Ah yes...fuzziness, memory loss, slowly firing synapses, vocabulary shrinkage, and ah, yes, still having some depressive episodes.  So, I thought the drug wasn't working as well as it did, and why continue with side effects that make writing difficult to impossible.  I think I like the Cipralex.  Lexapro.  It's OK.  But coming off of the Lamictal is hard hard hard.  Who the hell knew?  I want to scream.  I feel faint.  And I feel angry.  And I can't do a damned thing about it.  Makes me question the taking of any drug at all!  Maybe I should just, I don't know, go to therapy three times a week, splurge on massages, retreats, meditation, chocolate and excellent Scotch, and then...who knows...that sounds like a damned happy existence to me!  Who needs psychiatric drugs when there is a world of pleasure out there?!  Fuck.  Wrong.  XXX.  You lose one turn.  Blah.

These crazy symptoms started at work today.  Thought it might be a depressive/slow-ish day, but it escalated and the symptoms stayed physical, not emotional.  Funny thing is that I really needed to be productive today, and for the most part, I was.  Anticipating an emotional swell, I worked as fast as I could to stay ahead of it.  It never came, but the arm tingling, dizziness, funny limb-feeling, breathing weirdness, and faintness sort of built, and I knew I needed to get out of there.

I'm going back to the Ashram tomorrow.  There is a huge festival called "Zorba" going on down there.  Lots of music and lots of meditative new age-y therapy for five days straight.  I'm a bit worries about going down there in my condition.  It only occurred to me this evening that it might not be a good idea.  Then again, these symptoms only happened today.  It could be better tomorrow.  And my dosage only goes down in about four days, after my planned return to Tel Aviv.  I'm also nervous about returning to the Desert Ashram in general.  Last time I was there, my first time, it was an idyllic getaway.  Calm, quiet, peaceful solitude, introspection.  This time I'll be camping out (not in a comfy dorm bed but out in a tent in the desert), having to provide or buy my own food, along with hundreds of other people.  Sure, it's a great chance to meet people.  But I'm such a social head case when it comes to stuff like this.  I always thought being at an event like Woodstock would be a life-changing fun experience.  But seriously, I would probably have been the one person who kept to herself.  Wallflower.  Depressive.  Socially afraid.  Why would I think I'd meet people here?  But why not?  I had a great time last time.  So, it'll be really different.  I have to think of it as an adventure.

It's probably the withdrawal.  Sure is.  I had planned to do the grocery rounds tonight.  I had planned to pack well.  Get all the bus schedules.  Find a good book.  Buy a new notebook to write in.  Nothing happened.  I sat at home.  Brooding.  Rocking.  Sleeping.  Playing with the cats (who are amazingly friendly nowadays), and feeling guilty about leaving them for 2.5 days.  I have time tomorrow.  But then the guilt piles up.  I should be working hard tomorrow morning, so that it doesn't pile up while I'm away.  It is technically a work day.  And I'll be leaving halfway through to catch a series of buses down into the middle of the desert.  Ah life.

Calm the hell down.  Eat more chocolate.  Watch more Star Trek.  It will sort itself out.  It will happen.  You will go camping and meet interesting people.  What is the worst that can happen?  Nothing you cannot survive.  It will be OK.

If only I could find and kill the one mosquito that got into the room and is eating me alive!

G'night dear reader or two or three.  Wish me luck.  Maybe I will dig out a shot of something strong.  Help me through the night...

Blogul asta nu accepta pornografie indopata cu Prozac. Ceea ce inseamna ca, in calitatea ta de cel mai obscen si pornografic exponat al Romaniei la New York, nu esti acceptat aici.

Au fond, que d'années perdues !

Mi guardo allo specchio e mi vedo raggiante, luminosa e propositiva come da tempo non mi vedevo e non mi vedevo e non mi sentivo più. Ed è maledettamente bello.

E io faccia fatica a separarmi dalle cose belle.

I was driving home from somewhere, hitting every bump in the dirt road on the way to my house, when I stopped the car dead, and turned up the radio. I believe it was a BBC radio program, and they were discussing something called "hikkikomori", a phenomenon in Japan where the teenaged to adult children stop associating with society, family included, and spend all of their time holed up in their bedrooms, ensconced in their own worlds. Apparently victims were mostly male, and their parents, for the most part, just put up with it.

I think my jaw was agape...I forget, exactly. It was late; I was coming home from a gig.

Here in the west, we shout about our mental illness from the highest rooftops. We have therapy, pills, TV shows. ADHD, anorexia, depression, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, autism, catatonia. In the east, however, it is a shame on the family if someone is mentally ill. The family tends to hide the ill person and themselves, merely hoping someone will "get better." They blithely ignore the elephant in the room and get on with secret angst gnawing away at them. Most of the parents lead normal lives, and no one would suspect that at home, they're hiding a mentally ill child.

Until now, I had no idea my family were Japanese. We look English / Irish / Italian. All this time, my brother had been a transient hikkikomori and I didn't even know it had a name.

When we were growing up, I assumed my brother was idiosyncratic. He spoke in non-sequitirs, and in his adolescence spent much of his time in his room reading, sleeping, watching TV, playing video games. He would have his social moments, but the older he got, the closer to having to actually achieve and fend for himself, he became more withdrawn. He never officially finished college. Six weeks before graduation,  he sold all of his personal belongings, broke off his engagement and split. He went home to live with mom and dad, went for therapy. The shrink handed him Prozac, and that was that, supposedly. As I recall, he poured it down the kitchen sink.

In our country, if your teenage son decides to stop going to school and hides in his room all day, sleeping, playing video games and watching TV, we either take him to a shrink or do the tough love "kick his butt out of the house." Truant officers and school counselors get involved.  Parents consult other parents. In Japan, none of this happens. The parents avoid contact with the child. They bring him his meals. They hope he (or in rare cases, she) will grow out of it, supporting their child sometimes into his thirties or forties. This is not a rare thing; one article I read said there could be as many as one million people suffering from social withdrawal in Japan. Here, we'd call it agoraphobia but it's not quite the same thing. My mom had social anxiety disorder, panic attacks. But she went to work, the supermarket; it was mild. A little Xanax cleaned her right up. 

In more than one case, the hikkikomori killed his parents after 20 years as a recluse. In another, a man kept a young girl captive in his room for nine years under the nose of his mother who "suspected something was going on but was afraid to enter his room."

The Japanese public blames the phenomenon on increased social and economic pressures...working mothers, bullying and competition at school, video games and virtual worlds. I'm sure it doesn't help the sagging birth rate, either. And it is something that is allowed...in this country, few parents can comfortably support their grown children, although my parents did it for my brother for years and years.

