Reblog from 2015: I’ve Got A Job!!!!

I just stumbled on this while I was looking for something else, and was reading the comments.

Dear God I miss Blah so much. It sears my heart every time.

Invoke Delight and Inspire

So yesterday was exhausting but I tried to catch up with blogs in the evening. I was on the TV set for 10 hours and I was mostly naked and it was very cold. Overall it was a positive experience though and the positives definitely far outweighed the negatives and I spent most of the day pretending to eat someone’s muff. I can’t go into any more details due to the non-disclosure agreement, but it was for a show that airs on the BBC so it’s not porn or anything (sadly lol – I did meet a porn actor but he only did gay porn so had no advice about which straight/lesbian studios were any good).

Then this morning I overslept bigtime and my Dearest was left to make his own way to school. And my phone had 2 missed calls/ 2 messages so I phoned back and it was…

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All aboard the medi-go-round*!

Okay, bipolar peeps; hit me up. How bad/good is olanzapine (Zyprexa)? I could finally afford to see my psych again and she is moving me onto olanzapine because the quetiapine (Seroquel)’s side effects are outweighing the benefits and she thinks it will be more stabilizing longer-term. She’s also recommending sertraline (Zoloft) for that anxiety/depression I haven’t been able to shake since August. Has anyone tried these either separately or together? What were they like? I’m mostly worried about the sedating effect which she says should be improved compared to the quetiapine (oh my God I could stand to be less sedated atm).

I’m not sure I’m in love with the idea of taking a combination of things, but at this point I’ll take whatever works!

*medi-go-round coined by Morgueticia.

The Problem With The Male Birth Control Issue

Today I saw an op-ed piece about the male birth control. It accused women of “laughing at men for being wimps.” I was left, after reading this article, thinking, ‘but that’s not what happened!’  It doesn’t really move us forward as a society to polarise the issue with contraception and reduce it to basic gender stereotypes (based on two genders), but if we’re going to, I think that the millions of women affected by this for the last 50+ years have legitimately got a valid complaint. This article talks candidly about sex, depression and contraception.

Hormonal contraception is a really big issue, and the reaction I saw online from other women (and men) was that perhaps it’s time for us to re-think our assumptions about it. Nobody laughed, nobody said anything nasty. People just pointed out it’s unfair that nobody queried these side effects with any of the female birth control patents that have been filed since 1960. People have said “but the research methods were less stringent in the 60s.” Counter point: The most recent patent for a female contraceptive pill was 2010 (I’ve linked it there), and those “known” side effects are clearly still being seen as “acceptable damage” to women.

Since the 1960s, it’s gradually become more and more common for men to assume women are on the pill. After the AIDS outbreak, men got better at using condoms for one night stands, but in my experience, and the experiences of other women I’ve talked to in the past few days, when you’re in a committed relationship, the man puts pressure on you to go on the pill.

If you’re one of the lucky ones who doesn’t get side effects, then I am pleased for you, please don’t get mad about this but I think the pill should be much more restricted and people should stop foisting hormones on other people.

My first boyfriend told me, “you should get the pill because I don’t get on with condoms.” I broke up with him after 3 weeks because I felt like he was saying it was my responsibility to not get pregnant during the awful sex he always wanted (dear God I knew it was awful, but I didn’t know *how* awful until I had mind-blowing sex years later). When I’ve mentioned this in private conversations, I’ve been told by other women, ‘you just have to get used to the idea of him coming inside you’ or ‘it’s part of being an adult’ or ‘it’s part of being in a relationship.’

It’s not true though! It’s a lie that society perpetuates to make us feel bad about not conforming. I think women are just as to blame as men about this issue. When a woman goes through a shitty experience as a result of something a man pressured her into, to save her own dignity, she drags other women down to her level by telling them “this is normal” or “everyone does it.” That’s how rape was normalized for decades (if not centuries), because it wasn’t just the men who were telling women this was “part of life,” the women it had happened to were doing it too. It’s a dangerous coping mechanism.

