All I want for Christmas....

Someone heard our pleas, prayers, posts, and whines! It's not even Christmas yet, and we have found a place to live! Mom & Dad have rented a house not far from where we are now, about a mile away, actually, and there is room for all of us. The close location makes them happy--they were so worried about being too far away from their church, as well as Max being far away from school. This also means we don't shouldn't have to pack quite as severely as if we were moving farther away. Of course, my Dad doesn't really believe that, and is packing us as if we are moving across the country. Which is funny, since 75% of the boxes we're for using this move are banana boxes, with holes in the tops.

The new house, at least what I've seen of it so far, seems nice. It's yellow. And kinda...well, pointy. Tomorrow I'm going over to explore and get a better look, and I'll take some pictures, so you can see what I mean.

As of today, the plan is that we'll all split the rent & utilities: the folks, Jolene, Hattie & myself. It's been agreed that I will be saving up, in hopes of being able to move into my own place. I'm hoping to do that by my birthday, in March.

The big problem now, of course, is packing. It's interfering with my actual life -you know, surfing the internet, reading, watching the telly, doing my nails, reading some more, snacking, and whining because I have to get all this crap in my room put into some boxes before my father has a conniption fit. I did pack my books, but that was the easy part. Books are simple-they're all the same basic shape, and don't need to be wrapped or cushioned. I've moved a lot in my life, and have packed boxes of books over & over & over; I can do it in my sleep. It's the other, random stuff that is going to be a pain in the tukkus. Once I get going, it'll be fine. What I really want for Christmas is someone else to do the packing, and moving for us--and that Dad would be somewhere else during the whole thing. He's getting on everyone's nerves, and the day of the move is going to be hell.



 

On a different subject, entirely: I saw Dr Jeff last week, and am now taking a new antidepressant combo, and have a referral to a therapist. He was concerned about me, and very nice about the whole thing, didn't make me feel ashamed or wrong in any way. I appreciate that. He also told me that if  I ever begin to feel as if I cannot fight the darkness again, I should call him, immediately. He promised to give the office and service orders to put me through if I call. I was pretty impressed that an GP would do that. This is one of the many things I like about him.

Here's another lovely thing to whine about:  two years ago, I informed the Department of Education that I was now considered "fully and permanently disabled," which meant that I was eligible to have my student loans forgiven. I filled out paperwork, had my doctor sign it, and sent it in. It never arrived. We went though this four or five times. My neurologist has left his position (he'd originally signed the papers), and the PA couldn't do the new paperwork. So the Department of Education decided I was in default, and sent my loans to collections. Because I needed one more thing to worry about, I took the new paperwork to Dr Jeff last week, and he's filled it all out, signed & sealed. I talked to the collections company today, and they were so sweet--frankly, I was confused. All I have to do now is either fax or email that paper, and they'll be off my back. Let's hope this works this time!

 

Okay. I'm off to bed, where I'll stay awake for the next two hours reading, I'm sure. Goody for me!

Book Review: My Mother Was Nuts

My Mother Was Nuts by Penny Marshall


Penny Marshall is a better comedian, actress and director than writer. I imagine that many of these stories were funny, and a heck of a lot more interesting when they happened, but, even hearing most of them told in her uniquely gravelly voice (I listened to the audio book), did not bring them to life. This is too bad, since she's lived quite a life.

Most folks my age remember Penny Marshall primarily as Laverne DeFazio on the sitcom "Laverne & Shirley," but these days, she's better known as a director and producer. although she's made some of the best known and well-loved (as well as biggest grossing!) films of our time, she's never been nominated for major awards for her work, even though her films have won. Let me clarify: Marshall was nominated as an actress for the Golden Globe 3 times for Laverne & Shirley, and has won awards from several other places for her films & her work in general, including receiving a star on Hollywood's Walk of Fame.  But while several of her films (Big, Awakenings, Cinderella Man, A League of Their Own) were nominated and in several cases won Golden Globes or Oscars for actors, music, or various other things, Penny herself has been neglected. This isn't something that seems to bother her; as long as she's working, having fun, and getting to season tickets to sporting events, she's happy.

