I'm · going · hunting...

Hi all! I've been posting on my other journal a lot lately, as I try desperately to work through issues related to bipolar disorder. I'm so amazed by some things I have learned lately, that I just had to share them with everyone.

First, I am working on finding a therapist that will act more as a life-coach and help my creative energy flow once again. She works with meditation, nature therapy, and art therapy. From her website, I found a link to working class acupuncture, which is one of the most amazing places on earth. If you live in the area, look them up.

Another thing I have been looking into is whether or not I have sleep apnea. A few weeks ago, Andy told me that I stop breathing in my sleep. I have an appointment with an ENT on tues. This entry talks about the most recent report.

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The day after.

Acupuncture appt 1 (working class acupuncture, Portland, OR - go there!) went very well. I slept pretty good (well, for me, anyway), woke up at a semi-decent time, and feel energetic enough to make it from now until I work without a nap. In addition, my appetite seems to be under some control. I had my usual breakfast of 1 pc peanut butter toast, one banana, and soy milk. That was around 5. I would normally be rummaging for lunch or a snack by now, but I'm not hungry, so I'm drinking tea and water instead. My back still feels much better than it did before my appointment, and I am still feeling pretty calm.

That said... there are some significant problems.

I took a nap last night, from 1 a to 330 a. I was just feeling super relaxed and had woken up kind of early for me, so I figured a nap wouldn't hurt. I slept on one couch while Andy was busy making decks on the other. When I woke up, he informed me that I woke up a lot in my sleep. On average, he said, I woke up once a minute, and never slept for more than five minutes at a time. I asked if he would come to my appointment with me on Tuesday, so he can relay this information to the doctor.

It's nice to know that I'm not completely insane when I say I am ALWAYS FUCKING TIRED.

At this point, I'd take Cpap, but I'm going to beg and beg for surgery first.

And for those of you who never see me... it's because I am constantly tired. There is a reason. I promise to try to be more outgoing in general, but I expect great changes after getting treatment.

I've spent the past two and a half days, driving, driving, driving from point A to B. B to A. Back again. And again.

My celebration of the election got me tuckered out enough for a quick nap, and when I got up at two AM, I saw that my mom had called me at 1 AM.

Abnormal.

I check my voice mail. It was not my mom. It was my sister. My mom was in the emergency room. My mom was going to have her gall bladder removed.

I grabbed my things and went. Andy was with me.

We went, waited in the ER, went to collect her belongings at home while she waited for a room. Went back and sat with her until 6 am, still no word of when they would be able to get her into an OR, but until then, they had the morphine and would keep it coming.

So we went, retired into bed. I slept from 9 to 1, and woke up, bleary-eyed. No messages. No missed calls. I called my sister. Surgery would be after 4. I woke up Andy. We returned to play the waiting game.

She was in and out of surgery, and that night, we retreated back home. Mostly because she was so tired she couldn't speak, and I did not want to be the one to pierce that perfect slumber.

So we went, and our exhausted bodies fell into bed around 4 in the morning. 12 hours later, I woke up. No calls, no messages. Panic. She was supposed to be discharged in the morning or early afternoon. I called Tasha. I called my mom's cell. I called my mom's home. No answers anywhere. Finally, I called the hospital, who informed me she hadn't been discharged. And when I called her room, there was no answer, so I loaded into the car, alone, and started driving. When I got there, her room was dark. She saw me and started crying. She said she'd had a migraine all day. She said that it took them hours to get her medication because they lost the order. And she said she wanted to stay another night because of how she felt, but the nurses couldn't agree on whether or not to keep her here, and she didn't know if the insurance would cover it. I told her I'd stay with her either way, and if she needed help at home, I could do it. Then I excused myself to the restroom, where instead, I called work and told them I'd be out for a second night.

She felt better after that. Stopped crying. Drank water. Walked around. Told the nurses she'd leave with me.

Tasha arrived to pick her up and take her home. I went to fill her prescriptions and get her some groceries. And I arrived, where I would wait through the night.

