manic depressongs

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Wow!!!

I’m back to ye olden times when I was known to post up to twice a day! I wasn’t even hypomanic nor manic but simply high on the novelty of blogging.

I’m tickled pink that that I was able to persuade my pal Blahpolar, who’s halfway across the world in South Africa, to include my song “More Than Bipolar” in her latest post.

She calls me “Dyane Disorder”, which I think is hilarious, but she has also christened me as “FRYANE” due to my rather sycophantic, nay, make that groupie-ish devotion of Stephen Fry. So please read her missive – she has all kinds of goodies in this post and I think something will appeal to you!

Xo

Dyane “Fryane” Disorder Leshin-Harwood (the 1st!)

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In which I spoof, parody, rip off and fuck up the following songs:

Loser Closer (NIN)
Anhedonia Barcelona (Freddie Mercury and thingummy)
Panic Manic Monday (the Bangles)
You’re simply depressed the best (Tina Turner)

But first, an original song by the blogger who threatened to sell me to the $¢ientologists if I didn’t include it. Introducing Dyane Disorder featuring DJ Dog…

View original post 894 more words

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StalePressed & A Reprise of My Song “More Than Bipolar”

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I read online that bloggers who maintain their blogging habit for more than a year are likely to stay at it for the long-term. (I believe everything I read on the internet – just kidding!) Seriously, today’s post is short; it’s not necessarily sweet, but I’d rather keep up my blogging momentum and publish this “StalePressed” post than skip a week.  If you want something brilliant, go see my friend Blahpolar Diaries. (I have many other blogs I could refer you to, but hey – it’s 7AM and I’m not awake yet! I’ll share those links in future posts.)

Blogging/writing is kind of like an exercise routine. (I was an American Council on Exercise certified personal trainer for several years, so I can’t help but use an exercise/writing analogy.) Once you start playing hooky here and there from your workouts/writing time, hooky becomes every other day, and then every day. Before you know it, your routine that you worked so hard to get off the ground melts away.  

Writing, at least for me, seems to work the same way as exercise – I need to keep it going – even if it’s “only” blogging once a week or working out for a few minutes instead of thirty-sixty minutes. 

On a separate (musical) note, I’m re-posting my song “More Than Bipolar” just in case any of you missed it last week.  I promise next time (and there will be a next time – I’ve written four other mushy love songs that have nothing to do with bipolar. ) Lucy will have a stunning solo.

Lastly, I’d like to share a relatively new blog.  It was created by my former writing boss at Good Times/acclaimed author Greg Archer. (His latest book Grace Revealed  deserves to be on the New York Times Bestseller list, but sadly its rightful place is taken over by a Wrong Brothers I mean Wright Brothers-themed book that’s full of cliches and lies. Please see my husband’s book Quest for Flight – John J. Montgomery and the Dawn of Aviation in the West for a true take on aviation history.) 

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I digress. Sorry! Greg Archer’s writing is hilarious, insightful, hopeful, sometimes a little bit profane (which I love) and so much more.  Greg had the guts to upheave his life and move to the hideous  island of Maui for three months to babysit an olive grove. Sadly I couldn’t convert Greg to WordPress, so his blog “Know Place Like Home” is on Blogger. That’s okay. It’s worth the trip to this link – check it out:

http://knowplacelikehomeblog.blogspot.com

 

Be good to yourselves, eh? See you next week, my dears!

Much love,

Dyane

 

 

“More Than Bipolar” by Dyane Leshin-Harwood

I don’t know – why should I care? 

About all the times that life was unfair

It’s so different now, I need to let it all go

Or else I’m gonna blow

So don’t call me bipolar ’cause it’s not my name

Can’t you see I’m a person –  there is no shame

And we have stigma that’s to blame…

I’m more than bipolar 

I’m more than bipolar

It hurts sometimes

And I feel all alone

What can I do?

Don’t want to pick up the phone

Time to break a sweat, cause this mood’s not over yet

And all you need to know…

Don’t call me bipolar ’cause it’s not my name

Can’t you see I’m a person, there is no shame

And we have stigma that’s to blame

I’m more than bipolar

I’m more than bipolar

Dyane’s memoir Birth of a New Brain – Healing from Postpartum Bipolar Disorder with a foreword by Dr. Walker Karraa (Transformed by Postpartum Depression: Women’s Stories of Trauma and Growth) will be, fingers & toes crossed, published by Post Hill Press in Fall, 2016.

