June 2006 at Crazy in Shreveport

We've blogged for 17 days now.

Subjects you'll find in June 2006 include: My Space, high cost of bipolar meds, summer, Shreveport's Farmer's Market, ghosts, love, Mormons, blackjack, Christmas trees, turkey burgers, gardening, being hospitalized, Rent, Scientology, Godiva chocolates, rebelling birth control and anxiety.

We are committed to doing this family blog of the daily life of folks with bipolar disorder for the next year. I hope we can maintain it. There's nothing I hate worse than stumbling onto an interesting blog only to find the blogger lost interest after a couple of months. I hope with all three of us blogging, using pictures and the audio blog feature we will keep ourselves committed and entertained.

myspace. >:[

Myspace sucks.

It's down ALL THE TIME. And there are too many freaks and perverts on there who request me as a friend and send me weird messages.

The 14 year old girls on there doing the pouty lips and wearing like, half a bikini are disturbing too. I'm thinking, HEY, PUT YOUR CLOTHES ON. Shouldn't they be like. . .having sleepovers and doing each others' nails and drinking chocolate milk instead of discussing their latest drunken night? Stupid Myspace. Fourteen-year-olds are the reason I stopped going to Soundstage, too. I'm not against all of them. I'm against the ones who walk around in big black pants with chains on them, little shirts that say Metallica on the front, and black make up all over their face, asking me for cigarettes and talking about how "metal" they are. GAH, GO HOME.

Anyway, back to Myspace. It's also the perfect place for every freak in the world. NO, I DO NOT WANT TO JOIN YOUR LATEX FETISH CLUB. HOW IS THAT EVEN ENJOYABLE? Especially when the person asking you to join is like, 58 years old.

I'm eighteen. Unless you're really, really rich and resemble Mel Gibson or Harrison Ford, GET TO STEPPIN', SON.

Evil Pill Good Pill

The evil pill is on the left side. It is a yellow square of Alprazolam XR (generic for Xanax XR). A one month supply costs $145. Yes, this is with Medicare insurance because those plans don't cover the good meds for anxiety. That comes to $1740 a year. A lovely vacation this pill will cost us.

... uh... what's that, Charlie? It's not working? You'd like to try the Klonopin they had you on in the hospital? I love you my husband and would do anything for you but damn it you have a whole bottle of this stuff...now you wanna buy something different? Damn it.

... Go ahead and call the doctor.

... No. I do not want to know how much this new one is... I just woke up please let me drink my tall glass of water before you tell me. Look the crepe myrtle is starting to bloom.

... Stop lying. $6.06 for a whole month's supply? I love this little pink tablet.

Teacakes and Tomatoes

Since I didn'’t work Tuesday night we made family plans to go to the Farmer's Market early Wednesday. My mother was even going to drive in from Haughton. The weather was grand --– the low humidity has been a treat.

Time came to load up the van and Charlie decided to stay behind. His bipolar meds have been slowing down his digestive system -- that'’s just one of the side effects he deals with on a daily basis.

I like the idea of an open-air market. A parking lot full of pickup trucks and farmers standing behind tables of purple hull peas, eggplant, yellow squash, green squash and watermelons. Sometimes the produce isn't grocery store pretty but then it tastes much better than those cardboard objects that look so lovely.

Katee and I met grandma there. We had no trouble finding a free parking spot at the new pavilion in Festival Plaza where the market is held on Wednesday and Saturday mornings. Katee and I both had $20. She purchased blackberry jelly and I got tomatoes and teacakes. She also bought her daddy some pepper jelly. She couldn't resist when the man selling it said it tasted great over cream cheese and Ritz crackers and that he liked putting his on meat. Jelly for meat? What better treat for a dad could there possibly be? She even had plenty left over for a Dr. Pepper and a biscuit from McDonald's.

hauntings.

You know, I really love paranormal stuff. I love living in a house that's old and makes weird noises at 3 in the morning. I love reading about hauntings and visiting haunted places. I enjoy going to graveyards and taking pictures of the graves, especially the old ones that are very Southern Gothic. I don't take pictures of myself lying on the graves decked out in Hot Topic with bad goth make up on my face, just so you know. I love ghost stories and all that.

I really don't like when people make stuff up randomly. See, there's this old school that's about 16 miles south of Shreveport on Ellerbe. It's widely believed that this school is haunted and that Satanists perform rituals and slaughter cows and nonsense because of the spirit activity. One legend is that the school was closed because a janitor disappeared, and when the school children went looking for him, they all disappeared, too. Another is that there was a fire and a lot of kids were killed. And I believe I've heard another story that says there was a shooting and a lot of kids were killed that way, too. Supposedly if you go out there at a certain time of night, you can hear the screams of children and a school bell. You can also get shot at with paintballs by the owner of the land if he catches you wandering around his property, according to a few of my friends who've been out there looking for a thrill.