We rested on the couch together. I made her toast and tea. She went into bed, and I stayed up, petting the cat and on occasion, talking to Andy. We had a very passionate, very emotional conversation that made me miss him immensely.

And in one of my clearer moments, my mother said to me, "I'm glad you've found someone good."

Me too. Me too.

I left her house around 5:30 in the morning. She woke up, I got her some milk and heated a neck pillow for her. Tried to massage out a kink in her neck. Fed the cat. Asked how she felt. Everything's okay.

So I drove back, sky becoming pale, excited for my house, for my bed, for him. He was straightening up the house when I had returned... running a load of dishes, recycling and garbage out, the living room tidied up, our bed made.

It helped to alleviate everything. All of the stress. I work tonight, and tomorrow is mine. I need a bike ride to stretch my legs. I need to regain focus. I need to take a long bath. I need to wait impatiently for him to get home from work, and bury him in kisses.

Hello, mania.

I am getting drunk on wine, cooking a meal suited for an army. And I'm alone. And it's fucking great.

I may or may not be drunk.

That voice inside me that tells me to do the right thing has had its ass kicked by the voice that tells me to do the wrong things. It's good I am alone. Surely, I would jump on the next person that walked through the door.

Kelly is inviting me to a party. There's smoke. There's always smoke.

I need, I need, I need.

I have reached in, pulled myself out. Whining, non-compromising, overly stressed about nothing important.

Tra la la la la. She said. And said.

Listening to music, watched the movie last night, was downtown swimming in the lights. Thinking, jesus, need to go back to school. And figure out what the fuck to read.

What to read. What to read. Not going out now, but soon.

I woke up today, with some bounce in my step. I am finally feeling better, recovering from the cold and the evil reaction that my medications gave me.

I logged into CNN. I was watching video on a new documentary that came out (anyone who knows me knows that I LOVE documentaries) called Call + Response. It discusses 21st century slavery and slave trades, and the roll that music plays in all of that. It is a call to modern-day abolition. It's playing in select cities. Lucky me for living in Portland.

So I decided I was going to make a day of it. I would bike downtown, see the movie, go to Powells and get a new book or two. Have lunch somewhere down there while cracking open my new book. It's a part of getting up and out, of pushing myself to feel better.

I took a bath laced with essential oil. I braided my hair. I put on makeup. I put on my favorite shirt and favorite pair of pants. I put on a necklace. Rings. I pulled cash out for my budget for the day.

I went to say goodbye to Andy. He was still sleeping. He got up after that - he rode my bike to work yesterday due to a flat on the BMX, which he still had to fix. We went in the shed to tinker. I took his chain off of my bike and went to lower the seat. He went to repair the flat.

I broke the screw when trying to secure the seat back on. So there was my seat clamp, screw threaded through both sides, but busted in the middle. I couldn't drive it out. I couldn't pry it out. So I did the only logical thing I could think of. I drove my humble ass to the bike shop to inform them that I was retarded, and get a new clamp.

I was on empty with the gas tank, as I have been for the past ten or so miles I've driven. I decided to go to the nearest store, a chain bike shop that I don't like much at Mall 205. I poked my head in, and.. nope. Don't have the right size of clamp. Fuck. I have to gas up, push my plans to see the 5 pm show (as opposed to 3), and go to a different shop.

I drive to the repair shop on Belmont. Closed Mondays. God damnit. I weave through town trying to remember where the fuck Ankeny is, so I can find City Bikes. I am irritated trying to drive through Portland because biking is SO much easier. I keep having to turn off of Ankeny because of the road design, and circling back. So. Irritated. Better. Have. Stupid. Part.

Yes. Yes, here is the part, the clamp is used, here's a new bolt. Six bucks. Hooray! I can still get back in time to fix this and see the 5 pm show.

