Archive for August, 2008

There’s an Oak Tree in my back yard where I have a small deck and an equally small wooden table with two chairs.  When the weather is nice, I sit there and have my tea.  Lately, I have been questioning whether or not I should start wearing my cycling helmet when I go out.  You see, there are acorns falling from the sky! Or so it would seem? Oaks are rather tall so these are like wee bullets (or missiles?) and I’m rather concerned.  It’s not like I have enough going on (or wrong…) with my head already!

Today, one little bombshell landed about two feet away from me and I just about needed a defibrillator.  It was at that point I said to hell with it and ran back into my flat!!!

Is there some “Squiddle” gone mad up in the tree that suddenly has it out for me or is it the tree itself somehow seeking revenge–part of nature now seeing this brightly painted target that I have on my back: “Life. Come and Get Me.”

Ah, yes.  “Squddles.”

This takes me back to my first trip to England and Scotland when I was 19.  It was quite a dandy! I went with my first serious boyfriend (pre-PA’s coming out obviously.)  Not that he was a dandy but perhaps could have been? Slightly effeminate but PA always was drawn to the effeminate chaps.  Now, how telling is that considering she later came out as being gay.  And how prophetic where she did actually date one guy as a teenager who “came out” to HER on Christmas Eve!

*PA rolls eyes*

PA was never popular with boys growing up.  Christ, she was never popular with anyone having next to no social skills! And in looking back, “Gay Christmas Eve Boy?” Holy shit! Fuh-Laming!!! It’s no bloody wonder PA got along with him so well! She was as queer as he was–she just didn’t quite know it yet.

But back to the “Squiddles.”

The trip to England and Scotland was for three weeks.  PAs “beau” was several years older and with her still being in her final year of high school…well, folks…she had a part time job so think about it.  Three weeks in Europe? He footed the entire thing (he wasn’t loaded but obviously loaded enough?) PA paid for one hotel and dinner in either Edin. or Glas. but that was it! Lordy!

It really was a fairytale and the whole point was to go attend this ridiculous affair (well, not to the old stuffies) to celebrate this charter bestowed by some King Henry upon this Guild that had been around forever…  You see, it was a “family thing.”  The sons were all made members by a certain age no matter…

However, it really was a big deal.  White tie and tails for the gents, “ball gowns” for the ladies.  I can’t remember how many courses dinner was.  That year it was at the Lord Mayor of London’s Mansion.  I mean, Hokey-Doodle, eh?

My “beau” had an older brother so he brought his girlfriend and we were sitting with some other younger guests around our age and boy did we get TRASHED!!! I mean, of course the booze was free-flowing.  And this was fun too.  After dinner, the fancy pants servers (servants?) came around with boxes of cigars or cigarettes for you to smoke, lit them for you…oh… *PA laughs at memory*

However, we caused quite a stir with the old-fogies as we were loud, drunk, obnoxious and howling at all of the “pomp and circumstance,” the ultra-boring speeches.  And there were a lot of people there who were very “upper crust.”

*Gasp!* Heaven forbid! Who let these hooligans in here?! Ironically, one of the “hooligans” was a young man who was a member of one of the wealthiest and longest running families of the damn Guild!

So back to the “Squiddles.”  At this point, it may not even be funny any more.  My “beau,” his brother, his girlfriend and I then went on to his/their father’s cousin’s place…oh, wow.  A “true” English Cottage out in the North of London in the country.  Beautiful.  Lots of nature all around.  Because of his accent, he would say: “Squiddles” instead of “Squirrels.”

We were so fucking juvenile we found this absolutely hilarious.  It became our running joke for the entire three weeks.  That trip was almost 20 years ago and yet every time I see a “Squiddle,” I always think of “Cousin T.” and his very strong British accent.

And yes, I freely admit that I am still completely juvenile.

NOTE: If I seized, I may be Postictal right now so I will try to proof this as well as I can…as ahead…new seizure pattern…  ‘Geez…if?  Oh, man…what else did my body do…a voodoo dance? *sigh*

I could look this up and I will.  Later.  However, I need to make my Blog365 post for “today” and this just happened so it’s appropriate and…

…well, a lot of other factors.

I suppose if I am Postictal tomorrow then I may know just what the hell happened (not again…how many now in the past while…!)

So, being the diligent “Researcher” I am, I may find some answers? I would still like to hear from anyone else out there who may have experienced the same thing.  Or anything similar?