I admit, the first time I went out there I felt uncomfortable and got that weird, prickly feeling that goes down your spine when something's creeping you out. It was also the middle of October, my empathy had gone haywire, and I was generally not in great mental health anyway, so all that could've had something to do with my paranoia. I felt strange feelings everywhere, so the stories and the stigma and such surrounding the school might've made me more uncomfortable than usual.

A few months later, I read up on the school and what it was actually for and what really went down. If you don't want to be disappointed, please don't read any further.

George Washington Carver School was built for African American children in the '50s who lived in a very rural area and couldn't easily access education any other way. It wasn't used much because a lot of people moved to the city and integration started happening soon after it opened. Now the school sits out in a field by itself; beautiful in a strange, sad way. Because of lack of maintenance, it's fallen into disrepair and kids come out to destroy it more and vandalize it, and make up stories about hauntings which makes more kids come out to do the same thing. It's a shame because there are a lot of people living in that part of town now, and it would probably be easier if there was a school closer to them.

So there you have it. There was no fire, no shooting, no mysterious disappearances. It was simply built and barely used, and no one took the time to manage it over the years. Still, I guess it's fun to go out for a thrill as a kid, but people still claim that they've been beaten up by a ghost. Unless someone was shot in the face by the owner for trespassing, I kinda doubt there's really anything there.

Summer Love

If a June night could talk,
It would probably boast it invented romance.
Bern Williams

Katee and I went to Calientes Monday night for a musician's forum sponsored by Tipitina's. My daughter has a beautiful voice and I'd like to see her explore that talent so we went for a little networking. Met some new people displaced by the Hurricane Katrina who've decided to make Shreveport their home for the time being.

Saw lots of old friends. Among them Bruce Allen and Dorothy Kristin Hanna. That'’s their feet in the picture. Dorothy is a world class dancer, teacher, Feldenkrais practitioner and head of the Arodasi Dance Center in downtown Shreveport. Bruce is the head of the art department at Centenary College and an artist and world traveler. We offered to share our table with them but those two lovebirds opted for a romantic night together. I then had to go into momma bird mode and nudge Katee and say "“see love can last.”"

i think mormons are awesome.

HEY. STUPID PEOPLE. Would y'all please back off the Mormons? Okay, I know they come to your house and stuff, but at least they come at a decent hour and not at like 6 am or something. And they certainly don't badger you to join. If you say, "No thanks, I'm not interested", they just tell you to have nice day and are all nice and move on. Someone actually told me that Mormons are nuttier than Scientologists. And then I said, "Excuse me while I go roll around on the floor laughing."

This person, of course, has never met a Mormon in his entire life and therefore has no clue what he's talking about. He said they steal rituals from the Masons. This intrigued me because I was like, "Aren't they a little, I dunno, secretive about that kind of thing?" And there are other nonsense rumors, like Mormons don't let non-Mormons in their church. I thought this was odd because I have certainly been to a Mormon church with my awesome aunt and uncle and their babies. Then they said something about blood sacrifices and how they refuse to speak to people who've left the church and then I stopped talking to him because none of that's true and he's stupid.

Actually, the only time I've ever been lectured about anything by these apparently fearsome creatures [insert confused face here] was when I said I wanted babies but no husband and my aunt totally jumped my ass. My mother did this, too, and we're Unitarian Universalists. I have, of course, changed my mind about that children without any other support business. So, to the Mormons of the world, I think you guys pretty much rock.

[I do NOT want to replace 'Mormons' with 'morning'. Ugh!]

some parents are stupid.

So, I have a Livejournal. And when you have a Livejournal (or, as lazy people like myself say, an LJ), you can friend people and read their LJs, and then there are communities that suit people's various interests that you can join. I belong to a lot of the communities and those usually entertain me since none of my LJ friends update. One of these communities is a community for bipolar patients.

I was perusing my friends' page and came across an entry that made me sad and angry. A girl, whose name I won't mention because I don't know it in the first place and that would be wrong anyway, said that her mother attempted suicide. No one told her, but she found out anyway. She was then told that there was a note. The mother listed people in her family and told them how much she cared about them. Then she told the girl everything that she [the girl] had done to disappoint her [the mother]. Apparently this young lady did not live up to her mother's standards.

Obviously, her mother is a wackjob. Healthy people don't go around attempting suicide. I cannot imagine any of my family telling me that I'm a disappointment. Even if they secretly thought that I was a disappointment and the cause of all their problems, they certainly would never say it to my face, and my family (extended and immediate) isn't exactly mentally stable, generally speaking. If the mother had succeeded in her suicide attempt, her last words to her daughter would've been that her daughter was a fuck up.