I’ve now been in my current relationship for over 6 years. We started sleeping together when I was 23. I’d had other (brief) relationships but this was the first one that lasted. I tried the pill after we’d been together for 6 months. It made me very weepy. They gave me a different dose, and kept telling me it was the progesterone (fake progestogen used in hormonal contraception) not the oestrogen, then increasing the oestrogen. I got worse and worse, until I was also irritable and depressed. I’d obviously felt emotions before but I’d been able to control them. Suddenly I was having public outbursts towards people, and at the same time I couldn’t tell people anything when I had a problem. It was the strangest feeling. Only it wasn’t. The doctors said I needed time to get used to the pill, and to come back in 6 months if I was still having issues. I was. They said the same thing: Come back in 6 months.

I gave up on that pill after 9 months and we went back to latex-free condoms. I felt like a failure as a woman. The doctors I saw (never the same one twice of course) kept trying to push the pill for various maladies, and they all said the pill couldn’t do this, but the patient information leaflet clearly stated that it could. At the same time while taking the pill, I was getting a strange feeling in one of my lower legs that felt like there was something stuck inside my leg. I didn’t know where to turn because everyone was pushing me to do something that was making me feel miserable and so I just stopped taking it and I felt better within 2 weeks, emotionally and in my leg. I mysteriously had less migraines, too. What I found out after I stopped taking it was that I never should have been prescribed it because I get migraines with aura. The doctor asked if I got migraines. I said yes. Instead of asking me to describe the symptoms (which I’d been to another doctor about in the recent past), they asked if I got them with aura. I said I didn’t know, and was about to ask “what’s an aura” when they interrupted and said “so, you get headaches then. We’ll put you on… [name of pill].” I had no idea at the time how dangerous it was to go on the pill with migraines with aura. Aura doesn’t sound like it means “characteristic symptoms surrounding a migraine” it sounds like it means “a visual aura,” so there was no way (not being medically trained) that I could know what sort of migraines I had.

In 2013 I went to a doctor about a menstrual problem (tmi: I was just bleeding out heavily) and he told me to take the pill. I said I couldn’t. That I got migraines and last time I was on it, I felt miserable and out of control of my emotions. He dismissed this and said it must be down to underlying depression. He tried to prescribe me antidepressants. I protested, so he did a test, found I didn’t have depression, and told me I’d lied on the test. Because that fitted better with his world view than the idea that a woman might get depression from the pill. I absolutely did not lie on the test; I was completely honest.

I didn’t get my first depressive episode until 2 years later and I really KNEW it was depression because I wanted to kill myself. My psychiatrist says I never had full-blown depression before 2015 (when my cyclothymia which includes MILD depression progressed to bipolar), and I agree. I never felt like I did on the pill until my parents both died at the same time. The doctor in 2013 was just changing the facts to fit his own incorrect opinion that the pill was harmless. The problem with the migraines was ignored, and he refused to listen to anything I said after I told him ‘even if you give me the prescription for antidepressants, I won’t get it filled.’ He said ‘No-one needs to know it’s depression, I can alter your medical records.’ I was shocked, but I needed the bleeding to stop. He gave me the prescription for the contraceptive pill and left it at that.

Do you know what my menstrual problem turned out to be? A vitamin deficiency. But that wasn’t even considered, because he just assumed it was something the pill would fix. Newsflash, women had menstrual irregularities that they sorted out ever since we evolved into our species and before the pill was invented. We don’t need to take the pill to solve period problems. Period.

I lost my job as a teacher because I got exhaustion and morning sickness from taking the pill he prescribed (I didn’t know until I was pregnant and experienced hyperemesis that it was the same feeling of tiredness and vomiting) and I kept getting migraines. I was very underweight at the time, and the amount of oestrogen in that pill was twice as much as I needed for my body weight. This is another thing that isn’t ever considered. Women have different sizes and metabolisms, but they only diverge from the “standard” dose of pill if you have bad side effects and keep pestering them about it. After I lost that job, I was getting migraines every single day for a month of pure agony and eventually I realized it was the pill. I was terrified to stop taking it though in case I started bleeding uncontrollably again. I went back to the doctor after the first week and he said the pill couldn’t do that. It’s actually very well documented that it can. Or at least, it was two years ago; now a lot of the information has mysteriously been edited to say that it’s the fall in oestrogen that causes migraines, which is not always true, because when my oestrogen levels were rising from pregnancy, I had day after day of migraines again.