I return to find Andy still working on the BMX. He changed out the tube, but decided to address the brake problem (ie: there are no break pads) by swapping out the breaks altogether with the brakes from an old BMX of his. He is irritable because he has been unsuccessful in adjusting them in any way that doesn't cause them to rub. He tinkers, I fix my seat. I go inside to grab food, check movie times and ticket availability. I am ready to leave at 3:40 for my journey downtown. He is still fumbling with breaks and has to work soon. I realize what this means.

"Do you need my bike?"

"I'm trying not to."

If I didn't leave then, my chances of making the 5 pm show would be slim to none unless I tried driving, which I refuse to do downtown. That would mean I'd have to push my plans back to the 7 pm show. Which means, I no longer had much interest in going, because I freak out at the thought of locking my bike up downtown after dark, especially when I cannot afford a new one. Which means, I sighed and gave up my dreams for the day.

"Take my bike. Fix the breaks on the BMX tonight. I'll go tomorrow."

So I'm inside another day. But I need a perfect day. I will fight for a perfect day. And the perfect day involves biking in the fall air to downtown. Spending the afternoon watching a documentary. Looking for new books. Taking my time in the long trek home, maybe stopping by the park. Not circling the same few blocks downtown hopelessly trying to find parking (and then actually attempting to parallel park). Not wringing my wrists fretting about whether or not some douche is trying to cut my bike lock.

Then again, my legs are restless. It's a little hard to be sure. I guess there is a chance of a final push to get out, to see the seven show. I'm not sure if I'll compromise. Maybe I will. Downtown terrifies me, but it may be worth it. I don't know. I just know that these walls are making me crazy and I need something better before I lash out at everyone here.

Don't listen to me. I don't know what the fuck I am talking about.

So I woke up today, after yet another psychotic dream (this one from NyQuil), feeling extremely disoriented. I've felt like I've been tripping balls in a bad way for a couple of days, so I decided to do some investigating.

I read on the packages of cold medicines not to take them with MAOIs. I was pretty sure Prozac wasn't an MAOI, but I decided to look it up. Nope, SSRI. However, certain cold medicines (sudafed and DM meds) apparently increase the toxicity levels of SSRIs.

Oops. No wonder my brain has been on some backwards ass psychotic hyper drive. Would have been nice to have that on the box. Fucking FDA.

Nevertheless, I am still feeling disoriented. I am stopping the cold medication and am going to try to flush everything out of my system with water. Right now, I have tracers going on an a bitch of a headache. Yesterday I had taken sudafed and launched back and forth between flying and crashing, all with extreme instability and inability to control myself. I ended up yelling at Andy for an hour, only after throwing a temper tantrum and (literally) throwing things (like clothes, a few pillows) around the room on my own.

Fuck this. I'm going to sleep this shit off.

I took Sudafed. The prescription type. It launched my mind into a strange wave of overdrive and depletion. I skyrocketed with energy, despite the illness, and managed to grocery shop and clean the house. Then I crashed, fell into sleep. Woke up after a nightmare about my family, rape, and meth... woke up thrashing. Water. Cleansing, purifying water. Thrashing. Hold the legs still. Breathe. Breathe. Dove back under, but only for a small amount of time.

After I woke up, I decided to eat. Started an hour cooking process, and to save myself from falling asleep again, I got online. I decided to watch House to entertain my brain, got into it, into the story, into how it was woven. I was studying the structure of it, how it would have been written, trying so hard to follow and understand...

And then the boys came home. I was so irritated. I don't know how many times I told them to shut the fuck up for five minutes. They didn't. At the end of the garbled episode (the part I was interested in... seeing everything come together in a climax), I was pissed. Andy asked what had happened. I told him I had no fucking idea because I couldn't hear. Words were exchanged. It was a blur. I screamed, "have some fucking respect!" then struggled through his arms to the bedroom. Now I am fighting off tears as I listen to him and C continue on with their night.

It seems stupid, over a show. And in that aspect it is. It's the bigger picture that gets me. I feel like I've been reduced to my room because of them. They have taken over the living room. They are intrusive about it, unwavering when you ask them to shut up or leave. Their hobby is strewn all over the room. Even though I ask, it is never put away. It is a living, breathing thing that is slowly grinding at every one of my nerves.