"I'm not someone who has had to deal with much personal drama outside of the usual: growing up with parents who hated each other, two marriages and divorces of my own. There was the cancer thing, too." This is how she opens her book. Having seen her work in Hollywood, I know she can tell a story, and there are places in her memoir where that shines through. Unfortunately, her natural low-key style keeps things from ever really taking off. I'm betting if someone presented this to her as a screenplay, she'd turn it down. As a matter of fact, while discussing making the film 'Riding In Cars With Boys,' she mentions that the action in the screenplay seems to jump from one time period to another, without any sort of transition, ""there were no in-betweens," and that it drove her crazy. I felt the same way about most of this book. I craved details, not just name-dropping. Don't just give me a list of all the famous people who were at the birthday parties she & Carrie Fisher co-hosted every year; tell me what they did! She mentions once that David Bowie & Iman crashed one of these parties, and that's it. She mentions it. Tell us about it! Great stories are in the details, and unfortunately, Penny Marshall leaves out too many of the details. She's had an amazing, interesting life, but if you want to know about it, this isn't the book to read.

 

So Much More

"There's so much more to a book than just reading."  -Maurice Sendak

My life has revolved around books, in some way, shape, or form, for as long as I can remember, and so when I came across this quote today, it struck me as especially true. Books have been my self-medication, that drug I turn to, reading until the pain is numbed or the anger faded; my anchor, helping to keep me calm in stormy seas; my inspiration, showing me that the light at the end of the tunnel isn't neccessarily a train (and if it is, teaching me how to avoid being run down!). Books continue to show me that I am not alone, and for that reason alone, I will never give up reading.

I am still fighting darkness, and this week, a book gave me some words I desperately needed. I began reading

Asylum: Hollywood Tales from My Great Depression: Brain Dis-Ease, Recovery, and Being My Mother's Son

by Joe Pantoliano, the actor best known for his role on The Sopranos (although I remember him primarily as Guido in Risky Business, this is how old I am!). I haven't made it past the introduction yet, and already, I'm reading parts of this book to family and friends, and writing a post about it. This man, who has struggled his entire life with depression, ADHD, and for years never knew what was really wrong, has put my feelings into words so eloquently, so perfectly, I can't talk about it without crying. As he discusses his brain disease, and the battles against the stigma of mental illness, he writes this, which is where I began to bawl:

"Louis B Mayer once said 'The most important thing about acting is sincerity....Once you learn to fake that, you got it made.' That's what my depression felt like- like I was faking it. Faking sincerity. Faking serenity. Faking life." (p. 224) Faking it is what I've been doing my entire life, it seems, but Joe finally put it into words.

There is much, much more to this book, and I know I'll have a whopper of a review for you all once I finish it. But right now, I just had to say that I have never been so glad I chose a book at the time I did.

By the way, I am beginning a new antidepressant tomorrow, (saw Dr Jeff today), and have a referral to a therapist, so with any luck, we'll get some of this darkness cleared away for good. Or at least find a nice storage facility for it.

Shades of Dark

It's been a rough week. Rollercoaster time. Not sure if it is the new meds, or just me, or all the crap going on around here, or a combination of all these things, but I've been sliding farther and farther into the darkness. Depression is something that I've lived with since I was very young-- the first episode that I remember was the summer after my tenth birthday. I spent as much time as I could hiding out in the spare bedroom in our house, or in the treehouse, always with a book, and finally, after a couple of weeks, I started to feel like hanging out with the other kids, and kinda snapped out of it. That was one of the shortest episodes in my memory, and one of the easiest. I just thought all this weirdness was part of "my changing body," a phrase that had been tossed around a lot that year. If that's what it was, well, then my body is still changing, because the weirdness, that darkness, has never completely gone away.

I've been on different anti-depressant meds over the year. Prozac was the first they gave me, but it made me feel as if I was wrapped up in cotton batting. I couldn't feel anything, good or bad; there were times even my senses were dulled, as if I were under water. I told the doc I'd rather feel lousy than not feel anything, because at least then I knew I was alive. She understood that. Next we tried a very low dose of Zoloft, and I stuck with that for a while. I was never sure if it actually did anything for my depression, but I know it affected my sex drive. Eliminated it. Antidepressants are the antiviagra.  Either way, after a couple of years I stopped taking it, since I seemed to be feeling better. (This was about the same time I was taking Keppra for my seizures, and it caused such obnoxious mood swings that I was ready to give up all meds.) Two and a half years ago, after Michele passed away, and all the other stuff that was happening around that time, I began having panic attacks again, something that hadn't happened in over ten years. And, I could feel the darkness creeping up. So back came the Zoloft, and that's what I've been on ever since.