What? Who does that? I mean, my parents and I fight, no doubt about it, but I've never, ever been told that I was worthless or the cause of all their problems and I've never been called a disappointment. What's up with other people's parents, anyway? I guess I'd be the black sheep of the family somewhere else. Who wants to claim a manic depressive high school drop out who attends a community college? Well, my family does. It's because I'm so awesome that no one cares that I didn't attend much high school. It's not like I was stupid and lazy. I did my homework and I showed up for class and I had a doctor's excuse if I was absent. I understood everything and made good grades. I never failed, no matter how many reasons my teachers tried to use to do it. I just wasn't meant to go to public school.

How can you tell your child who was a part of you that you pretty much hate them, especially when the kid has an illness that's not controllable? You know what? If this girl had cancer, this wouldn't be a fucking problem. Prejudice, ignorance, and plain stubbornness seems to give people their opinion of mental illness. It terrifies them because our minds are where our secrets, memories, thoughts, and feelings dwell. It's our refuge, our hiding place. And if our minds can be sick, then there goes the last of our control. I guess it's understandable, but it doesn't make behaving like a douchebag any more acceptable. It's also really sad when the mother knows what the child goes through and still blames the kid for all her trouble.

Everyone should just be forced to watch RENT or see it live and then the world would be a better place because everyone would love each other.

[this spell check is stupid. I'm pretty sure 'fuck' is a word and that I didn't mean 'Fiji'.]

Overheard in a Shreveport Bossier Casino

At a full $10 blackjack table on a Friday night:

The dealer is showing a 5. First base splits eights three times. Draws two double down hands. Ends up with 3 eighteens. Everybody cheers until the dealer flips over an ace to go with her 5 (6 or 16), draws a 7 (13), draws an ace (14), draws a 2 (16) then pulls a 4 for a 20! Stunned silence until first base says "That hurts like a Brazilian."

know what's sad?

A lot of my friends and acquaintances rebel by doing normal rebellious teenage things, like drinking and smoking and nonsense like that.

I think to rebel against my parents I would have to go out and become a born-again Christian and super conservative and drive them batshit crazy with my views. And that's saying something because my dad's a Christian and conservative, but he's also pretty easy going and laid back.

OR I could start dating a Scientologist. Wait, no. That would be bad. Scientology is a whole different rant.

Love,
Katee!

[p.s. I just did the spell check thing, and it asked if I wanted to replace 'batshit' with 'batched' and 'Scientology' with 'scintillating'. Why does this amuse me so much?]

... We Did Take Down the Outside Lights

Our Christmas tree has been up for 6 1/2 months. In 2005 we got it put up by June 1. That deadline has come and gone this year. Will I get it put up by July 1?

Charlie's Good Burgers

Although there is nothing new about the turkey burger, I have a way of making them that my family just loves.

I start with Honeysuckle white meat ground turkey. I then season them a pound at a time. This way the seasoning is consistent. Turkey has a much more delicate flavor than beef so I stay away from the Cajun seasonings as they are too strong and spicy. My favorite is Lawry's seasoned salt. Sprinkle it generously, add a little black pepper and a good sprinkling of garlic powder.

Mix well and form into 4 patties. Place on a microwave safe platter 2 at a time. Put a hole in the middle of each burger -- this makes them cook evenly from the inside out. You may be asking why the microwave? Turkey is low in fat and tends to stick when you fry or bar-b-que them. Believe me the microwave leaves them juicy and tender. Microwave 2 for about 4 minutes or until juices run clear. Let cool for a couple of minutes and enjoy.

Charlie

Envelopes a Single Luscious Cherry

It started out as one single pink foil wrapped chocolate covered cherry and morphed into an orthopedic pillow.

I'’m so tired. Feeling burnt out. Working full time and taking care of two bipolar people has worn me down more than my liquid b-12 can buzz me up. Sometimes I feel like the only one around here who'’s doing any nurturing. Then I popped open the box of Godiva Chocolates I bought Katee and discovered three were left. Katee happened to walk by. She pointed to the one foil wrapped candy. "“I saved it for you momma. It's chocolate covered cherry."”

I work the swing shift as a dealer on one of our riverboat casinos. This morning I came home from work at 5am after staying over to count tokes. I was tired and sweaty. On my side of the bed lay Katee'’s new orthopedic pillow. I had teased her earlier in the week saying she should let me use it since my hip was hurting. She'’d said no.

I slipped on my sleep clothes and eased my head to the pillow with its purple case. It was a sweet three hours of slumber until I had wake up to attend a mandatory meeting at work. How else to explain how that pillow made me feel? In the words of Godiva: Introducing a completely new puff of indulgence. An exquisitely crafted assortment of adventurous spongy combinations, intriguing textures, elegant forms and dynamic patterns -- all gracefully packaged in a little purple cotton t... the quintessential embodiment of possibility.

Making Dirt

Every spring, I think, This is the summer I will grow something luscious and wonderful.