I'm seeing so many things that I don't want to see. It is no doubt that the illness, the mixture of medication, and the intense sleep has launched my brain off balance. But I am not the only one to blame for imbalance. It's everywhere. No one sees it like I do, though, and I am falling apart right now from it. Edges frayed, I'm not sure how much longer I can stay hidden in this room. I am coming undone again.

I am sick. My head is pounding and I'm fairly sure someone stuck a knitting needle up my nose and into my brain. I cannot breathe. I am going to bitch and bitch and bitch about this, too.

If I didn't worry about hearing Jeff's incessant whining, I'd flat out call in tonight. However, since I do not want to be "punished" for "having too much time off," I am going in for a half shift, and then going the fuck home. I am going to bury myself in layers of warm blanket, and watch cartoons until I pass out. I may try to cough or sneeze on him for good measure.

Kelly is going to bring home soup, kombucha, and orange juice. Thank christ. My head is heavy, getting heavier...

The cold seeps in, from everywhere. It finds the cracks in the framework, in the windows, in the blankets and layers of clothes. It permeates through our skin, settling deep into our bones.

It has been raining all day. I wouldn't know, except for the puddles outside. I was there, wrapped up in dreams, feeling the fall right down to my very core; a creature in hibernation. But today, I don't just roll over and go back to it after my sleep is disturbed. I have things to hold on to. I have things to be done.

So we go on a walk, breath leading us as we are arm in arm. We walk to the greenbelt, point out glow worms on the trail, and settle on a damp log where we can listen to the rain hit the leaves above us. Soon, they will wither from the cold, but right now, they are a shelter.

We sit and talk about the winter before. The newness of it, how we sort of stumbled into one another, so shy, yet so eager to see what happens next. I think, I hate that the newness wears off, that fascination is replaced with expectation... that several months ago, I sacrificed sleep to listen to his words, and now, I fight for sleep.

I suppose these things happen, as we settle in and refocus the energy on ourselves. Then again, I remember last October, and the way I slept then. And slept, and slept. Maybe it's just the season.

There are things to do, and things for my sanity. I have friends pulling at my shirtsleeves, my sister as well, begging, come out with me. Spend time with me.

But I do not have time.

In relationships, a lot of energy and focus for other people gets absorbed almost completely into one. I am a person with a small amount of focus to give. I am a solitary creature. I like the silence and stillness and I long for the days when my house is empty and the sounds of my breath echo against the walls. I struggle with what I have for my significant other, and even more than that, I struggle to keep my ties. A close few understand. The ones who have stuck around despite my seemingly asshole-ish ways. My sister picks fights with me every other day over my absence. After 22 years, she still doesn't understand. And I just say now, I'm too tired to argue the point (again).

This might be part of why I work nights. I am awake when the world around me is still. I have a single coworker instead of twenty. Some nights, I have none at all. I can live in my head and practice my words there, save them for paper, build them up to mean something.

The thing I like about Andy is that he is okay with silence. I have a lot to say but I like to choose it carefully. I hate when people just talk, talk talk for no reason.

One difference I have noticed with the Prozac - I don't struggle with who I am so much. Without it, I worry so much about other people and what they think and if I'm offending them. With it, I am able to roll with the times and do as I please. I am conscious of other people, but even more so, I am conscious of my own needs. I don't fret about my lack of will to go out in the world. I embrace it. It is who I am, and I am sick of apologizing for it. I won't. What needs to be known is that I still care, even when I'm locked in my own little world, painting or writing or reading a book. It's what makes me beat, and it can't be taken as an insult.

I know that I am difficult to get a hold of. I'm aware that it's frustrating on other ends. But here, I live with three people, one of whom I share a bedroom with. Growing up, I spent a lot of time alone, and have lived on my own quite a bit. It makes me happy. It's who I have developed into.

I am outcast. I always have been. But now, there are articles printed. This kind of personality has run thin in numbers - thin enough to become a subculture. The quiet, loner, bookworm-ish people are now being considered a subculture (possibly even counter culture), as the entertainment industry and the club scene grows. There are so many of us, after all. It should only become natural to interact.