When my brother was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, my father was dead and my mother alternated between denial and self blame. She wouldn't talk about it to me unless she was drinking and even then she wouldn't listen to what I had to say...that we had mental illness in our family, that she'd done all she could do. She told no one about his mental illness or his self medication through alcohol. Said he was sick, took him to doctors. Said it was his wife's fault for not "taking him in hand." Gave him a place to live, bought him a car, ferried him from doctors and psychiatrists, paid his American Express bills. True, he didn't kill anyone. He did everything he could NOT to work, not to function in the world, NOT be an adult. There had been bullies, yes, but maybe the biggest was his own inadequacy? So many things could have changed him through life, so many opportunities to step up to the plate and he hadn't taken a single one. College. Marriage. Fatherhood. His father's death. Instead, he read. Watched TV. Played video games. Did everything he could reasonably do to insulate himself from reality.

One hikkikomori locked himself in his family's kitchen and wouldn't come out. The family made do with takeout and a makeshift stove before finally building a new kitchen. Not once did they tell him GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN. That would probably be my family...mom 's not much of a cook...but unless he could access pizza delivery he wouldn't be in there forever. The only things he's really ever eaten were pizza and steak. Candy, too, maybe.

If my dad was around, he'd probably be better off. Or not. No sense in dwelling on the "what might have been".

In a way, it's kind of admirable how well a family adjusts to having an hikkikomori. I can see a potential for that kind of tolerance in myself, as both a good thing and a bad thing. Denial is, as the overused saying goes, more than a river in Africa. You can talk yourself into almost anything. It's a lot of work, acknowledging the whole mental illness thing, confronting the person, doing something about it, getting them to do something about it, trying different therapists. Again, divorce, jail, rehab, halfway houses, hospitals...none of this worked for my brother. Living on the streets did not work for my brother. Maybe it was the co-morbidity of the alcoholism with the borderline personality thing. You do have to want to get better, see a reason for it. My brother couldn't hold a job, but if aliens or vampires were attacking, he was your man.

Some hikkikomori live their lives in a reversed cycle for maximum avoidance of others...leaving their rooms when the family is asleep, getting their own food at convenience stores where there are a minimum of personal exchanges, little contact. My brother was an insomniac, more than likely because he slept all day. At one point he got a night shift job. We all thought it would work, as he was a night owl but again, once the pressure to achieve became too great, once he thought someone at work didn't like him, down the tubes it went. He was never much of a bather; dressed in ragged clothes, smoked. It was as if he was making a conscious effort not to adapt to society; screaming to be taken care of, but not.

He'd been living on the streets of Rutland, VT for a while. He'd been in jail for repeat DWIs, they'd impounded his car. He'd been in a halfway house and returned back to jail several times for violation of the terms of his parole, mainly showing up for his meetings with the parole officer drunk. He had a job (a condition of living in the halfway house) and a cell phone, but other than that, I knew nothing of what he DID. On occasion, I'd get the drunken phone call. I'd always be first on the list, get him when he was the least drunk. As the call went on and time painfully ticked by, his fictitious salary would go up, his acting jobs would increase in salary and number, fictitious girlfriends decrease in age. He'd sometimes ask about his ex, but never his son. He never visited his son, or provided any kind of support. When he got too slurry or the stories got too fantastic, I'd make my excuses to go, and he'd either go on to call his ex or his former best friend. His speeches to them were always the same. He'd tell his ex he missed her, tell his friend he wanted to kill him. The three of us would compare notes.

Mom, he never called. He'd stolen and sold her and my dead father's things, most of them having little value but irreplaceable as mementos, for money for alcohol.

His last call, around Labor Day, he'd told me he was taking a train to Branson to look for work. Granted, he'd told me he was flying to new Zealand to be the only white guy on a reality show the month before, but as a deadbeat dad he wouldn't be allowed out of the country. If he still had a passport at all. The last time I'd seen him in person he came to my house with hidden alcohol, stayed several days, only showered once and would not allow me to wash his clothes. I couldn't imagine how he would ever find work in a performance industry without bathing or proper clothes.

Could this all be the result of TV, video games, societal expectations?

Two days ago, I called his cell. His number had been temporarily suspended, at his request. It wasn't on his birthday, a week before. I called, left a message, received none back. He's either in jail or hasn't put any minutes on his "go" phone. I wonder where he is? I don't think I would ever have imagined this for him in my wildest dreams. I picture us as kids, playing, talking about our futures, and none of it ever concluded in anything like this.

More later, in all probability.

starbucks reformulated their hot chocolate.  i never liked it before, but my brother got one earlier, and let me taste it and omgggg it is DELICIOUS!  he got his flavored with hazelnut so i shall definitely be getting one of those tomorrow night.

okay, that's all for tonight, i want to get a goodnight's rest tonight.  i am looking forward to tomorrow.

edit:
oops!  i forgot to write about my interview.  it went really well, i think.  the girl who was interviewing me looked about my age, and the whole atmosphere was really relaxed.  i think the fact that i had my first aid/cpr certification was really good.  although i do need to renew my cpr; it JUST expired last month :[  but she said she'd call next week to let me know if i got the job.  i really really really hope i get it.  i want money, haha.

The federal government's National Survey on Drug Use and Health, released earlier in September, finds that as boomers move into their 50s in large numbers, drug use among older adults in the United States has hit its highest point ever.

In the government's latest report — reflecting drug use in 2007 — 1 in 20 Americans ages 50 to 59 told researchers they had used illicit drugs in the last month. More than one-half of these older users still like their street drugs, including marijuana and cocaine.

But as older users contend with the aches and pains of aging, they are adding prescription drugs to their mix, according to the report from the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration.

By contrast, the new, younger generation of drug users isn't waiting to reach middle age to add prescription drugs to its portfolio of abuse, the report says.

Among teenagers and young adults ages 12 to 25, one-third of those who use illicit drugs say they recently have abused prescription drugs — including painkillers, tranquilizers and stimulants.

Among kids 12 to 17, 3.3 percent had abused prescription psychotherapeutic drugs in the last month. And among 17- to 25-year-olds, 6 percent had abused prescription drugs in the same period.

These generational trends are driving a significant change in the landscape of American drug abuse. After years of declining use of street drugs — cocaine, hallucinogens and marijuana — prescription medications have begun moving front and center as the nation's drug of choice.

The result, according to the latest federal drug-use survey: Last year, Americans who began abusing prescription drugs outnumbered those who took up smoking marijuana.

Dr. Nora Volkow, director of the National Institutes of Health's National Institute on Drug Abuse, says the report underscores a "paradigm shift" in drug abuse and, hence, in its treatment.

Though addiction to prescription drugs is not new, the current generation of teenagers and young adults has grown up around widespread medical use of prescription drugs, Volkow says, and is inclined to view them as "safe" because they are prescribed by doctors.