Now, one of my typical “Simple Partial” deals is rapid eye blinking.  Yes, very typical.  So there was some of that while I was out.  I was concerned that it would proceed to something more but it didn’t.  I did leave the “public space” when I had my recent “Kiss the Pavement” Simple Partial Motor–good god that was major–and very new for me!

When I got home tonight, it was like my body just started to let loose.  And yet, with Simple Partials, you are aware, conscious (and yet, can become somewhat altered but I wasn’t.)

The question I want to ask is, for anyone out there who has had a Simple Partial Motor Seizure, when your body is really going, have you felt pain? Have you felt the spasms and the shaking? Have you felt it really hurt? Because that is what happened to me tonight.  And that is new too!

Good lord.  I shot an email off to someone and said… “Well, I guess if I end up Postictal, I’ll know for sure?” Just what the bloody hell? And that’s another thing.  I’ve never had these 48-72 hour Postictal states! Even after the Complex Partial I had last December I got up and went to work the next day.

So again, if anyone has ever experienced pain during a Simple Partial Motor Seizure, I would really like to hear about your experience/s.

Thanks…Tired and Sore PA.

Okay, Lockdown Over!!!

Good grief, I sound like I’m a ridiculous Maximum Security Prison Guard or something!

Thanks to everyone’s support, I’m removing the Password from the “Infamous Cutting Post!”

Indeed, it is the most “intense” and “graphic,” “shocking…” post I have written.

And no, I did not do it for “attention seeking” or gawd, as per the above, now it sounds like bloody “titillation!”  No…I am just trying to…






Okay, that last one wasn’t a warning; that was me just sayin’… *rolls eyes*

If you’re late to the party and you have positively no clue what I’m talking about, I guess it’s only fair that I link to the stupid post in question that caused the whole kerfuffle (and that word may be putting it lightly!)

It sure got me upset as it made me modify my blog for the first time ever and Password Protect a post.

This is a free space. I write what I write and people have a choice to read it or not. As others have told me. And as they have also said, I am not responsible for others’ lives. How can I be?

For the first time ever, I have actually modified my blog and gone against my “Prime Directive.” At least perhaps to a degree?

I have not deleted my last post about my recent cutting but since it seems to be causing rather a fervour, great upset, people telling me how fucked up it was (and perhaps by extension how fucked up I may be?) being accused of how I was seeking attention–and I very much got it–how it will encourage people to cut and how I will certainly encourage people to “out-do” me…

You know what? It’s now motherfucking Password Protected.

And you know what even further? I may or may not even bloody well give you the goddamn password!!!

There. Are you all motherfucking satisfied now?

Are you all over the crazy as a loon moon to see me agree with you that it’s “so fucked up???”

Great. Thanks much.

And truly thanks to the people who have been supporting me throughout this. You know who you are. Even if you don’t read this blog and are in real life–thanks to you too!

PA completely admitting that she did something “fucked up” having a wee strop. I apologise profusely. Please forgive her as she a) is actually human and b) has mental health problems. That will make her do “fucked up things” from time to time.

And PLEASE do not start getting into it all over again on this post either. I have enough stress in my life as it is! Why in hell did you think I cut in the first place people?????

I just can not get these two songs out of my head! Which is good because they get me kind of…moving?

I had never even heard of them before but thanks to Mac Guru who sent me a file of, wow…between 500 and 600 songs? They were there.  At least some of the songs in the file are repeated which is sort of bad and sort of good.  It means that there is less new music for me to hear but then it means I’m not going out of my head so much trying to get through the monstrosity of the file!

So, anyway.   Junior Boys.  Canadian.  I just love the guy’s voice.

The first is “Double Shadow” and the second is “The Equalizer.”  Now posted for your ears on MP3 of the Moment.

Although I did go see Merlin #1 today. I had to drag myself out of bed to do it but yep. Of course I went though! Shit. If there was ever a time for an appointment it would be today?

Ah…”That Old Black Magic…” Yeah, right. “That Old Black HOLE.”

That old black magic HOLE has me in its spell, that old black magic HOLE that you weave so HAS ME DROWNING IN ITS well.

Those icy fingers up and down my spine. (NOTE: This line is fine.)

That same old witchcraft BULLSHIT when your eyes meet mine MY MOODS FUCKING DECLINE.

The same old tingle NAUSEA that I feel inside, and then that elevator starts its ride LYING PATHETIC AND FOETAL ON MY SIDE.

