltzer??

Sometimes Can You Imagine On Any Given Day?

Sometimes all I can do is laugh. Sometimes cry, and sometimes scream at the world. Not because of what Bipolar Disorder does to me, but because of what it does to my family. What it causes for my family. The sacrifices, the coping they have to do. Chuck said without my meds I'm a total psycho. Could you imagine what life was like for them post March 2011? No, you probably can't. Some understand, but most do not.

Sometimes I'm a peach. Sometimes a bitch, and sometimes the devil. Not because of anything anyone has done, but be because of what something is doing to me. What it makes me think and feel. The weakness, the helplessness I go through every day of my life. Without my meds I'm a total psycho. Could you imagine what life is like for me any day of the week? No, you probably can't. Some understand, most do not.

On any given day, my dishes might be piled to the ceiling. My laundry, clean and dirty, might be mountains. My house might be a complete disaster. Either my mood is too high for me to focus on a simple task, or it's too low for me to care.

Can you imagine people seeing your messy house and you know they assume you're lazy?

Can you imagine taking pills you hate to take? Pills that make you feel unsafe to drive a car. Pills that make you gain astronomical amounts of weight.

Can you imagine trying to cope with the fact that you are mentally ill, what with the social stigma that comes with that label?

Can you imagine not sleeping for 10 days, because you can't?

Can you imagine not being able to even feed your family because you unable to pick up your head?

Can you imagine a simple happy moment causing an overload of joy?

Can you imagine a simple annoyance causing fits of ugly rage?

Can you imagine what something devastating causes thinking about what those simple things do?

Can you imagine how it's like for me, to feel sorrow and have people compare my feelings to theirs rather than troubling themselves to lend an ear?

Can you imagine living in a world where people just don't fucking get it?

Some can, but most of you can't.

It made me feel better to write this, so feel free to share it. Especially if you know someone who would feel good knowing they aren't alone. Some folks aren't open because they are afraid to be. They are afraid of a social stigma. They are afraid because most people don't know.
Most people think we're either trying to be "fashionable", experiencing simple mood swings, or are completely off of our rockers. That is a sign of being uninformed or worse, ignorant. Since being diagnosed with Bipolar 1 disorder, I make a point to be as open as I can, just so people know "Hey. This is me. Don't like it? Fuck off, then." 

Truly yours,

 Brandi The Great

The Meowge à trois

Bob Tail and Panic Attack

So those little rascals pictured above are 2 of the 3 cats we have. I'm sure by looking at them, you can figure out who is who, right? Anyway, these guys are maybe 4 months apart in age, so there is a lot of high energy cat flying action going on in the house these days. I mean, who would have thought two kittens would sound like a heard of elephants trampling through the house at the asscrack of dawn?


Anyway.
Panic is hilarious, because he "talks" to me. Last night Bob didn't want to play, so he was just chilling in a cozy corner, putting his little paws up. In comes Panic, Stage Left. He gets to roaring and growling and slapping and pouncing on Bob. Bob totally doesn't give two shits and just continues to relax like nothing is going on. I walk by and he starts "talking" to me all loud and sassy.


He was seriously tattling on Bob for not playing. I can't say how I know that was what he was going on about, I just do. Pet People are probably just as loony as me and can know what they're saying, too.

And he was getting pissed at me because I wouldn't do anything about it. If you would have witnessed this, you probably would have pissed yourself laughing at the little shit.


Meanwhile, in trots Paco, Stage Right.

Paco the Stink is about as big as my 4 year old...

Now Paco gives no fuck on any day. He's just... Paco.

He puts up with the kids trying to tote his giant ass around, but he don't really hang out much with the kittens. He did used to get amusement out of fucking with Bob, though. As you can see, Bob was born without a tail. So he was totally fascinated by Paco's extra long tail.

Paco would lay there and twitch his tail in a fashion that reminded me a bit of fly fishing.

Twitch... twitch...
In pounces Bob...
!!SLAP!!
 Bob runs all pride wounded.
Paco lays there with a satisfied look on his face.
Here slinks Bob back in to the room all sneaky-like again.
Twitch... twitch...

You get the picture.

Anyway.
Enough about my fucking cats, already. Right?
I need to get ready to go to the Back Cracker.
So catch you later, then.

I totally dig my awesome red thrift store hat.

Oh, Boy! My First Blog...

Could you sense the sarcasm in that title? Yah. It's there.
I don't really have anything interesting to say at this time, however I have been thinking about the old gripe about Donald Duck not wearing pants. Why aren't more people concerned that a duck is wearing a shirt and cap?
I saw a video clip from Youtube today, where a little girl, age 3 or so, was running around loving in a dead squirrel. Her parents thought it was cute and funny. Why couldn't I have my very own creepy dead squirrel to run around with, to hug and kiss and call "Sweet Baby" when I was a kid?
Anyway, subject change.
So if you notice over there on the left, there is a fancy and fandangled badge saying I've got this astronomical amount of pounds to lose until I reach my goal. 100 pounds of that was gained in the past 7 months due to meds that I'm now no longer taking. If you want to join me at http://www.myfitnesspal.com/ feel free.
Anyway, like I said, nothing interesting to say at this time.
Catch you later.