"That comfort level," Volkow says, "facilitates the abuse" of these medications.

Because of the high from such drugs as narcotic pain relievers, she adds, young users are at high risk of becoming addicted.

Peter S., 26, a recovering addict from New Jersey, says the ubiquity of prescription drugs in American homes is reassuring to kids eager to take a controlled risk or dull the emotional challenges of being a teenager.

"You don't have to go to the drug dealer or even leave the house," says Peter, who spoke on condition that his last name not be used. "You can just go upstairs to mom's medicine chest and boom! You're locked and loaded ... People feel like, 'Wow, how bad could it be? It came from our doctor. And I'm not doing street drugs — cocaine or mushrooms. I'm doing what mom has in her medicine cabinet.'"

Many parents, whose images of drug abuse may be dominated by street drugs, "just don't realize," Peter says, that the leftover pain pills from mom's back spasm or the unused anti-anxiety pills prescribed for dad during a rough patch at work may furnish a kid's first chance to experiment with drugs.

Parents "take one and feel better and put the rest up there in the medicine chest," Peter says. "They just don't know."

Volkow adds that a shift toward prescription drug abuse also may make it harder for the new generation's drug users to "age out" of their habit, as many baby boomers have done. Users of street drugs, Volkow says, frequently quit as they find that unpleasant side effects become more pronounced with age and prolonged use.

But users of prescription medicationstend to build tolerance to the effects over time, prompting them to use more, not less, and more often, Volkow says.

Researchers with the federal substance abuse agency said they remain uncertain if boomer drug users continued to do drugs into adulthood or, rather, returned to a youthful habit as they aged.

John P. Walters, the nation's drug czar, expressed surprise that young Americans are turning away from cocaine and methamphetamine, but use of such street drugs continues among their elders.

Jim Steinhagen, executive director of the Hazelden Center for Youth and Families in suburban St. Paul, Minn., says that for young people, experimentation with prescription drugs only appears "safer" than their parents' drug forays.

"We're seeing kids coming to the treatment center more acutely addicted than we ever have before, so the degree of detox we need is more extensive and takes a longer period of time," says Steinhagen, 32, a practitioner of addiction treatment.

"The kind of substance use that goes on today is like extreme sports for this generation — quicker, faster, a more dangerous thrill-seeking experience."

The recent government report comes on the heels of a study by the National Center on Addiction and Substance Abuse at Columbia University showing that 19 percent of 12- to 17-year-olds believe prescription drugs are easier to get than cigarettes, alcohol and street drugs.

The new report also underscores the ease with which abusers of prescription drugs can get controlled substances. More than one-half of those who reported they had recently taken prescription drugs for nonmedical uses said they got the drugs from a friend or relative for free, and almost 20 percent got them from a physician. About 1 in 10 who took prescription pain relievers said they bought or stole them from a friend or relative.

Drug-enforcement officials have long known that teenagers and young adults widely trade, sell and steal stimulant medications, heavily prescribed among student populations to treat attention deficit hyperactivity disorder.

Fewer than 5 percent told interviewers that they had turned to a drug-dealing stranger to acquire prescription drugs, or logged on to an Internet site selling prescription drugs.

Peter S. says his initiation to prescription drugs came from the medicine chests of his — and a friend's — parents.

"I had found Vicodin and Percocet and had heard about them and Xanax and Valium — the benzodiazepams — and took a couple," Peter says. "I reached up in that medicine chest and took a couple and thought, 'Oh this is fun.' It made me feel floaty ... It was fun in the beginning."

The government report, which also tallies Americans' mental-health status, makes clear that illicit drug use is frequently a form of self-medication.

Among 12- to 17-year-olds, roughly 2 million had experienced a major depressive episode in 2007 — about 8.2 percent of that age group's population. Illicit drug use was roughly twice as high — 35 percent — among youths who had experienced depression than among those who had not.

Note: Kids prefer prescription drugs to their parents' street drugs.

Source: Daily Press

Not that my step-family are unsupportive but some of what is going on is complete bull shit.  Not only has my step-sister requested us not let her brother live her, now she and her hubby are asking for our things that we might have to leave behind. (like our super nice gas grill and our brand new window unit a/c)  They didn't offer to buy them to help us out, just want to come pick them up when we move.  I think that is fucked up, pardon my french!  My DH told me that the next time they ask for anything without offering to buy it he was going to tell them to go to hell.  I said that was a wonderful idea!

Still not sure when we are going, what I can take, or where we will live when we get there.  I just know it is going to happen and soon.  All who are reading keep us in your prayers/thoughts please....

The Kauhajoki Finland school shooting, which left 11 dead and 2 wounded, could be the latest in the chain of psychiatric drug induced school shootings highlighted in a new documentary entitled Psychiatry: Prescription for Violence -- created by the mental health watchdog, Citizens Commission on Human Rights (CCHR). With 54 dead and 105 wounded from recent school shooters under the influence of psychiatric drugs documented to cause suicidal behavior, mania, psychosis, hallucinations, hostility and “homicidal ideation,” CCHR is calling on Finland's law enforcement and press to fully investigate the school shooter's psychiatric drug history. The group says this is the second major school shooting to happen in Finland in less than a year: last November, Pekka-Eric Auvinen joined the growing list of school shooters under the influence of psychiatric drugs documented by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration to cause suicidal behavior and homicidal thoughts. In other instances, the shooter’s medical records were never made public, so their psychiatric drug use remains in question. School shootings committed by individuals under the influence of psychiatric drugs include: 

• DeKalb, Illinois - February 14, 2008: 27-year-old Steven Kazmierczak shot and killed five people and wounded 16 others before killing himself in a Northern Illinois University auditorium. According to his girlfriend, he had recently been taking Prozac, Xanax and Ambien. Toxicology reports showed that he still had trace amounts of Xanax in his system.
   
• Omaha, Nebraska - December 5, 2007: 19-year-old Robert Hawkins killed eight people and wounded five before committing suicide in an Omaha mall. Hawkins' friend told CNN that the gunman was on antidepressants, and autopsy results confirmed he was under the influence of the "anti-anxiety" drug Valium.
   
• Jokela, Finland - November 7, 2007: 18-year-old Finnish gunman Pekka-Eric Auvinen had been taking antidepressants before he killed eight people and wounded a dozen more at Jokela High School in southern Finland, then committed suicide.
   
• Cleveland, Ohio - October 10, 2007: 14-year-old Asa Coon stormed through his school with a gun in each hand, shooting and wounding four before taking his own life. court records show Coon had been placed on the antidepressant Trazadone.
   