And down and down I go, round and round I go, like a leaf that’s caught in the tide. (NOTE: Yeah, this one is okay too…who cares?)

I should stay away IN BED, but what can SO THAT I WILL do? !!!

I hear your name ONE THOUGHT: and I‘m aflame JUST WANT TO ROT.

Aflame with such a burning desire FEVER that only your kiss can put out the fire. WHERE THE HELL DID I PUT THE MEAT CLEAVER?!

For you’re the lover BITCH I have (DREADED) waited(ING) for, the (SOULLESS) mate that fate had me created for.

And every time your lips meet mine, darling, down and down I go, round and round I go. (NOTE: Fine again.)

In a spin, loving HATING the spin I’m in, under DOWN IN THAT that old black magic HOLE called love. NOT AGAIN.

So, I’m feeling a little depressed today. Can you tell? Heh. I’m thinking I should be feeling much better. Oh, that’s quite funny, isn’t it? Yes, you “should” your way out of your Mood Disorder. Indeed. Earlier on, I had a bit more of that odd Dissociation business like on the weekend. Just couldn’t think, focus, move. It seems to have passed.

I am really hoping this will pass too. Not linger too long? Like, pass by tonight? Tomorrow? This is just too much. I can’t afford to be out of commission. Not like this and certainly not any worse!

Maybe I’ll go try and stare at some employment ads?

I just want to go away. And I don’t mean, like…that kind of “go away.” No, I still intend to hang around the planet. I just have another destination in mind… *sigh*

Trigger Alert: This post is about cutting and contains graphic material.

A few days ago, I had the urge to cut.  I waved it off.   Indeed, stress.  Trying to find a job before I start sinking financially, health–well, that’s a no-brainer! Apart from trying not to go mental, the increase in seizures and post-“ick”tal© sickness… Forget it.  Let’s just toss a massive blanket over me called: “Stress.”

Last night: Slash.

Again, like the last one, I went all pseudo-ambidextrous on myself and used my left hand (I am right-handed) and went for my right forearm.

*PA pauses and goes for a cigarette*

This cutting was different for me.   If you have read about any of my cuttings, you will know that I am an “impulsive cutter.”  I tend to get wasted out of my mind and then just do it.  This time, I thought about it (although I had been drinking as well) but no, I made the decision that after I was done with my work on my computer…all the things etc… I would go home and do my cutting.  Why?

Well, that took me today to figure out.  Basically, I suppose the only way I may be able to express it is the presumed psychology behind anorectic or bulimic behaviour.   You can’t control your life, so you try and take control over your body somehow? Quite different from my prior cuttings.

Fair enough.   Cutters all cut for different reasons.

Oops.  I didn’t “intend” to cut so deep.  Fuck!

Now, I cannot afford to go to hospital.  Granted, with my last cutting, I talked myself out of an admission but I was not willing to take the chance last night! Remember with my oh-so-comfy blanket of stress, I need to find a job!

Trigger Alert Ahead!

This is where things get a little…well… Adventurous? Complicated? Tricky? Time Consuming? Definitely Ambidextrous!

I beg of you. I implore you. Do not do this!!!

When you need sutures, go to hospital!!!

Yes, I sutured myself.   “Dr. PA” does not have any medical supplies, of course, so the best she could do was a sewing needle and thread.   I know.

Again, please do not do this.   This is not a “How To Guide.”  I am simply telling you what happened last night.   Also, you may not know just what damage you have done and what help you may need.  Not to boast but I did know what I needed.  Still, I took a risk and it may have even been incredibly stupid for me to do this, but I also understood what was required with my Anatomy and Physiology knowledge.  Plus, I’d been extensively trained in First Aid for over 20 years.  I could assess the wound and it only required relatively simple suturing which I could do.  Specifically, it is called a “Subcuticular Stitch” of several suturing types and techniques out there.  Even if it wasn’t to perfection!

So, I found the most suitable needle and sterilised it as fast as I could (all the while maintaining pressure on the wound, an ongoing endeavor.) I grabbed some thread (black of course–must be fashionable–bad joke, I know.)  I tore reams and reams of it off the spool trying to ensure that it would be enough and I could keep it all as clean as possible while working as fast as I could.  The blood was still pouring, I was still maintaining pressure.