My Seroquel Spider Belly, Memoirstipation & Buh-Bye!

(TW – Seemingly superficial topics but please read this anyway!)

Happy Thursday, my friends!

It has been over a month since my last 25 mg Seroquel pill. I’ve been able to get to sleep without medication again, which is cause for celebration! I first started taking quetiapine, the generic version of Seroquel, in 2013 for for severe, agitated insomnia. It has been an enormous help, but it was time to taper off it because I wasn’t happy with my chronic daytime grogginess. I wanted to see if I could live and sleep comfortably without the med, and my pdoc gave me his blessing to go for it.

I think I’m getting the medication out of my system. Who knows for sure, but I don’t feel an icky withdrawal sensation anymore. I stopped belting out the Seroquel Blues song. The only Seroquel-related bummer that remains is this:
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Ever since I started taking Seroquel, my stomach took on a very high concentration of fat glorious adipose tissue. I’ve never had this style of weight gain happen before except when I was pregnant. There’s no way I’m growing a Frankenbaby, but I look about four months pregnant and that feels very disconcerting.

I’ve been ruminating about the villain Typhon Cutter from my favorite author Madeleine L’Engle’s book The Arm of the Starfish. L’Engle writes, “Typhon Cutter looked even more like a spider than Adam remembered. It seemed incredible that this obese mass with the stringy appendages could possibly be father to the beautiful girl at his side.”

While I’m not obese (at 5’6″, I’m 152 pounds of pure bipolar goodness) my metabolism has obviously been affected adversely by the powerful drug. 152 pounds would be perfectly acceptable except for this quadruple muffin top hanging out of my stretched-out jeans. Due to my twisted Los Angeles upbringing, I don’t breathe well because I have an awful habit of sucking in my stomach. 

The bottom line is that I feel gross and unhealthy despite my consistent Dr. Alsuwaidan-style * workouts. I’m a former A.C.E.-certified personal trainer and I know the most important thing I need to do aside from discuss this in therapy. I need to eat much healthier foods than what I’m currently inhaling. However, I haven’t hit that lovely rock-bottom point that motivates profound, lasting change.

My weight gain certainly hasn’t been all Seroquel’s fault. I have a fierce gelato addiction. There are so many damn delicious gelatos and a myriad of Willy Wonka-esque, enticing flavors available. (Bourbon caramel chocolate, anyone?Ahhh!) Check out https://ciaobellagelato.com)

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It’s just not right. But I’m working on this issue because I want more energy.

I’ve lost bipolar med weight before. I did it in a healthy way, mind you! No starving for this foodie chick. 60 pounds worth! The equivalent of a five-year-old child was lost from my frame, which is pretty freaky. But my weight problem wasn’t connected with Seroquel and I think the 10-15 pounds I’d like to lose now will be tougher due to whatever Seroquel did to my metabolism. So we shall see, and I’ll keep you posted.

In book writing news, it’s sucking heavily, my dears.  My publisher doesn’t read this blog, and even if someone there did read it, I’m not worried. At least I have my book’s 200 page “skeleton” written. (Thanks, Natalie Goldberg, for planting your Writing Down the Bones idea into my brain twenty nine years ago!) However, a humongous amount of work is still in order. 

Due to our family’s summer schedule and my malaise, I haven’t written much. I’ve been constipated in terms of writing. I’ve coined the silly term “memoirstipation” because as far as I know, no one else has coined it, so I’m claiming it now. Gotta clear out the pipes! At least my manuscript deadline is motivating me to complete this project. The main reason why I sent out the proposal was actually to be given a deadline and pressure! It’s a mixed blessing, especially when I wake up at 4:00 a.m. freaking out about it.

I have the Catamaran Writers Conference coming up in August as another way that will require me to get my act together. The feedback will be invaluable – I know that I’m going to get 99.9% criticism and that’s okay. I’ll bring a extra-large box of tissues. 😉

Perhaps as I lose a bit of the Seroquel belly, I’ll feel more fired up to write. 

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This is not end-of-the-world stuff, and yes, it’s a first-world problem, but nevertheless I’d like to say buh-bye to my Seroquel belly!