• Blacksburg, Virginia - April 16, 2007: The psychiatric drug history of Seung-Hui Cho in the Virginia Tech Massacre was never made public. Initial reports stated that "depression medication" was found among Cho's belongings. But neither his toxicology reports, nor his recent medical history were ever released to find out whether Cho had been in withdrawal from psychiatric medication. (33 were killed and 29 injured, but this was not included in the total of dead and wounded cited above.)
   
• Red Lake Indian Reservation, Minnesota - March 21, 2005: 16-year-old Native American Jeff Weise, reportedly under the influence of the antidepressant Prozac, went on a shooting rampage at home and at his school, killing nine people and wounding five before committing suicide. 
   
• Greenbush, New York - February 2004: 16-year-old Jon Romano strolled into his high school in east Greenbush and opened fire with a shotgun. Special education teacher Michael Bennett was hit in the leg. Romano had been taking "medication for depression." 
   
• El Cajon, California - March 22, 2001: 18-year-old Jason Hoffman was on two antidepressants, Effexor and Celexa, when he opened fire at his California high school wounding five. Hoffman had also undergone an “anger management” program.
   
• Williamsport, Pennsylvania - March 7, 2000: 14-year-old Elizabeth Bush was on the antidepressant Prozac when she blasted away at fellow students in Williamsport, Pennsylvania, wounding one.
   
• Conyers, Georgia - May 20, 1999: 15-year-old T.J. Solomon was being treated with a mix of antidepressants when he opened fire on and wounded 6 of his classmates.
   
• Columbine, Colorado - April 20, 1999: 18-year-old Eric Harris was on the antidepressant Luvox when he and his partner Dylan Klebold killed 12 classmates and a teacher and wounded 23 others before taking their own lives in the bloodiest school massacre in history. The coroner confirmed that the antidepressant was in his system through toxicology reports while Dylan Klebold’s autopsy was never made public. Harris and Klebold underwent "anger management" and "death education" classes.
   
• Notus, Idaho - April 16, 1999: 15-year-old Shawn Cooper fired two shotgun rounds in his school narrowly missing students; he was taking a mix of antidepressants.
   
• Springfield, Oregon - May 21, 1998: 15-year-old Kip Kinkel murdered his own parents and then proceeded to school where he opened fire on students in the cafeteria, killing two and wounding 22. Kinkel had been on Prozac. Kinkel also underwent "anger management" classes.

This message is a public service announcement provided by the Citizens Commission on Human Rights International. For more information, contact CCHR at 800-869-2247 or email humanrights@cchr.org

The Damsel in Distress

A stereotype as old as story telling itself, the damsel is easy to spot. If a female character's only purpose in the game is to be rescued by the protagonist, than she is a damsel in distress. The overwhelming, almost omnipresent, use of the damsel in gaming has drilled into the psyche of gamers the idea that women are helpless prizes to be won.

The damsel in distress is not a new concept. From Dickens to Disney movies, the damage the damsel has done to women has been discussed by feminists the world over. My concern is not society in general or even women as a whole, but the visible effects the damsel has caused in gamers.

The damsel is always a love interest, but never a wife. She is perpetually in danger, often caused by the same antagonist. She never learns and refuses to take a self defense class to stop the endless hell her life has become. She is defined by her problems. Her suitors are sorted for her. Those who fail in saving her were never worthy of her hand to begin with. In even the choice of her lover, the damsel is helpless.

So, with the damsel we are given nothing but a woman who is worthless without a crisis. We are given a girl who has no responsibility, or ability to make decisive decisions. We are given a hero to damsel relationship that exists in a perpetual state of courtship. What does this do to gamers?

The Effects on (straight) Male Gamers

The effects this stereotype has on men are devastating. When overly subjected to the damsel in distress males become incapable of maintaining, or even striving for, healthy relationships with women. The hero to princess interaction is limited to winning the girl. Before Mario and Peach have the chance to get to know each other she's kidnapped again. The hero never has to deal with "whats next?" As far as the damsel tells, all there is to a relationship is being the best at solving the female's problems. There is no give and take. There is no relationship. The woman is won, the end.

No wonder the stereotype of over zealous, male gamers is the socially awkward, nerdy, single guy. Instead of approaching girls as a kid, he sat around fantasizing about saving them from the school bully. If he ever was lucky enough to win a female's affection, he probably blew it by not realizing there's more to love than the courtship obstacle. I believe the entire existence of nerds is caused by the over use of the damsel in distress in particularly nerd oriented activities.

The over presence of the damsel in digital gaming teaches gamers that the most difficult part of any relationship is the courtship. Think about it, what is more difficult than fighting a dragon, fending off an army of the undead, or saving the entire world? Nothing. In gaming courtship is the ultimate challenge. Courtship in real life is as simple as (are you ready for the secret?) approaching a mate and letting your feelings be known. And whats the most intimidating thing in the universe to the stereotypical computer creepo? Talking to girls.

Once a "nerd" finally gets the courage to speak to and court a girl he feels the game is won. He has once again defeated Ganondorf and paradise is his. But that's not how the real world works. The adventure has yet to begin. When he finds the most difficult parts of the relationship are yet to come he is struck dumbfounded and impotent. This is where the "nerd" throws up his hands and returns to his unhygienic life of forum trolling, pwning newbs, and fearing vagina.

In a society over saturated with damsels in distress, people are shocked to find the hardest part of love is not finding it but being mature enough to maintain it.

The Effects on Female Gamers

Though also imbued with the "what next" complex, girl gamers face a very disturbing and somewhat annoying damsel side effect.  They grow up to be absolute cry babies. The damsel in distress teaches girls that without a problem not only are they completely worthless, but are also unattractive to potential mates. It teaches them to wait for someone else to make their life better instead of improving it themselves. It teaches them to not only have problems, but to brag about them, flaunt them, and wear them as a mark of femininity.

I, personally, was first exposed to this in my early to mid teens when my friends began to meet without the baggage of a chaperon. No matter how much fun we were having, no matter how cool our current, newly free surroundings were, there was always some girl crying in the corner over seemingly NOTHING. As I grew I found this phenomenon was not exclusive to my social circle.

All over the world, women make up problems for the sole purpose of gaining the attention of a mate. They scream "save me!" when there is nothing to be saved from. Or, when there is an actual dilemma, they cry out for help while they are more than capable of saving themselves.

The damsel tells girls to be defined by their problems. It teaches that their problems are not their fault but are inflicted on them by an evil force. The damsel concept pounds to the ground the idea that these problems cannot be solved by the damsel herself. The stereotype dictates that if these problems do not exist, you are not a suitable mate for any man worth the time of day. If there is no evil force women become their own villain in order to prove they are attractive enough to be saved.

Problems like cutting are present in an overwhelming number of teenage girls. More and more young women are incorrectly diagnosed every day as being manic depressant. Pills like Xanax and other anti depressants are over prescribed to women who are unhappy not because they are chemically imbalanced, but because they do not allow themselves to be happy. It is more hip to have a problem then to be a well put together human being.