Until the last month, when, in trying to figure out a solution for my TMJ, Dr Jeff added a small dosage of Valium to the mix, I'd been taking Flexeril to ease the TMJ pain at night, since the muscle relaxant stops me from grinding my teeth so much, and Valium had the same effect. Flexeril had a couple of obnoxious side effects--Sahara strength dry mouth, and, well, I'll be polite and call it "blockage." So we tried something else, and it worked, as well as having none of those side effects. It did make me a little sleepier than I am normally (because I'm not tired enough as it is), and I am afraid it may have made the darkness fall a little faster.

I found myself in tears at least twice a day, and on Monday, as I curled up on my bed, trying to take a nap, I scared myself. All these years, all this darkness, and for the first time, I thought how nice it would be to go to sleep and not wake up again. I started an inventory of the various meds in my room, and realized if I took them, I could make it happen. Honestly, this both terrified, and comforted me. If you've never been in this place, I don't know if you can understand, but knowing that there is something there that would take away all this pain, for good, it is an amazingly soothing thought. Fortunately, I am not that far in the dark. I called my sister, told her how I was feeling. She said she'd be home as soon as she could, and told me to take my big basket of meds out to mom in the front room, which I did. Within minutes, our niece, Shelley, was at the house, and then Jolene arrived. Shelley understands more than anyone else. We sat in my room for the next few hours, talking, crying, and eventually laughing. The dark faded from ebony to charcoal to fog.

The fog bank is still hanging over me. Depression doesn't just go away. I'm seeing the doctor again, and will be for the first time since college, going to therapy of some sort. Get these meds adjusted. Let some light in. There is a part of me that fights the urge to sleep all day, but I am fighting. As long as I'm fighting, I know I'll be okay. When I've stopped fighting, well, then darkness will truly fall.

Told Ya

I said in my recent post about our moving that plans would change. And they have. My sister has decided that she needs to take care of her children, and is looking for a place for the three of them, with out little ol' me. Now, I understand this, and I applaud her for chooseing her kids over all else--she is a great mother, always has been, and her children (while raging smart-asses, both of them!) adore her. Isn't this what a parent is supposed to do? Take care of their kids, sacrifice, all that stuff? I'd do the same, if I had any kids. So I am happy that my sister is a good mom, and will get her a big badge, or a bumper sticker or something as soon as I can. But....I am now stuck wondering what to do with myself.

Both of my parents have approached me with reminders that I can come and live with them, because there is always a place for me in their home. Yippee. I'll get to spend the rest of my life in another tiny room, with the too-loud sounds of Fox News and whatever sports event is on drifiting in, trying to pretend that this is the life I want. Nope.

I was so hoping for some kind of actual change, but it looks as if I'm not gonna get one. Other than the color of the walls, I'll be in pretty much the same place; More than likely, most of my belongings will remain boxed and in a garage or storage shed somewhere, unused and gathering dust. My big beautiful bookcase will remain empty and lonely, all the books in boxes. And forget about my having my own bathroom; this time around, I get to share everything with a pair of senior citizens.

Guess it's a good thing I don't have any semblance of a social life, huh? Bringing a guy back to an apartment I shared with my sister and an 11-year-old would have been difficult enough. I wouldn't even consider it in a home I share with my parents. Complete celibacy for me. Another thing that isn't changing.

I'm depressing myself again. I sure hope nobody out there reads this looking for uplifting, inspirtational posts, because these days, I ain't got those in me.

[caption id="attachment_1102" align="aligncenter" width="300"] This is how I feel.[/caption]

Dream A Little Dream of Corey

I graduated from high school in 1986, and was surrounded by the films of the Brat Pack & the Coreys, and was part of the very first MTV generation. I wanted to read Corey Feldman's memoir from the moment I heard he was writing one; it did not disappoint. Nobody expected great literature, but he has delivered a true and occasionally wrenching portrait of his life in Hollywood.