And speaking of buh-bye’s, I found a clip on YouTube that made me laugh. You might not think it’s as hilarious as I do since I was raised in L.A., but it’s fun to watch such an awkward spectacle. Stay with it for the Betty White/Bradley Cooper moment if nothing else. Keep in mind lots of Angelenos like to explain in boring, ludicrous detail the tedious routes they drive. Here’s a summary:

The Californians (Fred Armisen, Bill Hader, Kristen Wiig, Laraine Newman, Kenan Thompson, Betty White, Taylor Swift) reunite and get some surprising news about their pool boy Craig (Bradley Cooper – I’m not quite sure what he was on in this skit). Plus, David Spade (reprising his role as the original Buh-Bye Man) and Cecily Strong bring the sketch to an abrupt end.

THE CALIFORNIANS – SNL 40th SPECIAL “BUH-BYE”

I grew up in West L.A., and this is how people really talk there…and it’s true, lots of them primp in the mirror every two minutes. See you next week, lovies!

Dyane

* This is what I do every day & it totally helps my mood, no matter how chunky my belly is! 

http://kuwaitmood.com/exercise-mood-part-iii-from-science-to-action/

My 1st Fellowship Award! The Catamaran Writing Conference

 

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On Tuesday I was awarded a Fellowship to study Creative Nonfiction and Memoir with Frances Lefkowitz at the 2015 Catamaran Writing Conference. 

I still can’t believe it!

A little backstory: in 2012 I read about the new, local Catamaran Literary Reader. Each issue was filled with first-rate writers. Many of them had received the highest writing accolades possible. I never dreamed of submitting my writing to the editors, especially since my unrelenting bipolar depression got in the way.

In 2013 after a seven-year-long search, I finally found a medication combination that alleviated my paralyzing depression: lithium and an MAOI. I started this blog and returned to work on my partially written memoir Birth of a New Brain.

Fast forward to last month. I wanted to attend a writing workshop that could help me improve my first draft. Through a Google search I found the Catamaran Writing Conference. This annual event is held at a beautiful Pebble Beach campus complete with field trips. It sounded like a glorious summer camp for writers!

I looked at the cost and gulped. No way, I thought. Ain’t gonna happen. 

However, I couldn’t get the conference out of my mind. After three cups of Steve’s Smooth French coffee (for the record, the coffee mug was small!) I wondered if scholarships were available  I emailed an inquiry to the Catamaran office and got on with my day. Within hours the conference coordinator emailed me,”Yes, we offer several fellowships, and here’s the link to apply.” 

Why the hell not? I thought.

Some of you know I’ve been through plenty of literary rejection that brought up slight 😉 anger and insecurity issues. See this link for the gory details: https://dyaneharwood.wordpress.com/2015/03/06/lets-play-the-schadenfreude-game-a-writers-1st-rejection/

 

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To get fired up to write my application, I re-read the description of the Nonfiction Workshop I wanted to take. The teacher, renowned writer Frances Lefkowitz (author of To Have Not, a highly acclaimed memoir about growing up poor in San Francisco), seemed like she’d be an ideal guide. Lefkowitz has led numerous memoir workshops. She won a grant to teach free memoir workshops at libraries – how cool is that? (I’ve worked for the Santa Cruz Libraries and Friends of the Santa Cruz Libraries; I’m a bit of a library fan.) Participating in her workshop would be a unique opportunity, bar none.

Moreover, Frances Lefkowitz has the same first name as my beloved Granny who was also a gifted teacher. I blogged about my remarkable grandmother for the first time last week. The name coincidence and timing seemed like a good omen that tickled me in the face.

Still, I knew that it was highly unlikely I’d be awarded a fellowship. Surely the staff received a gazillion entries from outstanding writers with talents far superior to mine – writers who were destined to win oodles of Pushcart Prizes and PEN Literary Awards. 

On Tuesday morning I sat in front of my laptop, perplexed. The past month I’ve gone through an awful writing block. I’ve worked on my book here and there instead of during every precious child-free opportunity that I’ve had. (I suspect that my Seroquel withdrawal has had something to do with my struggle.)

My dog Lucy sat on my foot, her warm, furry flank reassuring me of her affection. I began to sob with frustration. Lucy immediately jumped up in alarm and licked my face. As soon as I dried my tears, I noticed a new email had popped up in my in-box.

It was from the Catamaran Literary Reader.

I stared at my in-box. I felt slightly sick to my stomach. I wanted this fellowship. Ever since I emailed my application I wrote nightly affirmations stating I’d receive the award. I furtively placed these slips of paper under my pillow. (This is hippie-dippie Santa Cruz after all, and in twenty-seven years of living here, I’ve never written positive affirmations!)

