Drugs are fun - don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Case in point ~ My good buddy, Nellie, hurt herself a while ago and was in such terrible pain that she was prescribed both very powerful painkillers and anti-spasmatic (i made that word up, apparently) muscle relaxers. These on top of her being medicated for anxiety-related issues. I didn't understand exactly how fucked up these pills could make a person until i started getting texts from her saying things like, "I hurst my neck and mom gragged me to the ER where i had dr hot body with sexy soft hands" and "I cannot function. I've stabbed myself with the cats used insulin needle and fell on the dog trying to get her harness on. It took me two minutes to get up the stairs because i walk like a drunk hobo at the bus stop." I alluded that i might come and visit her the following night and she asked me to bring "fisting supplies".  ??!!  We straightened out what she had actually meant, and i assure you it had nothing to do with either of us slamming the other one in the butt. However, i decided right then that i had to go take care of her for a couple nights. At first, honestly, i just wanted to hear what kind of shit was going to come out of her mouth. And that was awesome. But she's also just really fun to hang out with and she's one of the few people in my life who don't give a shit when i unleash the big girls and run around her house with my boobs bouncing and poking all over the place under a tee shirt. What a gal!

Anyway, she did say some pretty funny stuff. Some of it i was able to understand, most of it - not so much. She had two twin-sized air mattresses blown up and laid up against her huge sectional when i arrived. She had no less than 10 pillows and 5 blankets and she looked cozy as hell. She called it "Floptopia" only she slurred the shit out of the name and it took me a minute to get it. She wanted me to go get her some Skittles (yeah, let's say skittles) because she thought, for some reason, that skittles would make her feel even better. With that many drugs in her, i can't imagine how a tiny puff, er...nibble, of skittles would make any difference, but whatever. I told her i didn't have enough gas to go running around for skittles and she said i could take her car. I said i wasn't going to not smoke for that long because she has never allowed me to smoke in her car. She replies with, "Well then smoke and then drive your drive my your my car and smoke." And she looked at me like i was stupid. Then she lays back and pats the mattress next to her and says, with the thickest slur i have ever heard and been able to understand in my life, "Are you gonna drive me in Floptopia later?" Nellie then winked at me. After the fisting business, i was a little concerned she was forgetting that she is a straight girl or that i am a woman. Anyway, i drove her car but didn't smoke. She got her damn skittles. I did not drive her anywhere else, thank you every much.

She said, "Wattle dottle playum" to herself about 60 times and i never figured that one out. "Searslajusslookadatmayun" = "Seriously, just look at that man". She was showing me a picture of "Hoctor Dotface", which is Doctor Hotface who is the very same Dr. Hot Body with the Sexy Soft Hands, apparently. I wish i could have gotten more documented but i started to feel a little bad about barking laughter in her face and scribbling in my little pad. Not that she noticed. Hoctor Dotface, ha! I sure do love my crazy, drugged-up Nells.

Oh how soon my words bite me in the ass

I have this friend, let's call her Nellie. I give Nel a lot of shit about how she longs for this one dude but never really goes for it. She's all, "What if he doesn't like me?" And i'm all, "Yeah, so what? At least you'd know. You can still fantasize about him either way - you don't need mutual consent for that. It's always better to know than not to know." I said those words at about 8 o'clock last night. That was approximately one hour after the dude i pine over and who was supposed to come out with us last night sends us texts saying he couldn't come to the bar because he lost his ID but maybe when his best friend (dude-wife more like) gets to town we can meet up somewhere else. We'll call this guy Carl due to his unnatural affinity toward sweatpants. Anyway,  Carl keeps sending texts saying he's waiting for his butt-buddy, Ass Bag, but now it's late, we're back from watching the band i wanted to see and i'm itching to see Carl so i take matters into my own hands and text Ass Bag, who happens to also be my cousin, to get his ETA. Here's where shit gets nuts.

You see, this whole time, Nel has kept saying that Carl is probably lying and he and Ass Bag are probably playing with each other's joysticks in front of the PS4 and talking about how lazy and stupid they both are and how they're a match made in heaven. Cuddling and passing pipes and whatever. "No, no," i say, "that's crazy. I know they're in love with each other and Carl hasn't been the same since Ass Bag got married, but if Carl said his ID is lost, then it's lost. It's such a stupid thing to lie about. If he didn't want to hang he'd say so. Maybe they can come over here for a fire pit sit when Ass Bag shows up or he could swing by and pick us up on the way. Carl's pretty gross and immature, but he's a good guy. I've never heard him tell a lie in the nearly ten years i've known him. We'll hang out tonight 'cause he wants it."