Why is society so desperate to keep us all depressed, spotty, miserable, migrainey, with fluctuating weight and all the other problems we get from having the wrong amount of hormones in our systems, instead of just using condoms? I really don’t know.

So when the study about the male pill came out, I didn’t laugh at the men involved, I felt sorry for them that they were suffering like so many women. And I hoped that this would finally show the world that the behaviours we believe to be a “typical woman” – over-reacting (depression), crying a lot (depression), exacerbated PMS (depression) near-neurotic levels of perfectionism (depression) anxiety (depression) etc are probably quite so prolific because they’re actually down to the fact people have been fucking with women’s hormones for 50 years (of course there are plenty of people who have these for other reasons or no reason but the incidence is so high in women). Why? Why are 19 million American women suffering from depression (stats from link above)?

My other concern about the male hormonal contraception is that it’s going to make condom evasion worse. Some men will do anything to avoid condoms. I wouldn’t believe a man who told me he was on the pill or injection unless I saw him have it, and I wouldn’t trust it to be effective.

They claimed one of the reasons the study was discontinued was because the male hormonal contraception had a low effectiveness rate, of 96%. That made me roll my eyes. IF TAKEN CORRECTLY, the mini-pill, or progesterone-only-pill, is only 81-99% effective (so the mid point there is 90%), and yet the mini-pill is licensed and handed out to women like it’s candy, and it’s our fault if we get pregnant and we mustn’t have been taking it properly and it must have been the antibiotics/alcohol/wrong kind of snow. This article by the Guardian claims that the “ideal-world” effectiveness of the male and female pills, compared to the “real-world effectiveness” of condoms (they claim 82%) makes these shitty hormones better. The two statistics are incomparable. It’s exceedingly difficult to get the “real world” effectiveness of any method of contraceptive because all the “your body your choice” propaganda only uses the idealized statistics, in which condoms are 98% effective if used correctly. None of these “real-world” stats can ever explain how they arrive at their conclusions, but since I’ve had sex over 300 times (conservative estimate if we assume on average 1x per week) and haven’t got pregnant 6 times (or ever while using condoms), so I have to question the reliability of any of those stats, and I think we have to consider that perhaps some (not all) people are lying to themselves when they report how they got their partner pregnant, to defer responsibility for the pregnancy. The amount of excuses that are made and statistics that are skewed to make the contraceptive pill look good are unbelievable. In the 1960s, it might well have represented female emancipation and freedom, but nowadays, it’s the thing that shackles us to the kitchen sink by filling us with phantom nesting hormones and making us anxious and depressed so we can’t go anywhere, do anything, or achieve our potential.

It’s no longer a step towards feminism to keep defending the pill and giving it out to women for any minor malady, and it’s time to stop calling people anti-feminist when they try to speak out against it, or for labelling women who are now speaking out about the inequality here “radical feminists” or “feminazis.” It’s not a radical point of view to want to avoid physical or emotional pain, regardless of gender. Did we really have to wait until the same thing happened to men before anyone even considered this issue?

What’s more depressing than the actual side effects is the fact that, in two or three weeks time, nothing will have changed. Doctors will still be pressuring women to go on the pill for any tenuous reason (broke your leg? Try the contraceptive pill, it’ll fix those bones for you!) and women will feel like they have no option but to do as they’re told by the doctor. After all, they know best. When this happens outside of medicine, we call this sort of over-use of a “miracle cure,” whose effectiveness isn’t proven repeatably (empirically), pseudoscience, or we call it “woo science” or quackery. It’s usually associated with the sort of people who try to cure end-stage cancer by drinking green smoothies. And there, in the midst of modern medicine, like a microcosm of the wider issues with pharmaceutical and medical “knowledge,” is the pill, shining like a beacon of bad science, waiting to disempower the next generation of twentysomething women whose only crime was wanting a steady relationship or wanting their acne to clear up.