A society that so embraces the damsel in distress propagates that it is more sexually enticing to be a poor decision maker who can't stand on her own two feet than to be a strong, happy woman.

P.S. Above are just some examples of damsels in distress the gaming world has to offer. Who is your favorite damsel?

S-au strans foarte multe mailuri in care oamenii imi scriu despre depresie, ma intreaba daca este, intr-adevar, depresie, ce li se intampla. Imi scriu paragrafe intregi sau doar o singura fraza, ideea este ca sunt deprimati si nu mai reusesc sa iasa din starea asta. Cand cineva ma pune sa descriu depresia, sa trimit inapoi un fel de checklist al depresiei, ma descurc si sper de fiecare data ca raspunsul va fi “a, nu sunt deprimat, m-am speriat degeaba”. Cand cineva imi spune convins ca este deprimat si ma intreaba ce ar putea sa faca, intru intr-o neliniste prea putin productiva. Si stiti de ce? Pentru ca nu stiu ce sa faca. Cand un om ajunge in Romania in stadiul in care nu mai reuseste sa interactioneze cu nimeni, in stadiul in care nu se ma simte odihnit dupa ore multe de somn, in care nu mai vrea sa se spele pe cap cu saptamanile, in care sta toata ziua pe un scaun, nu stiu ce sa-i spun sa faca. Cei din jur il vor exclude, ii vor desconsidera starea, i-o vor lua peste picior sau ea le va fi hrana pentru barfa. La noi este pe viata si pe moarte, cine este puternic ca o vita rezista. Cine nu, nu. “Depresiv” este un cuvant a carui acoperire romanii nu prea o stiu dar sigur e “ceva de rau”, termenul e folosit aiurea, in contexte nepotrivite. Am ras cu lacrimi cand prietenul meu cel mai bun mi-a povestit cum, refuzand in repetate randuri sa mai discute cu bunica lui rautacioasa, ea a venit in vizita, a intrat peste el in camera si l-a intrebat cu scarba si stupoare intiparite pe fata: “Da’ ce ai? Esti depresiv sau ce ai?”. “Depresiv” era cel mai nasol lucru. Peste sectant, criminal, imbecil, mincinos. Mai rau decat “depresiv” nu se putea in mintea ei. Eliminase, probabil, toate celelalte nenorociri. Baiatul nu era depresiv dar nu asta constituie subiectul nostru astazi. Mi se pare la fel de fals cuvantul si din gura doamnelor psiholog care apar in ziare sau la televizor, se vede ca habar nu au despre ce vorbesc si ca si-au notat cateva rahaturi de pe Internet ca sa aiba ceva de indrugat.

Nu stiu ce poate sa faca un om depresiv la noi in tara. Sper doar ca multi nu sunt, de fapt, depresivi, ci doar tristi, epuizati, raniti, in stare de soc sau, oricum, intr-o stare care nu este cronica. Cred ca depresia este doar o tristete adanca, acutizarea unui lung sir de luni sau chiar ani in care pe toti i-a durut in cur de tine. Si atunci ceea ce a inceput ca fiind un fleac, o micuta clatinare, un firav strigat de ajutor, a devenit un raget sinistru, a devenit ceva cumplit, potentat  de nepasarea celor din jur sau de nepasarea proprie. Am citit in timp 24 de carti despre diferite tipuri, nuante ale depresiei. Mi le-am alineat pe toate langa birou, pe covor, inainte sa articulez un raspuns mail-urilor care contin intrebari legate de depresie. Nu va ganditi la carti tampite de genul “Cum sa scapi de depresie in 10 zile”, ganditi-va la carti greoaie, serioase, documentate. Din toate cartile astea va jur ca nu a reiesit mare lucru. Mi s-a confirmat din nou si din nou ca depresia este starea care te cuprinde atunci cand nu te mai simti legat de nimic si atunci cand nimeni nu se mai straduieste sa se lege de tine cu nimic. O sa glumesc putin spunandu-va ca una din caracteristicile profilului unui depresiv este aceea ca un depresiv priveste catre tot ceea ce fac cei care-l inconjoara si, in loc sa simta bucurie, simte tristete si incapacitatea de a se integra cumva in cele vazute. Si atunci ma gandesc ca noi, ca romani, putem schimba acceptiunea termenului, la noi ar fi anormal si alarmant sa simtim bucurie privind in jur, ba mai rau, sa ne mai si integram in mizeria pe care o vedem.