Despite my pillow plea to the Universe, I knew that the email was likely to be a rejection. Before opening it I braced myself. I took a deep breath. I opened the email and read, ” The editors have chosen you to receive a Fellowship Award to study Creative Nonfiction and Memoir with Frances Lefkowitz during the 2015 conference.”

I let out an enormous, happy scream. Poor Lucy. She barked madly while I danced around in circles like a freak. I’m so grateful for this beautiful award, and I’m honored that the Catamaran editors were “impressed” with my submission!

Since then, I’ve been absorbed with reading my teacher’s memoir; it’s not required, but after reading its rave reviews and spotting its $2.99 cost on Kindle, I was compelled to buy it. I’ve read the first few chapters and it’s incredible. My good friend/blogger Kitt O’Malley (http://kittomalley.com) noticed my enthusiastic tweet about this book and she also bought it. I know she’ll find it a riveting read as well. 

I’ve checked out Lufkowitz’s blog Paper in My Shoe and some of her interviews to get a sense of her teaching style and philosophy. All of these interviews contained excellent writing advice.

Here’s one piece of wisdom she shared on the Fictionaut blog that many of us bloggers/writers can utilize. 

http://fictionaut.com/blog/2012/04/11/fictionaut-five-frances-lefkowitz/

What’s the best writer’s advice you ever got?

Frances Lefkowitz: When submitting stories to publications, always keep several pieces in circulation, so when one comes back rejected, you still have the others keeping hope alive. Also, for the same reason, send that rejected one out immediately to another journal. This advice came from the wonderful Pamela Painter, who taught me fiction at Harvard’s night school.

It’s not too late to sign up for the conference! Details are posted below. 

I’ll be back next week with an update on the Seroquel withdrawal blues, which was meant to be today’s original topic until I got this lovely conference news. 🙂 

take care, and have a wonderful weekend!

love, Dyane

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To buy To Have Not go to :http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B003GDIA32/ref=s9_simh_gw_p351_d0_i1?pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_s=desktop-1&pf_rd_r=0434WR0JN7PNWSVJ7ACW&pf_rd_t=36701&pf_rd_p=2079475242&pf_rd_i=desktop

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@YesFrances
Frances Lufkowtiz’s cool website/blog Paper In My Shoe 

http://www.franceslefkowitz.net/blog/

 

For information about the 2015 Catamaran Conference in Pebble Beach this August, visit:

http://catamaranliteraryreader.com/conference-2015/

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Dyane’s memoir Birth of a New Brain – Healing from Postpartum Bipolar Disorder with a foreword by Dr. Walker Karraa (Transformed by Postpartum Depression: Women’s Stories of Trauma and Growth) will be published by Post Hill Press in Fall, 2016. 

Frances Nettie Messinger, My Inspiration

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Our Future President Hillary Rodham Clinton with

Congressman Charles Rangel, my Granny’s student and friend

 

Today is my maternal grandmother Frances Nettie Messinger ‘s birthday. I witnessed my beloved Granny suffer an agonizing and prolonged death from lung cancer. I’ll never forget the last time I saw her at St. John’s Hospital in Santa Monica. She didn’t recognize me. This gentle, loving woman who had never even raised her voice at me started screaming. Without thinking about what I was doing, I sprinted out of her room and down the hall in terror. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I knew what I did was cowardly, but I was ignorant about death, and I wasn’t strong enough to face her decline. 

Hers was the first death to affect me significantly. I was twenty-seven when she died and I plummeted into a deep depression. As nightmarish as my depression was, it only gave me a hint of what would come after I’d be diagnosed with postpartum bipolar disorder. To be honest, I’m glad Granny died before I was diagnosed so she didn’t see me suffer the horrors of bipolar. I know she would have been devastated.

While I’m lucky that my Granny and my Dad are the only deaths that have hit me so hard, I know more grief will arrive. For now, it helps me to remember my beloved family members when they were at their best.

Granny was an absolutely  amazing woman. Yes, I sound biased, but read on and I’m sure you’ll agree. She was an elementary school teacher in Harlem, New York. Granny was a single mother to my Mom and she took care of her own mother “Bubba” until Bubba died peacefully in her sleep at age 93.