Apologies to anyone offended by the fact this issue is by its nature a heteronormative one and that this article was less inclusive to other genders/sexualities than I generally prefer to be when talking about these sort of issues.

Update: The severe side effects of the contraceptive pill have been known about and fully documented since it first came out, and planned parenthood is defending the pill because it serves their own agenda (link here). Why the fuck is it still being pushed on women?

Plane Wreck

plane crash plane wreck bipolar disorder bipolar depression…And then I crashed. And now the bipolar depression is literally trying to wrestle me to the ground and bang my head against a rock. Literally.
Here’s how it happened:
Monday morning: Went to dentist for a filling. That turned into two fillings. Then, the second filling turned out to be much deeper than they expected, and it turned into a root canal. To get through this, because my body metabolizes shit really quickly, I had to have three lots of anaesthetic.
Monday evening: I felt migraine-y. Maybe it was the anaesthetic that started it all or maybe I was already crashing. I took some painkillers and went to bed early.
Tuesday morning: I still had a (much worse) migraine. I sleep with an eyemask and earplugs. This migraine was so bad that, with the curtains closed AND my eyemask on, the morning light (on a very cloudy day) was too bright and hurt my eyes.
I was supposed to be on a work placement as part of my Master’s degree. I had to email and let them know I couldn’t make it. I get migraines with aura, and that makes me partially blind and very clumsy till they go away.
I spent the morning watching quiet cartoons on Netflix. Fyi, The Swan Princess is shockingly bad (I lasted 20 mins, and I can watch Barbie movies in their entirety; the only other thing that’s ever had this effect on me was My Little Pony), but The Adventures of Sinbad (Dreamworks, 2003) was surprisingly good. I wish Michelle Pfeiffer was in more stuff, I could listen to her voice all day. I dropped two cups and a plate while trying to do simple tasks like pick up a cup.
Tuesday afternoon: I had a total meltdown that Krita (the graphic design program that’s supposed to be good for drawing comics) absolutely doesn’t work with my graphics tablet, and in fact doesn’t seem to work properly anyway. All the Youtube tutorials were for another version. I got so upset over this that I started crying, and my husband took my laptop off me and downloaded The GIMP, which is basically Photoshop but free. Then I did, like, two tutorials and felt a million times better.
Later in the afternoon: I tried to make dinner and got that miscommunication between brain and body that I always get with migraines. Long story short, I dropped 3 chicken breasts that had taken an hour to cook. Food was looking like it was going to end up being vegetarian, then I saved it with a bag of prawns I found out of the freezer. Some of them had freezer burn but it was still better than tofu. Then my PTSD decided to say hi, and made me have a panic attack because I dropped the chicken and my husband hadn’t told me that I *wasn’t* in trouble. My brain just assumed. So then I couldn’t eat my food so I ended up taking myself to bed early and missing my absolute favorite episode of Deep Space 9.
The migraine tablets had fooled my brain into thinking I no longer had a migraine, but I clearly did. I cried for over an hour and felt suicidal about dropping three pieces of chicken on the floor. WTF.
Wednesday morning: My brain lied and said it was okay. I got out the house in spite of crushing anxiety and tried to cycle but my body wouldn’t move very fast. That’s when I knew this was definitely bipolar depression – it makes you grind to a halt and actually stop moving because it affects motor functioning, unlike regular depression. I finally got to my placement for my Master’s degree, and within minutes of getting there, my brain went, “haha just kidding, I’ve still got a migraine, stab, stab, stab.” My hands weren’t working so I couldn’t type or move the mouse very quickly, and my eyes weren’t taking things in properly so copyediting Scandinavian-language science bibliographies took five times as long as it should. Just before lunch, the lady in charge said she had a meeting after lunch so I had to go home. I was pretty glad, as I thought I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed.