Pai, ce poti face la noi cand simti o adiere de tristete cu potential depresiv? Liniste nu poti sa ai. Orasul este, politicos si frumos spus, intr-o continua efervescenta. Sincer spus: este un balci perpetuu, o melasa muginda si isterica, un santier care se intinde ca o ciuma, o scena pentru toti istericii care stau acasa si isi mai bat cate un cui in sicriul lor de apartament in putinele momente in care nu e ceva interesant la televizor. Sa discuti cu cineva, nu poti. Gradul de ipocrizie la care s-a ajuns in relatiile romanesti este cumplit. Nimeni nu vrea un depresiv in familie. Fie te impung ca pe un bivol obosit de teama ca o sa-ti pierzi munca sau scoala sau ce dracu mai ai de facut in momentul ala, fie se roaga la Dumnezeu sa-ti treaca. In plus, am aflat si eu de curand ca nu poti sa fii depresiv “pentru ca il manii pe Dumnezeu”. El ne-a dat si ne da atatea si noi suntem depresivi. Asta e chiar o mitocanie, nu se face asa ceva. Trebuie sa fii fericit tot timpul. Nu vesel, asta e nepotrivit. Dar fericit, recunoscator. Trecem peste asta, stiti ca ma prinde intotdeauna prea tare subiectul manifestarii ortodoxiei la noi in tara si ma taraste prin cine stie ce coclauri. Prietenii nu prea au nici ei chef de asta dar e bine ca esti deprimat, asta inseamna ca poate nu mai faci concedii luxoase si nu mai reusesti nimic un timp, pot sa doarma si ei linistiti. Sa mergi la un psiholog este “de rusine” dar, mai important de-atat, este inutil in Romania. Prea multi prosti si, la fel ca in toate privintele, o fi si unul mai rasarit dar cum sa-l gasesti in tot paienjenisul asta de prosti? Imi permit sa spun “prosti” pentru ca sunt unele situatii in care echilibrul mie nu imi place. Am fost acuzata de cateva ori ca sunt radicala, ca vorbesc despre situatii particulare ca fiind definitorii, ca generalizez. Mie discutiile echilibrate si corecte imi par o lasitate in unele cazuri. Nu stii ce sa spui, nu ai ce sa faci, nu vrei sa schimbi nimic si atunci esti “corect” si “echilibrat”. Cred ca pentru a schimba ceva e nevoie de un nucleu radical, taios, vehement, neobosit iar noua ala ne lipseste, am mai spus-o, curajul de a nu fi “corecti” nu exista. La fel ca in istoria literara, am sarit etape, am trecut direct la corectitudine si echilibru pentru ca imitam ce vedem in alte tari si ei, saracii, acolo au ajuns, intr-adevar, la corectitudine si echilibru dar dracu stie cum or fi facut. Dar nici nu ne straduim sa aflam. Dar sa continuam ce se poate face. Nu te duci la psiholog sau te duci o data si-ti dai seama ca bajbaie mai rau decat tine, ajungi sa-i explici tu ce si cum iar el noteaza de zor. Ca doar are si el nevoie de cazuistica. Unii sunt sinceri si recunosc ca ii depaseste ceea ce le povestesti, am primit un mail absolut superb de la o fata din Deva care mi-a scris ca s-a dus la psiholog, i-a zis ce avea de zis iar psihologul i-a raspuns, cam asa cum iti spune chelnerul la restaurant ca e veche smantana sau carnea, ca mai bine nu mai vine la el, dat fiind ca el nu intelege mai nimic din ce i se intampla fetei. Te duci sa-ti faci niste analize, o fi un dezechilibru care poate fi aranjat cu o substanta. Ti se da Xanax. Nu luati Xanax. Eu aveam pe vremuri o curiozitate preluata de la un bun prieten neamt, coleg de facultate: luam cate o pastila, ca sa vad ce efect are. Nu ma aruncam la pastile grele, nu va inchipuiti ceva aventuros, imaginati-va o fata stand la masa si luand o pastila de Diazepam, Ketorol, Tramadol, din astea simple. Si am luat si Xanax atunci cand lua o prietena. Am luat o pastila si nu am uitat ce stare mi-a dat, o stare tranchilizata si inerta, care mi-a adus aminte de “Zbor deasupra unui cuib de cuci”. Am fost mai tarziu la doctor pentru ca ma sufocam si cineva mi-a spus ca s-ar putea sa am atacuri de panica. Si m-a intrebat doctorita daca am probleme la serviciu, daca sunt stresata. Eu i-am zis ca nu, ea mi-a zis sa iau Xanax. Nu am luat si in cateva zile atacurile de panica s-au dovedit a fi o raceala puternica. Am putut respira perfect dupa cateva aspirine. Grupuri de sprijin… asta am mai discutat noi in alte post-uri: nu sunt. Doctori online: nu sunt. Ar mai fi activitatile care te calmeaza: in afara de masturbare nu vad nici una. Si masturbarea e doar pentru aia care nu se rusineaza in fata lui Dumnezeu. Buddhistii nu au treaba, ca buddhismul nu condamna masturbarea. Glumesc. Sper ca va dati seama. Nu legat de faptul ca buddhismul nu condamna masturbarea. Asta n-a fost o gluma.

Ma gandesc foarte serios ce sa le spun exact tuturor celor care mi-au scris pe tema asta, ce sa le spun incurajator. E un subiect fragil, poti calca foarte usor stramb, prefer sa fiu cat pot de retinuta in privinta asta.  Daca simtiti ca nu dispare mult timp o stare de nemultumire, un sentiment de inutilitate, un sentiment de vinovatie, nu va spuneti ca o sa treaca si ca e doar toamna sau vremea sau casa sau nu stiu ce vanzator. Incercati sa va ganditi cand a inceput totul exact si definiti momentul respectiv in minte, cu detalii. Ca la crime, orice detaliu poate fi important. Daca e nevoie, faceti si banalitatea de a intocmi o lista cu evenimentele, cu persoanele care sunt continute in “schema depresiei”. Nu va multumiti sa spuneti “ma deprima tot”. Nu a fost asa de la inceput, asa a devenit, de undeva a inceput. Incercati sa stabiliti cat mai clar zona aia de inceput, nu ramaneti in zona obscura, generala, tipic romaneasca, lipsita de orice fel de responsabilitate si aprofundare. Cu schita aia intocmita bine sau rau incercati sa gasiti oameni (din alte tari, mai ales – nu sunt rea, sunt realista) care au trait ceva similar cu voi, care au trait intr-un context similar. Strainii au cultul impartasirii experientelor, dupa cum stiti, la ei nu e ca la noi: “nu stiu exact dar incearca si tu la un doctor bun, pupici”. La ei e cu detalii, asa cum e in toate privintele. La ei este cu suflet, in pofida faptului ca romanii tot incearca sa-mi bage pe gat faptul ca strainii sunt reci iar noi inimosi. Nu e asa. Un popor inimos nu si-ar lasa oamenii sa moara incetul cu incetul, mimand europenizarea si occidentalismul. Asadar, incercati sa gasiti forumuri de discutii, oameni cu probleme similare, strainii descriu pas cu pas experientele lor, iti spun fiecare medicament luat, fiecare stare, fiecare cadere. Ba mai dau si sfaturi. Asta este baza. Gasirea unui mediu in care, spre deosebire de Romania, lumea discuta despre lucruri si nu le ascunde sub pres sau se preface ca le discuta. Eu zic sa nu luati pastile. Sa va straduiti sa nu luati pastile. Corpul si mintea au o capacitate spectaculoasa de regenerare daca le lasati in pace si daca aveti putina incredere in ele. Ceaiuri de plante, mancare foarte sanatoasa, yoga, Pilates, stretching si citit. Cat mai mult citit. Cautati carti despre ceea ce pare sa vi se intample. Sau cautati si cititi carti bune pur si simplu, stabiliti-va o minima disciplina in ale cititului. Ascultati muzica. Nu e ceva superficial, e foarte important. Daca cineva va grabeste, va spune ca “trebuie sa iesiti din starea asta”, incercati sa indepartati persoana aia. Nu e ca-n filme, nu iti da cineva perdeaua la o parte dimineata lasand soarele sa-ti patrunda in ochi si, gata, ti-a trecut depresia. Daca tot am vorbit despre filme, cautati filme cu o tematica apropiata de viata voastra, de ceea ce vi s-a intamplat si vi se intampla. Ideea centrala: nu fugiti de depresie, nu o sa va aduca nimic bun, ea se va intoarce si se va intoarce pana cand o veti rezolva, cam ca un sir de reincarnari. Nu o puteti goni cu o buna dispozitie ocazionala. Sinucidere? Cred ca s-a inteles punctul meu de vedere inca din fraza de mai sus. Nu are rost sa te sinucizi. Lectiile tot le vei invata, nu poti scapa de ele. Existenta este un sir de lectii si nu are rost sa-l intrerupi, nici nu poti sa o faci decat pentru foarte putin timp. E ca si cum ai pleca putin si ti-ai pierde randul la coada. Pentru mine ca buddhist, te vei intoarce pe pamant de mii si mii de ori pana cand iti vei invata “traditional” lectiile, nu ai cum sa trisezi. Nu stiu exact cum este privita sinuciderea la crestini, stiu doar ca nu e vazuta bine intr-un fel stupid, stiu ca nici macar nu poti sa fii inmormantat daca te-ai sinucis. Asta mi se pare cumplit pentru ca tocmai in momentul ala ar trebui sa fii inmormantat cu si mai multa pofta si atentie dar, ma rog, iar divagam. Dar adaug ceva oarecum legat de asta: nu va incredeti exclusiv in mersul la biserica, nu va ganditi ca Dumnezeu o sa va scoata cu mana lui din toata chestia asta, nu o va face. Nu direct, oricum. Daca nu voia sa va confruntati cu ceea ce va confruntati, v-ar fi impiedicat cumva sa ajungeti aici. Asa ca pastrati-l ca supraveghetor si poate ca inspiratie dar nu va lasati complet in bratele lui. Daca ma puteti crede, nu e momentul.