But not here. No, here, I read a book alone in a restaurant, as I wait for my takeout order. I bike alone. I lock myself in my bedroom to paint. I know it's becoming socially unacceptable, and almost a stigma. There are labels for people like me. Diagnoses, therapy. But fuck it. Fuck you. You've gotta be happy - right?

I rose and fell. And fell, and fell. My gift to sleep too little, then too much, is difficult to control unless I control myself. So I got swept away by the rain, waking up every couple of hours to feel the increasing coldness flirting with my breath, touching my toes as they poke out of the covers, only to recoil a second later.

I could smell the camp smell of wood-burning stoves and fireplaces. I could die in the white noise of it all. It is reassuring. There is no better there than here.

There is a certain calm in it all. The ability to forget about my worries of the things I could or should be doing. No, I made this life with minimal responsibility, and here, I am capable of doing what I want. I want to fold inside myself and disappear for a while. I want to know what it is to be weightless. I want to feel - to really feel - a world without anything tying me down - clear of acquaintances, family, friends, lovers, history, jobs, rent, money, chores, hunger, politics or any other worldly things.

In it, I am running fiercely through the woods. I have earth tangled in my hair, which would go for miles. I can run so fast that I fly, green and gold wings stretching farther than my arms - they will lift me up to another place. To the ineffable. And In there, I will wrap myself inside of those wings, and sink into that complete weightlessness.

I think the reason our eyes get heavy when we are tired or trying to wake up is because we are holding the weight of this life. We are pinned down with it by the time our drunken heads hit the pillows, and we are reminded of it when we open our eyes to the harsh light of reality. Several times, I would stir, only to make the decision to go back down below.

I am no more or less than words here, but I will be more than them there.

The rains have come, once again.  In sheets, it falls, in sheets, and I am there...

I lie between them, nestled in the darkness and comfort.  Nestled in escape.  I have learned that sometimes, sleep is my only place to truly be left alone.  It's not that I mind people, but sometimes I just want to fly to the far corners of my brain.

Sometimes, I just want to be somewhere else.

So it falls and there's the darkness of it... A million ways to write the sky, a million images that will come along with it.  Yes, we made love to the sounds of it, but it's a far, hazy memory and we collapsed into ourselves afterward.

In shifts like these, nothing seems real.  The cat's eye has a blue gleam in it, it's telling me things, it's morphing into a monster.  You are not here, but there.  You are not there, but everywhere.  And I see through it.

Mania seized my brain.  For a week, the sky was bright and dry.  For a week, I went through the motions, most mechanical, smile here, nod there, don't let the drama eat away at you.  I made my sisters unforgivably angry.  And there, I knew I couldn't fight it much anymore, that sometimes the only option is to swallow it and tinker on.  My hands have been working, working along with my mouth.

And as I struggled and fretted in the speed of the clock, I felt my grasp coming undone.  We can talk, talk talk all we want but it doesn't mean a damn thing without the action.  I am alone and isolated.  People, they move too slow, then too fast.  My eyes cannot keep up.  I have to sleep.

The sky grew dark, as if heeding to a prayer that I may have uttered on my final breath of energy, and the rains came flooding in.  Sheets of it, between the sheets, I am between your sheets, and you are not here.

I am...

The rains are back... just in time for me to return to work. Fuck, a week goes by really fast when you barely sleep and spend all your energy stressing about roommates.

Sigh.

Kelly moved in. ^_^ We barely get to see her, though, because she works day shift and is usually sleeping or at work by the time one of us gets in. She seems to be enjoying it. Thus far, the cats are completely unaware of the rat... which is good. Because, you know, we don't want to be responsible for her pet dying.

Birthday went well. I spent the day rearranging furniture with Andy. Doesn't sound exciting, but I love the concept of sort of starting... anew... you know? New chapter, time to get some things hashed out.

And in it all, we got to make a place for this:

Things just cannot be easy, can they?