Wednesday afternoon: I came home, migraine aura was back and I nearly ran down three different pedestrians on my bike. They’re suicidally stupid but usually I pre-empt and avoid them. At home, I watched the second (eighth) Muppets Movie (which was great for a film which claimed at the start that it had no plot) and a 3 hour long Bollywood movie because nobody does convincing and interesting romance and compelling characters with catchy dance numbers and self-satire like Bollywood. I love it (recommendation: check out Humpty Sharma Ki Dulhania on Netflix; it’s my favorite). I didn’t get to watch the end because it turned out to be dinner time. I managed to successfully cook more chicken so I got to have my Red Curry with chicken AND prawns (cos I didn’t eat it the night before, so I reheated it today). I managed to tidy the kitchen, even if the oven gloves ended up in the microwave and the kettle nearly went into the fridge (I thought that was where they lived, amirite??) I was supposed to go to a wine evening where people say “hooray you’re doing a masters degree” for three hours, but I could barely stand and couldn’t focus my eyes very well so my husband suggested I give it a miss. The rebound pain from taking so much migraine medication (it wears off, then stuff hurts that my brain usually tunes out) hit me tonight, which was unpleasant. Then I got depressed about something else. I can’t remember what it was, but it clung to me like those plants with the sticky things that stick to your clothes if you go walking across places with wild plants (<sarcasm>wow that was the smoothest metaphor I ever came up with </sarcasm>). I couldn’t take my meds until now due to the prescription fuckup so I downed some and hoped for the best.
Thursday morning: Getting out of bed was impossible. Apparently I told my husband (in my sleep) that I couldn’t get up because I had to fix the roof. I remember dreaming that my stepdad was in hospital. I hope that doesn’t come true. I got my support stockings on and managed to move my ass to the sofa downstairs. Within minutes, I felt lighter and happier than I’ve felt since the loss of Blahpolar. More meds, apparently.
Thursday afternoon: Tired. Tired. Tired. I have now missed an entire day of induction activities at the university. I saw my face in the mirror and it turns out I’ve now got co-codamol face – the haggard, sunken look with pallidness and dark circles that I always get after taking co-codamol more than once. It goes away in a few days, but who wants that when they’re starting university and feel out of place enough for being an older student?? I tried to cheer myself up by making an ice cream and I dropped the open tub of ice cream because my hands still aren’t working properly. I can’t eat flakes so I stabbed an entire bar of chocolate into the ice-cream cone and ate it. I was supposed to go to (another) wine and cheese evening with my husband tonight to welcome me to my college (my university has a college system). I still haven’t even managed to collect a university card, I feel like there’s just too much going on and I’m swimming against the ever-accelerating current of bipolar depression, which is like trying to swim with a 100lb lead weight attached to each of your limbs. And anyway, I can’t swim to start with because I never learned properly. This week is officially a plane wreck. Bring on more meds, and I’ll down them with vodka. On the plus side, I managed to do some half-decent editing (of my latest story) on the meds, so maybe they’re not going to make me too brain-dead to function? Tschah, and monkeys might fly out of my butt. Give them a week to build up in my system and I’ll be zombiefied again. At least it’s better than fixating on suicide, because the trouble is, I can break any fixation I have by doing the thing, but you can’t undo it if you kill yourself and change your mind. Cynical? Moi? It’s madness to take the same meds over and over and expect different results.