Si nu va ganditi ca totul ar fi fost mai simplu daca cineva v-ar fi iubit cu pasiune. Va spun eu ca nu e mai bine. Nu te poti concentra complet asupra crizei tale si amani de multe ori confruntarea cu adevarul, in speranta ca vei putea amana ranirea celui care te iubeste atat de mult. E bine sa ai persoane atente, incarcate de compasiune si, mai ales, de informatie prin preajma ta. Nu ati avea ce sa faceti cu mai mult de-atat deocamdata.

(NaturalNews) When handsome and talented young actor Heath Ledger died last winter, the New York City medical examiner's autopsy report revealed his death was due to an unintentional life-ending cocktail of prescription drugs, including anti-anxiety medications Alprazolam (Xanax), Diazepam (Valium) and Lorazepam (Ativan), the sleeping pill Zopiclone (Lunesta) and the sedative Temazepam (Restoril), which is also used for insomnia.

So this was just one of those rare tragedies that mostly happens to troubled or hard living Hollywood stars, right? Wrong. Unfortunately, people from all walks of life are dying by the thousands across the U.S. due to prescription drugs. And a new study, Florida’s annual report on Drugs Identified in Deceased Persons, dramatically illustrates this truth.

Relying on autopsies performed in 2007, the state report concludes prescription drugs (anti-anxiety benzodiazepines, the muscle relaxer carisoprodol and all opioids, excluding heroin) continue to be found in both lethal and non-lethal amounts in the dead far more often than illicit drugs.

The bottom line: the rate of deaths in Florida caused by prescription drugs is over three times as high as the rate of deaths caused by all illicit drugs combined.

The study shows 2,328 Floridians died of opiate, or painkiller, overdoses while another 743 lost their lives from over-consuming benzodiazepines, which include the drugs Valium and Xanax. On the other hand, about a third less number of people, 989, died of overdoses from illegal drugs like cocaine, heroin, or methamphetamine (“speed”).

In a statement for the press, Bill James, Director of Florida’s Office of Drug Control, said: “Prescription drugs are not safe and must be secured. Doctors and pharmacists must help law enforcement identify and stop doctor shoppers. We are also looking for ways to curb illegal internet sales. Only through a comprehensive, coordinated strategy will we be able to reverse this tragic, unacceptable trend."

That’s a nice goal and it is true some people abuse prescription drugs. However, the Drug Enforcement Administration states as many as 7 million Americans are abusing prescription medication -- far more people than those using cocaine, heroin, hallucinogens, Ecstasy and inhalants combined.

And the truth is, even when legal medications are taken as prescribed, they are too often dangerous and even deadly. In fact, according to a study published in the Journal of the American Medical Association (JAMA), an estimated 1.9 million adverse drug reactions occur each year, and up to 180,000 of them could be life threatening or even fatal.

The Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) has released data showing that at least half of all Americans take one prescription drug and one in six of us takes three or even more prescribed medications. And this love affair with pharmaceuticals for health problems is no doubt why prescription drug deaths are now the fourth leading cause of death in the United States, after heart disease, cancer and stroke.

About the author

Sherry Baker is a widely published writer whose work has appeared in Newsweek, Health, the Atlanta Journal and Constitution, Yoga Journal, Optometry, Atlanta, Arthritis Today, Natural Healing Newsletter, OMNI, UCLA’s "Healthy Years" newsletter, Mount Sinai School of Medicine’s "Focus on Health Aging" newsletter, the Cleveland Clinic’s "Men’s Health Advisor" newsletter and many others.

Don't think that prescription drugs are harmless merely because they are legal and prescribed by a doctor. As this report shows, they can be just as deadly. Unfortunately, it does not have to include "misuse" or abuse of prescription medications to suffer adverse events. As many of you know, I am not your typical "anti-medicine" chiropractor.  I work regularly with local medical doctors because I recognize the benefits of cooperation. I also understand and agree that there are certain conditions or scenarios that warrant pharmaceutical intervention. However, often there are much less invasive and more natural treatment options available. When at all possible, we should strive to treat ourselves naturally to achieve the best overall and long-term outcome.

Yesterday was a little better, but not a lot.  Fortunately, I had already scheduled an appointment with my psychiatrist.  (I had scheduled this six weeks ago, so what a God-thing on this timing!) 

After talking to him, he, of course talked about raising my meds.  (That's what psychiatrists do, basically.  Whereas a therapist talks you through stuff.)  But, I did basically just yak and yak about what has been going on and how cruddy I felt.  He offered to up the Lamictal (the mood stabilizer), but I told him it wasn't the moods that were swinging, I was just going down.  So we upped the anti-depressants.  Plus, suggested taking the Xanax three times a day instead of "as needed."

As is often the case, I felt better by the afternoon.  Probably because I know there is a plan. 

Better living through chemicals, baby!  Look for that tote board tomorrow.  Maybe Jerry Lewis could stop by....

I have experienced one or two panic attacks over the years, and believe me when I say it is an experience so terrifying and sickening that I would not even wish it on a person I truly despised. Read Further Ways To Stop A Panic Attack

All weekend I was easily irritated.  Just felt "blah" most of the weekend.  But, yesterday, at church was a really good day.  (In general.  I did have to take a few deep breaths to calm myself down before teaching.  Oh, and I cried during the sermon.  Partially because I was so moved and partially because I was kind of sad in general, and I always feel better when Pastor Doug talks.  I really feel God's presence, so I was able to release some of that tension that was building.)  But, the band played better than we have in a long time.  I think that was due to the large crowd we had at our service.  A lot of people brought friends.  I also won the pie baking contest!  So, really, I had every reason to be happy.  And I was.  I had a great time.

