Maybe it's much too early in the game...

It's here!  It's here!  A new year, and a time for reflection, resolutions, casting out the old, bringing in the new.... blah blah blah blah sentiment blah blah blah blah.

Basically, this is the time of year when people figure out who they want to be when they grow up... or at least who they want to be next week.  I have decided that I want to be a thin, organized and happy individual in 2012.  That's also what I wanted to be in 2011, 2010, 2009... you get the idea, gentle reader?

I believe that part of the issue I have with de-cluttering my home and my body comes partially from my own belief that, in and of itself, I am NOT enough.  I am not smart, talented, attractive, or witty enough to live in this world on my own.  So I accumulate STUFF.  I accumulate books, CDs, magazines, gadgets, clothing, shoes, and food food food food food.  I have accumulated so much stuff that I have no idea where it starts and my own person begins.  It's frustrating and embarrassing.

From the age of 8, I fell into that gushy, warm American materialistic belief system that if I just had those Esprit sneakers, or that IOU sweatshirt, or those Z Cavaricci pants, I would be happy.  I would be fulfilled.  The mean girls at school would finally stop making fun of me, and the boys would realize that I was just as cute as ... those mean girls.  The thoughts that took up space in my 8 year old, 12 year old, 17 year old, and 23 year old brains just make me angry.  Those thoughts are some of the same ones I have now, with more "grown up" traits.  The cycle, my friends, must bloody well stop.

Where do we go from here?  Thanks so much for asking, Mr. Lloyd Webber!!!  I have made a decision.  I watched myself go through all kinds of ridiculous cycles in my brain over people and things and whether or not I was popular enough.  I watched myself earn a high school diploma and college degree.  I watched the possibility of a high-profile singing career die a quick death at the hands of mental illness.  I watched myself crawl on hands and knees through the trenches of coming back from said illness.  You know what?  I'm fucking tired.  You know where we go from here?  We go home.

Home!  What a concept!  I have one of those!  It's full of all the things that my husband and I accumulate because we're unhappy with ourselves.  This cycle ends here, my friends.

I am armed with a shit ton of organization books from the library, a phone number for a dumpster service, and beautiful beautiful ebay.

I am enough without all this crap in my house and my brain.  I am enough with my husband, our satanically-minded cat, and a home in which we can start anew.

I am, quite simply, enough.

Happy Freakin' New Year.  

As promised....

In the midst of playing Mrs. Lovett in a local production of "Sweeney Todd", I made a blog promise to myself that I would delve into the shadier side of my brain for awhile.  My hope is that those that read it will understand a bit more about what having a mental illness means, at least to one human being out there, and that I may gain a bit more insight at the same time.

I mention the production of "Sweeney Todd" because it was an incredible experience, but more importantly the trigger to the re-visiting of the "old days", the days when Laura couldn't get her ass out of bed for more than 2 hours at a time.  The days when I would spend more time in my bedroom than anywhere else in the world.  I can still vividly see my husband's face and defeated demeanor as he left for another day of work at noontime, leaned over me, kissed me on the cheek, and said "Try your hardest to get out of bed for a little while today."

The setting for "Sweeney Todd" was Fogg's Asylum, one of the places of action for the story itself, and through the opening number, the inmates of the asylum (our cast) would slowly tell the story, and become the characters of the story.  When our director first told me of the setting, I was intrigued and scared out of my mind.  The "pre-show" was going to be a day in the asylum, with members of the cast dragging onto the stage and portraying mental patients for a good 15-20 minutes before the opening number.  I would be one of those patients.  My mind immediately flashed to the many common rooms of psych wards I'd been in.  There was Caritas Carney, Emerson Hospital, McLean, Pembroke, Bayridge, Holy Family, Mass General.  I saw patients young and old, with all manner of mental illness, and saw the mannerisms I could portray.  How would I play this?  Loud?  Quiet?  Creepy?  Desperate?

My mother is an incredibly wise woman, who once said to me "Your illness is like a friend you'll never get rid of.  Sometimes it's living in the next town, and sometimes it's got a hand in your back pocket.  But it's yours, Laura.  No one else's."

So I was Laura.  I walked out on that stage and felt myself slip into that old skin.  It was frightening.  It scared me because I didn't know if I'd be able to get myself out of it again.

But I did.... and went on to sing the hell out of a great show.  And that, gentle reader, is what made all the difference. ;)  

Two Years

This past week marked my "anniversary".  Married people have them, alcoholics have them, recovering smokers have them, and by golly, this crazy lady has one.