So, B is out. She started packing before she even read my letter. Good. Fucking. Riddance. She had her shit out by Saturday morning and took the absinthe (that C paid half for) with her.

I felt bad at first, but mostly because I didn't want to impose my opinion on C. He is so quiet and hard to read sometimes, I wasn't sure if he was having second thoughts. I knew B would hate us for it, so I made sure I got in whatever words I could before she'd shut us out. That concerned me less than alienating the roommate I do like.

However, the night after she was gone, he unleashed. He unloaded all the pent up anger he had with her and spilled it all to me. I think it was good for him, and also for me to know that we're on the same page and we're cool.

He is still extremely angry and frustrated though. He's trying to get the insurance info (which he didn't get at the time because Cash was having to look for it and also because he thought that he'd (rightfully) punch Cash in the face if he saw him after that.

We have learned a lot of great things about our friend Cash.

First - he lied to us. It was not his car, it belongs to his wife, whom he is separated from. In addition, he is not on the policy. A little deeper digging would reveal that not only was he NOT on the policy, he was specifically on a list of EXCLUDED drivers.

Excellent.

So now C gets to talk to this woman he doesn't know so she can make a claim and pick up the mess that Cash made. He calls her insurance, and so does she, and they learn at some point that they do not have the same story. Cash told his wife that he hit some guy in Battle Ground, WA. He mentioned nothing about hitting a PARKED CAR while in PORTLAND, OR, with a PASSENGER after DRINKING. So now that everyone is clear on it and the insurance company knows... there will be some bitch slapping.

First, we are learning that this situation qualifies under insurance fraud. Since Cash lied to his wife, and it is her policy, and she inadvertently lied to the company, she is probably going to get kicked off of her policy and have a hell of a time getting insured. Apparently, that boat sailed for Cash a long time ago.

Next, we learned that the preliminary estimate for each vehicle is $4000. Never mind that this is more than C even paid for his car. C and Cash's wife will both have to pay deductibles, which is bullshit. Fortunately, though, due to the insurance fraud and the extreme rage everyone has against Cash, the insurance company is probably going after him for the damages, which means that they will garnish 20 percent of his wages until he pays off all of the repairs - an estimated 8 grand. That's a lot of nights working at a fucking hotel.

It's also a good thing that Cash lost his credibility with the wife and insurance company - because he is leaving C angry messages claiming that he was not drunk (though he did not deny drinking). Nobody really wants to hear what Cash has to say at this point.

And B? She doesn't give a fuck. When C tries to talk to her, she is cold and points out that she doesn't care. Way to prove us right. C is so incredibly furious with her, I can't see the friendship being mended for years.

But. There is light.

Kelly is moving in!

When B left, we knew that we'd have the opening to fill almost immediately. Our friend Seth was supposed to move in with us originally, but turned us down after B was around all the time (he says he doesn't trust her). He was having roommate problems, and C wanted to offer him the room, but he turned it down. I've talked to Andy and C and they look forward to Kelly joining us. I know Andy is, at least. I think C is relieved on the financial front and looks forward to a quiet home. I know that he will bond well with Kelly - he doesn't know yet that she plays guitar and he always talks about wanting someone to jam with. Andy and I can't wait for the bonding moment that will come from that. After all of this, C just needs good people. I'd like to see him back to normal. I've never seen him so angry, tired, and frustrated and I wish I could help more. He doesn't deserve this. None of us do. And B was a bitch to put it on us, and she made it very clear that she was using us.

But all of it is very exhausting. I've had insomnia since that day and can only sleep <4 hours at a time. Aye.

It's officially my Birthday, and while it was a rocky landing, I think I have a lot to look forward to, now that things are getting smoothed out. When we wake up in the afternoon, we're going to try to rearrange some things. Get a fresh start from this hellish chapter. Kelly should start brining things in very soon, and is paying Oct rent in full - something we will all be relieved to get paid back for.

It's over. I just have to remember that.

Headaches.  That's all this is... one big headache.