My neighbor gave me three wheelbarrows full of monkey grass he'd thinned from the border of his front yard. I rooted it in my front yard to make a border for a new bed. Nothing is seeded yet.

First I have to create dirt. I've scooped the mulchy leaves that collect in the street in front of our house. From the back yard I've hauled around tan colored sand left from when another neighbor installed an inflatable pool. A couple of trips around to the side of the house yielded more crumbly humus and the added bonus of sweet gum balls. To all this I added bagged peat moss and compost.

What I Know About Dirt

*I once used a kitchen spoon to dig up the root of a mimosa tree.

*When my daughter was little her favorite activity at the Red River Revel was the mock archeological dig.

*The earth is so fertile around here trees sprout and grow in the middle of the lakes.

*When my daughter was born the whole room smelled like fresh, wet earth.

World Famous National Geographic explorer

Internationally renowned Charles G. Fontane arrives in Shreveport after documenting Machu Picchu’s impressive ruins in Peru, discovering 1,500-year-old jade axe blades in the eastern Caribbean, and recovering elaborate offerings to the Maya gods and kings in Guatemala…

Uh… not really… it’s just Charlie minutes after being released from Willis Knighton’s Behavioral Medicine unit.

But then again... Since 1890 the National Geographic Society has supported more than 8,000 research projects and explorations, adding to knowledge of earth, sea and sky. Maybe what we're doing here with Crazy in Shreveport can be viewed as a research project and exploration.

baby's first post.

Keeping my self sane can be really inconvenient sometimes.

After getting on my new insurance and getting to explain myself to a psychiatrist that I get along with, I've been put on a new med-cocktail that I think has worked the best out of the numerous others I've been on: Equetro to keep me my moods in check, Wellbutrin XL to keep me from being too emo, Ambien CR to sleep, and Xanax XR for that horrible anxiety I've had to deal with my entire life.

It's a nice combination, but there's a small hitch. I've been on birth control for about two or three years due to a menstrual cycle of doom, and it was always the Pill. It seemed appropriate since I'd never had any trouble taking pills or remembering to do so. When I got the bottle of Equetro from the Target pharmacy, I saw on the warnings label that it may interfere with oral contraceptives. It should've said, "If on oral contraceptives, will give patient two periods in a month and fuck up her hormones so that she is horrible to be around." I wasn't happy.

So now it was time for a visit to the GP, whom I rather like. She's young-ish and very nice. My mom came in with me, which she didn't do on the previous visit. This was because I was considering an IUD and she wanted to explain why I needed it. Or something. The reason, of course, was so I wouldn't get pregnant for some reason or another, which would be incredibly inconvenient considering that conservatives are doing all they can to ban a woman's right to choose.

The IUD idea was rejected, which I expected because of my age and the fact I hadn't had a kid, but it was worth a try. What I was not expecting was a mini-pelvic exam and a prescription for a NuvaRing. I have always taken up issue with foreign objects being up there because of a wonderful little condition I have called vaginismus. Because of this, I don't use tampons and pelvic exams are generally nightmares. My doctor gave me a sample Ring which came with a CD holder that I will never, ever use and a little timer that tells me when it's time to remove the Ring so a period can occur.

A week or two after the visit, when my pill pack ran out and my actual period was over, I set to work on the placing the Ring inside me without freaking out. The first and only time I had a forray into tampon use was a disaster. I didn't want this to be the same. The Ring looked a lot less threatening than a tampon. It looked like one of the rubber bracelets that were popular when I was 15 or so, only smaller. It bent and squished easily into place. And that was it. I'd done it!

But the Ring was not happy in its new residence. It continually tried to escape, making me have to run to the bathroom in the middle of GED class, in restaurants, and other public places. I don't like using the bathroom in a public place. Yuck. I tried asking the Ring nicely to stay in place, but she (I like to think of it as a she, and even gave it a name. Yeah, I'm that weird) refused to listen and instead would scoot halfway out as if in protest. "Give me liberty or I'm making you uncomfortable!" was what she seemed to be telling me. Three weeks after the initial insertion, I gladly took her out and threw her away so she could go to NuvaRing heaven. For the first time, I was excited about the week of my period. It meant that I wouldn't have to deal with the Ring.

Last Friday, when I inserted a new Ring, I expected the same thing. To my delighted surprise, this Ring seems to like her temporary home. I've had no problems at all, and I haven't had any breakthrough bleeding in two months.

Pfft. The things I'll do to stay sane.

Hug and kisses and all that crap,
Katee.

Happy Hour - or What I do After Work

Visiting Hours

Take the main elevator to the second floor of Willis Knighton South. Exit the elevator and toddle right.
Walk past the big wooden clock that does not work.

Ponder the cluster of shiny baby beds. Push through the big set of Homeland Security doors.

Pick up a badge so you won't be
mistaken for a patient.