Several bloggers I know have written posts similar to this one. It’s been mainly women bloggers writing these and marking them private, which is understandable. Past lovers are listed, the situation(s) described, and maybe a note written to the person telling them what they think of said person now.

I’m not going to write a similar post because there’s no way I’d be able to remember how many men I’ve slept with, and it isn’t just because of the ECT. There were plenty: several one-night stands, “play dates” with guys who already had girlfriends, you name it. Even if I could remember the exact number, I’d need more than just my fingers and toes to count all the guys.

Most of this happened between the ages of 20 and 23. Go ahead and call me a slut. I suppose I was. All of this occurred before I was diagnosed with bipolar and borderline personality disorders (BPD) in 1994, when I was 24. One of the DSM-IV criteria for BPD is this:

4. impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating).

(All the criteria can be found here.)

Once I was in treatment and on the proper medication, this behavior stopped. Before that, I had the idea in my head that the more men I slept with, the more attractive I was. I grew up with both parents telling me I was ugly, and especially that my lips were too big. In Mrs. Monahan’s eighth grade reading class, this guy Mike drew a picture of a giant pair of lips with a teeny, tiny body attached to it and wrote my name on it. This drawing was passed around, and as you can imagine, elicited many snickers and “furtive” looks my way. I saw the picture. I did nothing about it.

To this day, I am very self-conscious about my lips, but at least I only have sex with my husband.

by Christopher Priest

Although The Prestige is categorized as science fiction, there are no spaceships, alternate galaxies, or aliens. I believe it falls into that category because science, albeit early 20th-century science, is a major part of the plot. It did receive the World Fantasy Award in 1996, but there are no dragons or elves here, either.

The only other information I had before reading the book was of a rivalry between two magicians, so I assumed the title word, “prestige,” connoted the fame and fortune associated with performers. Rather, it refers to “the effect (emphasis added), or…the product of magic” (73), which is important to keep in mind as you read.

(more…)

The latest episode of CSI – Cat Scene Investigation is the result of having two alpha cats in the household. I know the picture is blurry because it was taken with a camera phone, but you can see the injury to Hopper’s mouth pretty clearly. It looks even worse in person. Or, in uh, cat (?):

Though the evidence is circumstantial, the perpetrator isn’t meek, little Hee Seop this time. It’s our alpha male, Angelo. Sorry, jane, I know how much you love him, but this is exactly the type of shit he pulls and Hopper, unfortunately, gets the worst of it. Face it — you love a thug!

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Angelo says: More pet pics are available for your viewing pleasure at this week’s Friday Ark. If you post your own pets’ photos, leave them a trackback or comment and you’ll be listed there, too. And remember — they don’t limit pictures just to cats!

I was incredibly surprised to find that I’m at 130 lbs. when I weighed myself at the gym today. I didn’t work out yesterday, but the other day I was at like, 131.2 or something like that. I hadn’t had a BM in two days despite all the Metamucil–until yesterday. It’s amazing how much of a difference taking a shit can make, isn’t it? :d

See more progress on: Lose 20 pounds

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Perhaps the Rozerem could have been why I’ve felt so shitty the past couple of days. According to Robert Meyer, M.D., who was interviewed for this article, “‘We saw in the clinical trials that Rozerem could increase depression in people who are depressed’”. So I stopped taking it last night and will take the Lunesta samples I have instead. The pdoc didn’t call back yesterday, so we’ll call him again tomorrow.

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I was going to write a FOAD post, but since everyone’s probably too stuffed on turkey to go blog surfing anyway, I’ll save it for next week. (*)

Last night, when we met with our couples counselor, I told her that my biggest fear is to fall into another depressive episode. According to an article in the American Journal of Psychiatry (online), “In the United States, 85% of patients with an episode of major depression go on to have a recurrence (3), with an apparent increase in severity with each subsequent episode (5)”. I can’t even count on one hand how many depressive episodes I’ve had.

After these past couple of months of doing so well, I’m afraid I’m crashing again. I know what my symptoms are, and these are the most recent ones: difficulty getting out of bed; difficulty getting myself to do anything other than sit in front of the computer and “waste time” playing online games; difficulty making decisions; lack of personal hygiene. This last one is what’s been bothering me the most.

I’ve been showering every day, especially on the days I go to the gym, but the last few nights that I’ve come home late from hockey, I’ve gone straight to bed after taking my meds because I’m afraid that a shower will stimulate me and that I’ll be up ’til 4:00 in the morning. That sort of makes sense. However, where I was vigilant about my nightly skincare routine before, I’ve been a complete slacker in the past week or so–and I’ve been complaining about the condition of my skin, because even though I take care of it, wearing a goalie helmet doesn’t help reduce breakouts. And it isn’t like we can afford for me to have facials on a regular basis. I need an extraction bad, bad, bad, even though they’re painful!

I was unable to sleep last night and got to bed later than I should have, though I can’t remember what time. I couldn’t get up this morning when Brian was leaving for work, though I did get out of bed by 10:00 a.m. Still, I couldn’t make myself go to the gym. The rest of the day has been complete and utter shit, and it wasn’t until after 4:00 p.m. that I finally managed to drag myself into the shower–never mind the fact that I’d had a leak in my underpants and have my period. I know that’s gross, but it is what it is. I hope to God that my biggest fear isn’t coming true.