I woke up, and C said that we needed to figure out what to do about B.  I told him I was sort of at the end of the line, and that when Andy came home last night, he was really pissed.  I've honestly never seen him that angry and while he kept physical control, some of the things he said sort of scared me.  I can't live where that part of him is going to come out.  I told C it seems we are all done with this situation, that we offered her help, which she didn't take, and now, it's out of our hands.

He warned her we were going to ask her to move out.  He and I agreed on the end of Oct, and I wrote her a note stating that, and maintaining that we do care about her and wish to see her get help.  I retreated back into the bedroom and could hear her packing up.

Now we get to scramble to make ends meet on the financial front.  Each person gets to pay an additional $117 to cover the gap.  It sucks, but we'll manage.  I'm a week away from pay day, and will rebuild afterward.

I feel bad.  Really bad.  This isn't how I wanted things to go down.  But I knew, with the way she behaved and chose to drink every night, and the way some of her friends were... that she'd start becoming a liability.  Once she came home drunk and started cooking a quesidilla directly on our stove, no pan separating the food from the open flame.  The friends she brings over are almost always drunk and unwanted.  I started foreseeing unwanted negative attention from our neighbors and damaged property.  I knew someone's car was going to get hit, though I speculated that it would have been her drunk driving, not necessarily her friend's.

When we had neighbors out yesterday, gawking, trying to help and then retreating after we said we knew the person... hearing them say they'll call the cops and help us (no, neighbors, do not bring cops over)... I knew it was game fucking over.

I am tired.  I wanted so badly to sleep last night.  Around 11, I took three valerian and three melatonin.  I woke up two hours later, restless.  Andy came home shortly after that.  I talked to him for a long time and showed him the damage on C's car.  He was so mad.

We tried to make a good night of it, but it wasn't without tension.  I am upset that the bullshit she brought in has drained us emotionally and mentally enough to impact our relationship... not just Andy and I, but the friendship we have with C as well.  We are weighed with guilt, worried that she will get worse outside of our house.  I think she is moving in with her parents.  I hope she is.  They have the ability to provide her with a level of support and structure that we can not.

I went to bed at 6 am and woke up at noon.  My head is throbbing and I want to be done with this - all of this.  I am staying in today to make sure things go as peacefully as possible.  I plan to stay out of the way, rest and watch movies for the most part.  Try to unwind.  I'll get out tomorrow, try to make this vacation worth something.

I postponed my ultrasound for a week.  I am too drained to deal with appointments now.  I need to focus on getting some real sleep and ridding myself of anxiety.

Oh, yeah... in other news, my computer is dying (it keeps freezing and I think the processor may be shot), so I may not be updating as much.  I still have C's computer which I can use on occasion, but I don't want to invade his space too much.  I'm going to try to get one come the end of October, but right now, I am playing things by ear as our rent burden is going up for an unknown amount of time.

I'm just waiting for this nightmare to end.  Right now, though, I am going to go drain my account.

Jesus.  Fucking.  Tapdancing.  Christ.

What a day.

Let's start from the beginning.

I worked all night.  11p to 730 a.  I woke up at 5 p yesterday.

I came home from work this morning to see our roommates car with the passenger side window open, with puke down the side of the car, forming a pool on our driveway.  Note that this roommate has a problem with alcohol which usually comes back to bite us in the ass like this.

So, I go inside, find Andy, demand answers.  Roommate and friend went out last night, got abandoned by their party, got shitfaced, and the rest sort of writes itself.  Friend is in roommate's room, sleeping.

I am annoyed.  The two guys and I hate people being around, and especially hate the drunken bar people who can't plan their fucking night around.  I talk to Andy and express my concerns about her alcoholism, and how I feel torn between being a friend and roommate, because right now, those are two different worlds.  As a friend, I am concerned and don't want to see her in a situation where she might get worse (then again, she's not really taking the help we offer, either).  As a roommate, I am so fed up and pissed off I feel like bashing my fucking head in.  And I don't know that I can live with this.  I've seen alcoholism before.  It sucks.  Moreover, we worked hard to find this house and she just got to stroll in (she is not on the lease, thus, disposable).  I try to relax, though, and get through my morning, because...