I totally defended him all chivarously and believed that A) his license was lost and B) that my dipshit cousin wasn't there yet because he hardly ever shows up anywhere before one in the morning. So i text Ass Bag. Here's how it went:

Me: When the hell are you getting to town?!
AB: Who said i was commin to town
Me: Carl. Is he a liar?
AB: No i made him think that last night maybe but i hav shit to do tomorro
Me: Ok. Well you made him ditch me tonight so thanks.
AB: Glad i could help i guess
Me: You broke his heart. Trust me. You're a monster.
AB: I love me

I stopped texting him then and sent a text to Carl. This is what i sent:

Ass Bag is not coming to town. You've been duped. We're chillin' at my house if you wanna hang.

And THEN my phone rings. It's Ass Bag. I answer, ready to really chew his ass out for ruining my life and destroying all my chances at happiness, "Whaddaya want, dick weed?" But wait. . . what are those garbled voices? . . has he ass dialed me? Why, yes, yes he has. And who's that i hear and background laughing and shrieking like Ned Flanders seeing purple drapes? Carl. Mother. Fucking. Carl.

Yep. So i keep on listening for a few minutes while Carl and his cousin, Derp, and my cousin the ass bag read my texts to each other and laugh like retarded hyenas. Nel keeps trying to get me to hang up and call back but i'm like, "Fuck no. I'd rather know than not know." So she calls Carl and when it starts ringing my phone gets quiet for a sec and then i hear, "Omigod! It's Nellie!" And they all bust out laughing again and he shushes them and answers. I can hear him on my phone and our stupid cousins trying to keep their shit together. Nel straight told him Ass Bag had butt dialed me but i hear Ass Bag getting the word from Carl and he whispers, "Dude! I'm looking at my phone. There's no call!" So Carl proceeds to tell Nel that Ass Bag is not there and he thought he was coming to town and he really did lose his ID and he really wants to hang out and he is in no way a liar. She keeps saying, "The jig is up! I can hear you on two phones right now!"

He wasn't getting it. Totally drunk and probably stoned. Anyway, after their three minute conversation ends with him still insisting he's being nothing but completely honest, Ass Bag's phone is still broadcasting. Then Ass Bag says, "Oh shit, you guys!" And the line goes dead.

He did that on purpose. That Ass Bag was letting me know because it's better to know than not to know. So now i know. At least they all got a good laugh.

I'll take none of those and I probably won't call you in the morning

So i have a pretty lengthy history of mental disorder. The diagnoses started rolling in when i was 14. First it was mild depression. Then depression with anxiety. Then Major Depressive Disorder. Then depression-inducing anxiety. Blah blah blah... Until the whopper at age 19 - Panic Disorder. Panic Disorder fucking sucks. It ruins everything, all the time, forever. It makes me angry to have panic attacks looming around every corner. So i get mean. Then i get sad for being mean. Then i remove myself from everything and everyone under the guise of getting my shit together, but really i'm sleeping all day and staying up all night, manic-insomnia-style, worrying about how much i'm screwing up and when will i "wake up" four months or six months later, 60 pounds heavier with no job and sleeping on someone's couch or in their guest bedroom or in their basement wearing sweatpants with fucking elastic hems...

And writing epic run-on sentences.

The bottom line is i haven't had any issues since 2008. That's FIVE YEARS, mang! Before that? 2004. I was certain i had a lid on this crap - without therapy and without drugs (since 2004). In 2000 when i was 22, after i had had my most major episodes (including disassociative amnesia fugues - whoa! My brother died, so sue me.), i started college. My first class was PSYCH 101. My teacher was awesome! I got the tools i needed and learned how to treat myself fairly successfully with cognitive behavioral therapy. I went off anti-depressants and anti-anxiety pills for the first time in 6 years. I faltered briefly 4 years later after giving birth at 18.5 weeks. It was fucking traumatic, okay?

I wasn't on drugs long in 2004 because they took away my sex drive and made my ears ring so loudly that i couldn't sleep. It was ridiculous. I lived alone, in a new city where i only knew like 4 people and i couldn't even pleasure myself? Torture. The endorphins you get from sex or masturbating are irreplacable - drugs can not give you those. Not the ones the doctors give you, anyway.

Fast forward to 2008. One panic attack on a severely shitty day. I was on it! No drugs - just good ole fashioned making myself smile for five minutes and not letting myself stop doing all the stuff i normally enjoy. Plugged. No probs.

But NOW? Now i'm so far into this spiral i can't believe it. I'm barely making art, my diet is all kinds of fucked up, i can not fall asleep at night without booze and i catch myself being an uber bitch all the time. I don't even drink coffee in the morning anymore which is one of my favourite things in the world. I've had 3 panic attacks in the last six days! I'd rather sleep than do almost anything during the day. I quit a perfectly good job for virtually no reason. I'm so broke i'm hiding from my landlord.

This shit is getting sneakier. I am not amused. But now that i've caught its scent, i know just what to do. Sleep - that's the first and most important thing. Sleep AT NIGHT. Coffee in the morning, smile for 5 minutes, take my allergy crap and iron pills and maybe some St. John's Wart and art, art, art. Oh, and i need a mantra. . .