I was only five-years-old when Bubba died, but I remember her having a lively sense of humor and a clear mind. My most vivid memory of Bubba is when she shook hard with laughter while telling me a joke about the F-word. (Hey, now I know where I get my potty mouth!) I loved her bouncy laugh. Although I didn’t know exactly what the F-word meant, I could tell by her expression that it was naughty and that she got a big kick out of saying it.

On the other hand, Granny had an impeccable vocabulary. You’d never hear her utter an unsavory word for she was used to being an exemplary role model. This extremely dedicated teacher mentored many students, but one student stood out in her life. His name was Charles Rangel, and he would eventually became a Democratic Congressman and the first African-American chair of the influential Ways and Means Committee.

Granny and Congressman Rangel had a truly beautiful friendship. I was so proud of Granny for inspiring this extraordinary man to achieve his dream of governmental service. He is currently the second longest serving member of the House of Representatives. 

I met Congressman Rangel when he gave the eulogy at Granny’s funeral in upstate New York. There were only six of us in attendance, and he took time out of his jam-packed schedule to make sure he was there. Despite my being in a fog of despair, I was comforted by my brief interaction with this warm and wonderful man who loved my Granny too.  

I write in depth about this remarkable woman and our relationship in my memoir Birth of a New Brain – Healing from Postpartum Bipolar Disorder slated for publication in 2016 by Post Hill Press.   

Yesterday I found a link that posted a speech given by Congressman Rangel. He honored my Granny in front of Congress, and as you can imagine, I was totally blown away by such a find. What a gift!

Thanks, Granny, for leading me to this link and for so much more…

I miss you.

your Dyanu

Here goes:

In Memory Of Sixth Grade Teacher Nettie Messinger On Teacher Appreciation Day by Congressman Charles Rangel

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Mr. Speaker, let me join with my colleagues. I did not come to speak on this subject, but just this Friday I attended the funeral of a sixth grade teacher that I had. She was more than an inspiration to one of the worst kids in the classroom, which was Charlie Rangel, but it was fantastic that the more success I received politically, the better she thought I was as a student.

How quickly they forget. I was so blessed to have had her, not only as a sixth grade teacher in Nettie Messinger but as someone who counseled me after I got out of the service, returned to high school and went on to college and law school.

There were so many, many students that she took this very, very personal relationship with. She did not just let you play hookey, she had to come by your house to let your parents know that you missed school.

On behalf of all of the students from old PS 89, some who get on TV and many others who do not, let me thank the teachers that follow the high tradition of real teaching as Mrs. Nettie Messinger did and join my colleagues in thanking all of our teachers, especially those in the public school system.

 

 

Update from the Boondocks of Bigfoot

 

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Hey there my Sasquatch lovin’ friends,

I’m in a goofy mood, which comes at a good time after my Facebook Fiasco. a.k.a. the unfriendings over the past week. After I published my last post, I received fantastic comments packed with insights and support, and I felt a bunch of warm fuzzies.  Thank you so much!

It has been five days since I deactivated my Facebook account and I don’t miss it at all! I remain on Twitter, and it helps me feel connected to the internet, but as one follower Jasminehoneyadams of Invoke Delight  https://invokedelight.wordpress.com/  wisely notes,

“I much prefer Twitter for social media, where it’s less personal and there’s no pretension of people being friends; they’re more acquaintances which is less confusing for me, and it’s less upsetting if someone unfollows because it’s just the way Twitter works.”

I agree!

So you may be wondering what’s the story about this Bigfoot title? Well, I live five minutes away from the world-famous Bigfoot Discovery Museum. (I’m sure you’ve heard of it.)  

I’m not proud that despite living in these mountains for close to a decade, I haven’t been inside the legendary exhibit. My time will come. Last year I met the Museum’s owner Mike at the post office and he was very charming. He even offered to watch my puppy Lucy outside the post office when I mailed a package. I promised Mike I’d pay the museum a visit because let’s face it, one’s life is not complete until a pilgrimage to the Bigfoot Discovery Museum is made.  

There isn’t really much of a connection between Bigfoot and last week’s virtual rejection. Today I gazed out the window at the beautiful redwoods, and thought, How lucky I am to have such a view! Bigfoot came to mind because the hirsute creature supposedly roams these woods. Then I began to laugh, because of all the places in the world for me to settle down, I had to pick Bigfoot’s ‘hood. (Well, at this point I’d trust Bigfoot more than a lot of “friends” on Facebook!)