I had my appointment.  And sometime around 12:30 I finished with the appointment and pharmacy trip.  I was already in a shitty mood because of lack of sleep, the puke, and now a disappointing appointment.  So the only logical thing to do is...

Sleep?  Right?  Which I did, for about two hours, until I heard roommates walking around, talking on the phone, followed shortly by Andy's horrific alarm.

Fine, I'm up.

It was 3:30 then, and I figured I should take some Prozac to stay consistent in timing.  Which made more awake happen.  My stomach was growling, I didn't have the competency to cook, so I set out on a search to find food.  It only took me like twenty minutes online to decide I was hungry for thai food.  So I pick a place and go.

Come home, eat, satisfaction.  Non-alcoholic roommate (C) says that alcoholic roommate (B) is having friends over.  I am sick and without sleep, so I ask, could she please not have a bunch of people over.  She had already told us a week ago that her friend Alice was going to stay here tonight, which I said was cool, but I didn't want anyone else.  Then she asked if her friend Cash could come watch a movie.  I didn't really care but wasn't thrilled either.  I just wanted quiet.  C does not want stranger over, and she gets mad at him on the phone for this.  Then I text her saying that C has just one day off, is very tired from working  a bunch, and I'm sick, so could she go somewhere else?

She arrives home with Cash three minutes later.  He is poking around our kitchen while B brings up the topic publicly.  C says he just doesn't want people over, especially that he doesn't know.  I try to explain that C, Andy, and I aren't social creatures and feel anxiety when there are strangers in our home.  She assures us over and over again that it's no problem, that she wants to respect our boundaries, and that they are going to go elsewhere.  They leave and walk the half-block to his car.

Minutes later, I see through our screen door (and hear) someone hit C's car, which is parked on the street.  We run outside to the crowd of neighbors and a white car driving away.  C chases it while I try to calm neighbors down and take a card from a witness.  When C is walking back, he is on the phone saying, "did you just hit my car?"

Yup.  You guessed it.  Cash hit his car.  After we kicked him out.  It was an "accident" (I don't buy this).  And it was a hit and run.  And we have a lot of witnesses.  We had to stop neighbors from calling the cops and explain that we knew the person.  I am freaking out, saying what the fuck, this is fucked up.  This is not okay.  C is relatively calm, but I can tell he's angry and frustrated in his own way.  I say that this is where lines start to get drawn on who is allowed to live here.  He doesn't object, stating that she is, in fact, "a tornado and very dangerous."

B calls and says she is walking home from wherever Cash decided to stop.  I get a call in response to my text message to Andy, and talk to him for a while out back.  I hear B and C, and walk to the front to find them.  She is crying, he is quiet.  She states again that it was an accident.  I ask why the hell they drove away.  She doesn't really answer the question, but mumbles something out.  I say, "Jesus B, this is fucked up."  She cries harder and says, "I know."  C looks at me like... be easy.  I tell her we aren't blaming her (she wasn't driving, at least) but it's fucked up.

She is in tears.  We try gently talking to her about her friends (how they bring drama) and her alcohol problem.  She is in tears, saying that her parents talked to her too and how alcoholism runs in her family and how she should spend the energy elsewhere.  Then she starts drinking the bottle of absinthe that she bought for the night.  While she is out on the phone, C and I talk a little more about what would happen if she left versus being here, and what other problems might arise.  She comes back in.  We get quiet.  We all decide to go on a tension-filled walk to Fred Meyer and back.  She is drunk and giddy at this point.  I am exhausted.  C remains a stone.

We all came back, and almost immediately, I found my way to my room.  I am so fucking exhausted from this day.  I shut my door so I could smoke a little and focus, and in a few minutes, I am going to pass the fuck out and go to sleep for a long while.

Happy day one of vacation.  Is it hypocritical that I feel the need to take a shot?