I threaded the needle, tied a knot at the bottom and began to stitch.  I kept cleaning, kept stitching, kept the pressure on… Bugger, my left hand! Also, bugger my skin! Christ, I can’t even sew period! Anyway, I got it done.   All closed up.   Antibiotic treatment and then wrapped.   It looked like an absolute nightmare though.  Not to perfection indeed! Knotted thread all over it. I didn’t care.  It was done.

I woke up and there was no more bleeding.   I decided to snip away all of the crazy, “fluffy” thread and actually have a look at my “sutures.”  Interestingly enough, I didn’t do that bad a job? I decided to take yet another risk and remove them.  There were seven.  No bleeding and it was fine for Steri-Strips.

So, yes. Pretty fucked up, huh? I sutured my own goddamn arm!

Again, don’t any of you out there ever do this!

I only wrote this because I can write whatever the fuck I want on my blog and to also tell you to NEVER do this yourself.  Also, in case I start to unravel further and I stop posting and disappear? I may have gone inpatient–which I don’t want to do but…?

Hopefully Dr. PA can still keep taking care of herself.

I’ve blogged about my friend P. before but for those who don’t know who he is, I met P. while I was in hospital a year ago, last spring.

Another blogger I know called where I (we?) were staying, “The Mental Health Palace.” Reason being, it was massive and only treated/treats psych. patients and also had a computer on our floor (I know…WTF…let the nutbars have Internet access…and even better…a LAN connection in another room…PA gets baby MacBook from home!) Yes, I blogged from hospital–it’s all under the Category: “Hospitalizations.”

Note to Self: Should revert to UK/Canadian spelling with that one!


We had an immediate connection because we’re both two complete homos! Actually, it was quite interesting. We were on the basically “Mood Disorders” Floor (or one of them?) Regardless…a whole whack of not too crazy people? Garden Variety but folks that probably need some kind of short term stay and med management.

There were 16 beds on our floor and…*laughing so hard* four of us were GAY!!!

Yes, I called us the “Gay Squad.” Again, a lot of the shenanigans are there in my blog Category (and no, no one slept with each other–two guys; two gals.) But P. and I got along the best.

I can’t quit remember the funniest the thing he said to me when we were there. The problem was, I experienced Agoraphobia for the first time in my life ever when I was admitted. It was so strange. I mean, I have a really wild psych history but I had never been Agoraphobic up until that point.

The only thing I could do when I first got there was just go outside and have a cigarette. Just outside the doors and then go back inside. I told the doctors and really…well, if you read all the missives (or don’t) they turfed me too early. But prior to all of that, they kept “pushing” me to “go out.” In my sick head, I was still questioning if that was the right way to treat someone with Agoraphobia–and I won’t even tell you now the disastrous results when they tried to send me back home for a couple of overnight stays!

So eventually, one day, I managed to make it to the end of the property. Then, P. helped me go a bit further and we’d go for tea…

It was solidified…well, for obviously so many other reasons. Lots of talks and movie rentals that he’d also get across the street near our “tea shop.” We’d watch them a bit when we got back to the ward.

So, we still keep in contact as much as we can. It’s hard to keep in contact with someone you actually meet in hospital. Has anyone else met someone in hospital and “become friends?” No really? I’m asking?

Again, I can’t remember verbatim what he said when we were bitching about “how it just isn’t any fun” to be mentally ill and all fucked up in the head.

Not to stereotype but maybe as any good fag might say, something like this?

*PA thinks trying to remember for a moment*

Yes, something like this:

P. Says: “It’s not like Sunshine and Broadway Musicals are coming out of your ass!”

If that’s not quite it…well, it’s pretty damn close.

I Love My Friend P.

Just quick. Met with J. tonight to review bio and shoot his photo.

That’s about it.


Last night I had a bit of a flip out.  I seemed to sink into a pit of Depression, felt like cutting…oh my frickin’…

No, I didn’t.

I slept.  I woke up.  Felt semi-human but then?

Later on something very strange happened.  A somewhat “newer” form of dissociation? I just lost any manner of focus or thinking…  Stop.   Stare.  Everything comes to a halt.  Can’t move.

Different from the DP/DR experienced with my seizures.

I went out with P. for dinner.  I didn’t know if I could make it or not.  I thought it would prove a good distraction and it did.  But now that I am alone again, I have slipped back into that place where I was earlier.

My brain is fucked.

Too much “stress?”

Thank you folks for the lovely comments recently.  I will respond as soon as I can.  Hopefully tomorrow as I need–fuck, again NEED–to get going.