Bipolar Creativity and Medications Linkdump

I’m not trying to take over from Blah, I just needed a place to dump some stuff so I could keep track of it, because I have to see a doctor this afternoon (haha no you don’t get to see psychiatrists in the UK unless you’re acutely suicidal, or you’re Stephen Fry; this is my general practitioner who knows nothing about bipolar but still saw fit to refuse to give me my repeat prescription).

Jim Austin Computer Collection York Computer Sheds
My brain on my meds is like the screen of this TV. The TV’s still there, but the picture’s not.

The main issue is, I had a really good article on bipolar meds, but they’ve “updated” it, and now it’s not so good (it used to go through the specific pros and side effects of every bipolar medication and now it doesn’t, it just reiterates the general ones).
This one is promising though. It’s the first thing I’ve read that’s explained my intense sugar craving while I take quetiapine.
Another article I’ve read before, but was worth reading again, was about the dangers of haloperidol. From the same site, this was also interesting: does mania ALWAYS mean bipolar disorder? It could have implications for the diagnoses of some people who have only had one manic episode.
The NHS have surprisingly reviewed an old, crap article and turned it into a half-decent article about bipolar meds and their pros and cons!! As well as side-effects for non-pregnant people, they even go into specific pregnancy side-effects, which is long-overdue!

Despite the number of articles entitled “Bipolar people are more creative!!!!! ZOMG!!!!!” it’s actually pretty well established that we are. And it’s pretty well established that meds kill creativity, although some people (presumably they have Regular Creativity; see below) disagree. This article explains the dangers that come with that heightened creativity – the little snippet of info about Handel was particularly interesting.

So, y’know, I know full well that taking my meds is important. But they stop me doing any and all of the things that make me… well… me! So I was looking for an answer to whether any specific meds are better than others for not killing creativity, and whether there’s anything I can do about it to get those connections rekindled. People saying that it goes away with time should probably consider whether they’ve developed a tolerance to their meds, BTW. Unfortunately, those same connections that I make to become super-creative are the ones that can also fixate me on sharp things or make the wrong connections between things. Y’know, like those people with the Illuminati Confirmed nonsense??

“Learning to find creativity after bipolar disorder”. I strongly disagree that only the Type 1’s are super-creative with their mania (I think us type-II’s can hold our own on that front, naturally), and I think the actual definition of mania is when the creativity stops making any sense and becomes a disorganised pile of dogshyte to everyone but you; but I’m not the sort of person to completely disregard something just because some of it doesn’t reflect my own world-view (unless you’re hating on Churchill being on a new banknote, like some people on my husband’s Facebook – if you hate Churchill, fuck you; for context, this would be as bad as Americans disregarding the value of Abraham Lincoln), so this article still had some mileage for me because one of my issues with my Seroquel is it stops me getting ideas, holding onto them, and turning them into workable projects, which I have recently been told is my biggest strength, so… Seroquel has failed this city (Arrow quote).

This person’s take on the bipolar/creativity question (TW in that link: suicide) also doesn’t quite resonate for me, I think they’re being disparaging of a real problem that some of us face. But (and here I’m going to offend some people) then I think there’s a difference between “regular creativity” – creating things such as an article about some photos you took, which most people can do, and (sorry to burst people’s bubbles) doesn’t actually take that much creativity, and “super-creativity” – an example of something so superbly creative would be Douglas Adams’s “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” which is clearly a lot more creative than Nora Roberts’s latest romance. I suppose a better name for “super-creativity” would be “inventiveness” and, while Regular Creativity can undisputably still be accessed when I’m on bipolar meds, it’s that Inventiveness that I lose. I’m using these as proper nouns here (with capital letters), because I don’t think the way I defined these words in this paragraph are exactly the commonly held meanings for these words.

So how do I get that Inventiveness back after going back on my meds? This article explains the problem quite well. For me, I lose the ability to make connections between things, and it makes my stories more mundane and lacking in sparkle, and it also takes me a whole lot longer to write, because the thoughts aren’t flowing right, and I run into writer’s block, because I can’t connect where I am with where I want to be. The resolution, to “work harder” to be creative, echoed by this article (sidenote, I wish articles would stop claiming Marilyn had bipolar; she clearly had BORDERLINE) might work to regain Regular Creativity – being able to blog on meds, for example, but it isn’t something I can do, though, because my Inventive creativity doesn’t actually come out if I push at it. It’s spontaneous, uncontrolled, and if I try to make it happen, it comes out all wrong, and anyway, part of the problem is that I judge and second guess myself too much when I’m on meds, so even if the ideas came, I wouldn’t be able to believe in them enough to make them into working projects.