The death of Corey Haim was a heartbreaker, and after reading Corey Feldman's tale of his friend's abuse & molestation, the drug use makes much more sense. I watched both of their earlier movies (Stand By Me, The Goonies, Dream a Little Dream, Lost Boys, and my personal favorite, The 'Burbs) fondly, but never saw an episode of "The Two Corey's," the semi-reality television show they eventually made together. And I am glad. Watching The Surreal Life was bad enough--one can only take so much of fallen idols.

Feldman's relationship with Michael Jackson is discussed, of course, and is yet another heartbreaker. As with so many of the children who were Michael's friend, Corey Feldman has always maintained that Jackson never abused him in any way, and was a model of good behavior. But the media twisted his words, and destroyed one of the few friendships Corey had with an adult, causing him and Jackson to stop speaking for years before Michael's death.
Corey Feldman is a strong man to have survived the crazy abusive parents, molestation and drug abuse he has been through, things that killed so many of his friends. He's now sober, a father (and, it seems, a pretty good one!), musician, still working as an actor. Best of all, he is doing his best to change the way children are treated in Hollywood.



Oh, by the way: I always thought it was a shame that the press never reported the truth about Corey Haim's death. He did not die from an overdose. The autopsy showed he had pneumonia, and an enlarged heart. The only drugs found in his system were over the counter cold meds. He'd been clean, and sober, and was trying to get his life back on track, helping his mother who was going through chemo. Corey truly died of natural causes.

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ex7CmuStrKo

 

Does anyone want to give me a house for Christmas?

I can't honestly say I ever had a grand plan for my life, but I can say that this wasn't it. To be 46-years-old, divorced, childless, in chronic pain, and soon to be homeless. That is the issue I am whining about right now (I don't have any real problems with being divorced, since I am on very friendly terms with my ex-husband. The childless thing, well, that's something I will discuss with God some day.).

My parents, John & Arlene, are selling the family home. This is where they, my sister Jolene and her two children have lived for the last eleven years. Max has never lived anywhere else--we brought him here from the hospital. I've moved around a bit while they've owned this house, but have always had a room to come back to. I was living here when I met Charlie, and when I both married and divorced him. Totally not the point, I know, but still...

They've been talking about selling for a while, but decided to actually do it seemingly overnight. . Apparently the folks assumed we were all going to move together again, into yet another big house, but one we would rent, rather than try to make house payments on. They aren't too happy that none of us are going along with that plan. Jolene & I have mostly decided that she & I and Max will find a place a together, and that will work, we hope. Mom and Dad will have to find their own place, as will Hattie Jo. Of course, this plan has changed several times, and continues to do so.

If I had the money, and could have my way, I'd get my own place. But that isn't going to happen. EVER, apparently. Don't get me wrong, I love my family, I do. But I am sick and tired of living with them. Of being treated as if I'm either not there at all, or if I am there, as if I'm still 14-years-old. My sister doesn't treat me like a teenager, but neither of us is real considerate of the other. I'd really like to live somewhere where the menu consists of more than pizza and chicken nuggets. I'm going to spend the rest of my life living with others, it seems, living in a place filled with cigarette smoke, video game noises, and fast food. Sounds like living in a college dorm.

I have dreams of my own little flat, decorated just to my specifications, dreams that will never come true. (I am depressing myself.) My Pinterest boards are filled with dream images of this fantasy place-- a beautiful bedroom (I have one of those now, really), a bathroom I don't have to share that is not decorated with cartoon fish, a kitchen not overflowing with plasticware or processed food. Books everywhere, and no Fox News EVER!!  Granted, I am not the most ambitious of people, and it's quite likely my place wouldn't be as perfect as I'd hope. But what ever is? Still, I can continue to dream, can't I?

Looking for a new place to live has caused huge stress for our entire family. If a day goes by without a fight or tears, it's a wonder. Dad is driving us all crazy, because in his semi-dementia state, he seems to believe that we should be able to just clap our hands, and like Tinkerbell coming back to life, the perfect home will appear. Perhaps, in his world, I'll be able to do my Bewitched nose twitch and furnish this new home as well. Makes me wonder what happens when the Law & Order doink plays.

We're looking for new homes, just in time for Christmas. I don't think Santa is going to bring any of us what we need this year.