I used to hike all the time at nearby state parks, and I never once spotted the wily beast, but who’s to say what’s the truth of Bigfoot’s existence? (There must be an X-Files episode about it, right?) In any case, I’d much rather be pondering the mysteries of Bigfoot than surfing Facebook and wasting time better spent on important projects, not to mention finding out that someone has unfriended me!

Speaking of important projects, I’ve been working each day on Birth of a New Brain – Healing from Postpartum Bipolar Disorder. I’ve made some progress, but I have a looooooong way to go. I’m slower than molasses when it comes to completing the draft, but I’m highly motivated due to the book deal with Post Hill Press. To help inspire me to do the best job I can, I bought Your Life is a Book by Brenda Peterson and Sarah Jane Freymann, which has 99% 4-5 star Amazon reviews:

 

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I don’t have a good track record when it comes to utilizing self-help books, but I’m hoping that reading this book (and doing some of the exercises) will be a positive experience. I figure it’s definitely worth a try!

Because of the huge surge of interest in reading and writing memoirs, there are numerous awesome-sounding memoir how-to books available. I considered buying Natalie Goldberg’s Old Friend from Far Away: The Practice of Writing Memoir and Adair Lara’s Naked, Drunk & Writing, but I was drawn to this book. Another book that caught my eye was written by a New Zealander (! yes !) named Lindsey Dawson. She wrote Crack Your Life: How to Write a Memoir That Rocks. Although it only got two reviews, reading the glowing, detailed praise made me download a sample on my Kindle. I haven’t read it yet, but I will.

I’ve also been enjoying the Twitter feed of @WomenWriters. It has frequent tweets, but the beauty of Twitter is that it’s easy to sift through tweets without becoming overwhelmed. @WomenWriters offers links to helpful articles on websites including Women Writers, Women’s Books. http://booksbywomen.org/  I highly recommend @WomenWriters and the site!

Be good to yourself, be good to your friends, and please protect yourself from negative, toxic people/headlines/whatever!

Thanks for reading…

XOXO

Dyane

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For more information about the Bigfoot Discovery Museum please visit: 

http://bigfootdiscoveryproject.com/

I Love You Goodbye

Thomas Dolby singing “I Love You Goodbye” from Astronauts and Heretics,one of my all-time favorite albums.

Yesterday I woke up bright and perky only to find a bummer of a Facebook message in my in-box. It was from someone I had been virtual friends with for the past year. She lives with bipolar disorder, and for months I encouraged her from afar with tweets and Facebook messages, sometimes on a daily basis.  I took time to cheer her up by attaching photos of her favorite rock band U2 that I knew she’d enjoy.  

She messaged me, “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, you’re not on my FB or Twitter anymore. You have done nothing. I tend to take things too personally when I shouldn’t and just cut people off. I am struggling quite a bit right now. I’m just backing off of everything at the moment. I’m not expecting forgiveness or even friendship. I just felt the need to explain.”

First thought: F*ck this!  

Following thoughts: I knew all along she has been mentally unstable. I need to be compassionate and not take one bit of this personally!

I wrote her back a brief message and wished her well. I added that I’d be open for re-connecting in the future. (As I typed that line, a tiny red flag popped up in my people-pleasing brain and I thought, Whhhaaaat? You don’t want to be friends with this person! Ever! But I didn’t delete that line like I should’ve.)

I called a wonderful friend and she was willing to hash it out. She gave me tons of good advice, namely to let the whole thing go and it wasn’t about me. Because of that key conversation I was able to actually stop thinking about it the rest of the day. I thanked my lucky stars for this friend.

This morning half-awake, the aggravating Pisces/uber-sensitive part of me started ruminating about what happened the day before with the unfriending. I realized I DID take her actions personally – I wasn’t a robot, dammit! I had been kind to this person. 

The fact that I woke up upset by this crap is not good for me.  Sometimes we can’t predict another person’s toxic behavior and how it’ll affect us – I know I can’t. After mulling it over, I decided to block her on Facebook and Twitter so in the unlikely event she wants to be in touch again, I don’t get triggered down the line. It may sound selfish, but I would never feel safe with her after this, and let’s face it -s he’s “just” a virtual friend who lives thousands of miles away.  I’ve never even heard her voice.

There’s no happy way to end this post, so I won’t even try. But I’m going to go work out because I know it will make me feel better! 

Xo

Dyane