And, offensive dumbass of the year nomination goes to this Scientific American post who says (direct quote): “This raises the question of why the genes of such devastating brain dysfunctions should persist in the human gene pool.” Yep. Someone actually said that. Until then, the article had kinda been interesting (although they had already made it clear they didn’t understand the difference between bipolar, medication, and illegal drug taking). I don’t care if they’re playing devil’s advocate to make the argument that we are permitted to exist because of our creativity. Just….. no.

I am posting this because I have researched all this before, and I will ask this same question over and over again and revisit it until I have a definitive answer, but that’s as far as I got today, and now I have to go convince my GP that I’m not being noncompliant, I’m actually taking my meds exactly how the private psychiatrist told me to. I think I’ll take my psych report, to prove it, since they never seem to read the one written by the private psychiatrist. I just don’t want to be re-referred to the Mental Health system because they’ll start the assessment process all over again and I don’t have the mental resources to dredge all the shit up again, let alone the time, given that I start a Master’s degree next week.


I don’t really have the hugest amount to say; I’m still in shock, since I only found out this morning that Blah had been killed by bipolar disorder.

I recently acquired a graphics tablet that I was going to use for my MSc, and yesterday while trying to get it to work I drew this tree, but I didn’t know why I drew it. I don’t believe in all that psychic whatnots (except when I need medicating) so I’m not going to say it’s fate, because if it was, why didn’t fate tell me about Blah’s vigil yesterday while it was still happening instead of my WordPress failing to load until today?

So anyway, I finished this picture today in memory of Blahpolar. Ulla. She was always so encouraging after she found out that I used to have a webcomic, so I thought she would like this picture, even though she can’t see it. I put the sweet on there, because I finally worked out that it’s two bipolarcoasters overlaid. Too late. I’m always too late.

You’ll have to forgive the fact that I’m not actually very good at drawing, and that this was my first attempt ever at using a graphics tablet or drawing on a computer, and that I am struggling to make Krita work properly so had to finish the picture in Microsoft Paint. But I know she wouldn’t have cared about any of that stuff because she was one of those people who really lived by “it’s the thought that counts.”

Look, I know none of that makes sense; maybe it shouldn’t do.

This was her favorite version of one of her favorite songs:

This is what I said on her last post on WordPress, just in case anyone’s curious. There’s a lot of comments on there and I expect there will be a lot more to come. I tried to read other people’s comments but there were so many that I had to stop after about twenty because I was crying too much. She meant so much to so many people. I hope her blog stays online, she deserves that:

“She was a truly awesome person. She always knew the right thing to say whether it was to take a joke one step further, keep a conversation going or just comiserate about the Great Existential Ennui. She had this amazing ability to say so much with so few words. I didn’t correspond with her via email, because I sorta had a crush on her, and that always made it a bit awkward to know what to say, but I considered her a friend and a role model in how to be a better person (and yes, I know I’m married; what’s your point). And I will miss her. Oh God I’m going to miss her.”

I don’t know what else to say, except, I love you Blah, and I am going to miss you.

There Is Nothing Easy About Suicide

Blahpolar was one of the most awesome and inspiring people I ever met. I just kept hoping the next thing she tried would be the thing that helped with the crushing depression that had got its claws into her. And nothing worked. She did all the right things, went through all the proper channels, and none of it really did anything except give her the shittiest side effects of anyone ever. In between that she gave so much of herself over to supporting the rest of us. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t still be here if she hadn’t been around last August. God I’m going to miss her so much.

Take a Ride on My Mood Swing

Today is not simply a memorial to our fallen tribe leader, Ulla/Blahpolar. It is a day to draw attention to suicide and suicide prevention. Having said that…I’d like to go on record and state…I am so bloody sick of society’s dismissive “suicide is the easy way out” view.

No. There is NOTHING easy about suicide. Not one who falls so low they succumb to it, nor those who are left behind wondering if there was something else we could have done to make life seem worth living. To say suicide is the easy way out makes as much sense as going the long way around on a road of glass shards to get to the house next door. It’s non sensical and it’s rubbish. To reach the point where suicidal ideation becomes intent, well…It was not an easy journey.

It’s the end of the road.

And further angering me is…

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