It has been two years since I have been "locked up" in a hospital for suicidal urges and cutting. It's the longest period of time I've spent outside a hospital since I was 18.  I'm kind of excited about it.  I was diagnosed with anxiety when I was 15, and that diagnosis blossomed into a beautiful Bipolar II Disorder by the time I reached 19.  I have been on a lot of meds, tried a lot of therapies, and have even had ECT (otherwise known as "shock therapy").  It's been quite a journey.

Over the course of the next few blog entries, I think I'm going to look at this in a little more depth.  It may be helpful to people out there, or it may just be cathartic for me.  Either way, it'll get a little sun and fresh air.  We'll walk it around the grounds, see if it's having a good day....

The title of this blog is.....

..... "Coffee and Lithium".  Because that's what I lived on for years.  If it didn't have caffeine or psychotropic enhancers of some kind, it didn't pass these lips.  I'm a purist.

But if I were to re-title this blog, it would most likely be called "Coffee and Ben & Jerry's".  Because that's what I'm living on now.  I don't really give in to fads or any of that nonsense.... Mass General and all the other big hospitals in the area like to say that diet and exercise will prolong my life.  I'm sure that if I hold out long enough, it will be proven that I was right from the start..... it was the random days of 5 or 6 iced coffees imbibed within 12 hours that kept me strong.  Hey, when I'm the only guy left alive post-Apocalypse, walking a Bible typed in Braille to the ends of the earth, you'll all know for sure.....

All self-congratulatory humorous nonsense aside, I'm fat.  I weight about 130 pounds more than I should.  And that's not model weight; that's "She's always going to be a bit large" weight.  I was fat when I was a kid.  I was fat in high school (which was wicked populah).  I was fat in college.  I was a fat bride.  I am now a fat, nearing middle-age adult.  I have no idea what to do with myself.  Nope!  Scratch that.... I have EVERY IDEA of what to do with myself..... I'm a semi-intelligent person who is aware every diet/exercise regimen known to God and man.  I know what every single regimen does and why it works.

I think I just need a reason to do it.

When I was in high school/college, I figured I'd have to shed some weight sooner or later to "find me a man!".... but then I met Paulie, and all the after-school specials were right; it's about your insides, not your outsides.  I have a gym membership (which I use 2-3 times a month now).  I have a brilliant mind for foods and what I like; I could figure out healthy meal options as quickly as my Corolla pulls into the Wendy's drive-through.... so why do I keep pulling the car around?

What do people do to motivate themselves when they know the billion reasons why they should do something and they still can't???  If I keep using more question marks, will I suddenly get the answer?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

Little pieces of paper....

I've been working on the side project of getting my house more organized *cue studio audience laugh*.

In the midst of it all, a great big honkin' pile of receipts has arisen, like a cracken from the sea!  In the interest of sanity, I have decided to get them all recorded onto an Excel spreadsheet.... wicked pissah oar-gan-i-zay-shun.  What really slaps me across the face is the life story one can tell just with a few receipts.

Dec 2007- Here's that receipt for Target.  I bought Paulie's stocking stuffers for our first married Christmas that day.

April 2011- Here's one for the gas station in the middle of I-91, when I was driving home from the James Taylor gig.

Nov 2009- Here's one for Starbucks in Belmont.... my first taste of non-hospital coffee in weeks.  A caramel macchiato tastes a hell of a lot sweeter with McLean Hospital in your rear-view mirror.

I'm still sorting and entering data, but now I feel like I've accomplished a few things in the past few hours; even the past few years.  And I'm reminded that it can really just be about the journey sometimes.

Here's to many more receipts.......

What would you do?

This weekend, Amy Winehouse was found dead in her London home.  After posting an article that comedian Russell Brand wrote about her to my Facebook, lively discussion ensued.  Was her death "her fault"?  Was her addiction something that she didn't kick, so it's her own fault that she's dead? Should we be sorry?

Personally, I find her story to be scarily close to my own.  She is a woman whose demons were always at the forefront, and she chose drugs and alcohol to fight them.  I chose cutting and SI, then therapy and medication.  We each self-medicated at one point.  How is it she's gone, and I'm still here?

Imagine you were a member of her family; what would you do?  Would you try to seek help for her?  Would you leave her to find help on her own, since she would be the one to go into the hospital?

What would YOU do??

"I cheated myself like I knew I would.  I told you I was trouble.... you know that I'm no good."

What shall we do tonight, Brain?

This blog has been in existence for about.... 2 years?


I keep putting things up, and then quickly deleting them.  "That sounds ridiculous when I read it aloud.", or  "Nobody cares, Laura!" are the sentences that would be screamed at the monitor on a regular basis. 

Now I just want to put things up here, and see what happens.  It might be funny, sad, music-related, nonsensical.  Let's just see where the next wind takes us.