Once we got home, it went back to "blah."  We had a crowd of boys in our basement working on a robot project, so I went up to my room to be away from the noise.

Tom and I watched the movie "The Mist" based on a Stephen King novella.  That made me a little freaked.  Which is funny, because I read the story years ago and remembered a lot of it.  Tom didn't, so he was nice and surprised.  The movie ended differently than the book, though, so I wasn't ahead on that front.

Then, Tom and I got into a heated discussion about the kids and the dishwasher.  It was just about the lamest thing you could argue about, but we made it a good one, I promise you!

The other thing on my mind was that this month's Bible verse for our Bible Study group has to do with reconciling with others.  I tried over and over to do that.  It didn't work out so well, honestly.  I would try to discuss things rationally and apologize for what I'd done, but I received a lot of blank looks.  Like, "Okay.  Whatever.  It really wasn't a big deal or anything."  So that didn't really feel all that productive.

So, today is supposed to be my day off, but as soon as Tom and the kids left, I was more agitated than I had been in a very long time.  I was so wound up, I'm guessing I could generate enough power to light up Times Square, if someone was able to "unwind me" quickly.

This resulted in major crying spells.  Sobbing.  Hyperventilating-type crying.  On my knees crying.  I truly thought that maybe that was going to push all the bad, icky feelings out of my body, and I would be refreshed.  Nope.  I was instant messaging my mom at the time who was trying to help.  She suggested taking a Xanax.  Once I got calm enough to be able to take a drink, I took my meds and waited for them to take effect.  I sat and watched my candles flicker and tried to focus on them, taking deep breaths.  A little more crying, but not quite so hard.

I got in the car and headed to my folks' house.  I felt a little guilty about going, but I promised I would if I sat crying for a long time.  Any of you who live close to your parents may have this issue as well, but I was thinking, "You know, these two raised me for 18+ years, and now that they are retired and able to enjoy life, here comes this whack-job who needs their support.  Not exactly what they were planning to do on such a beautiful day." I know they love me, are concerned about me, and want to help, but still.  I would like to be able to handle this junk without having to mess their day/life up.

But, of course I went anyway.  Instant love.  Loving touch.  Was it really that easy?  You know, it really was.  I still did a lot of deep sighing, and didn't exactly start doing backflips or cartwheels, but I did feel a lot better.  A LOT.  I had lunch with them, and we talked about things other than my bad day.  Probably because I was so much calmer.  If you've got a good thing going, don't mess with it, right?

So, now it is 4:20.  I feel 85% better than I did this morning.  Almost 100%, but I am so tired, plus I can't decide if I should go to church tomorrow to teach the preschoolers some songs.  What if I wake up again and feel like crap?  What if I worry about this all night?  I really should just call someone and tell them, "You know, I had a tough day today, and I have no idea what tomorrow will bring, so I think I should probably tell you that I won't be there."  The world will not come to an end.  I was told they would be thrilled to have me once a quarter, so my telling them I would come once a month was a bonus in their eyes.

In closing, let me say that in As Good As It Gets when Jack Nicholson says to the other patients in the psychiatrists office, "Do you ever think, 'What if this is as good as it gets?'" I used to wonder that same thing.  I now know it does get better, but now I am like a manufacturing plant that has one of those tote boards that say, "27 accident-free days!" except mine will say, "27 breakdown-free days!" and now I'm starting back at 1 tomorrow.

I have been told way too many times that I happen to do things just a wee bit unconventionally. How I deal with issues and problems bewilders me too at times. I have to get the point across, and seem very forceful at times, and sometimes seem too harsh. But it works, and that is all that matters. Read Further Best Treatment For Panic Disorder

Personally, I feel all drugs should be decriminalized. I do not see a Constitutional article to prevent us from putting foreign chemicals into our own bodies. For the sake of argument, if a woman can have an abortion because it's her body, then a woman or a man should be able to place whatever substance into his or her own body as well.

The only caveat is that the person taking the drug must be held accountable for any and all actions taken while under the drug's influence. No driving, operating heavy machinery, or watching after children should be allowed.

While I refuse to be a Liberal or a Conservative politically, I do have a liberal policy when it comes to drugs.

That said, there are still risks in taking any illegal or improperly taken prescription drugs. After all, people do die on them every day. Either out of apathy or carelessness, a high can become a fatality.

With that in mind, I want to talk a bit more about Xanax. They are seemingly innocently looking drugs: peach or blue ovals or white bars. And when taken as recommended as needed, they do have a therapeutic value to them.

However, in combination with other drugs, especially Methadone or heroin, they can be lethal. They can cause respiratory failure which leads to death.

Even when not mixed with opiates, a steady diet of Xanax (or its generic alprazolam) can lead to deadly withdrawals. Convulsions, seizures, and heart arrhythmia are not unheard of.

I'm not ignorant. I know Xanax is sold on the streets for recreational highs. And I doubt my post will put a stop to it. But be informed, not just about Xanax, but any chemical you decide to ingest. Learn more at Erowid.org before you decide to take a drug, illegal or prescribed.

Please, don't become another statistic.

Why angst and anger this week? Well, I think my disease of acute pessimism may have crossed into cranky old man on Monday night.

A persistent thumping at 10:15 p.m. on a school night elevated the agitation level high enough to spring me out of bed, fumble for a pair of shorts and prowl the Oregon night barefoot -- on the hunt for a brain dead teenage drummer.

It seems that not too long ago, I was a brain dead teenage drummer, but that didn't seem to matter at that moment. On the trek up the hill, I mashed a slug or snail with a crunchy squish between my bare toes. I was pissed for two reasons. Neither of which were due to the slug.

1. I was about to become the a-hole neighbor I always hated.
2. I was profoundly bummed that my reluctant migration from chilled dude to perpetually annoyed adult was about to come to an end.

I reached the house, climbed under some painter's tape guarding the freshly painted porch and rang the doorbell. A kid easily 25 years my junior answered the door a crack to hear me spit out the words that I wanted back as soon as I said them.

"Hey man...it's after 10, I've got a kid asleep across the street and I need you to turn down the music."

Anybody who knows me knows how absurd that statement is tumbling out of my mouth. The kid ran downstairs to tell them to cut the drums. Tool metamorphosis complete.

But when the kid's mom appeared I saw something in her that smoothed my transition to responsible parent. She was kinda stoney, about 10 years older than I, and in full character. Cool Mom talked in a slow, SoCal "hey man" cadence reminiscent of Wooderson in Dazed and Confused. Replace "It'd be a lot cooler if you did" with "Hey, sorry man, the drums are new." If that was my future, I left the porch, paint-free, feeling a little more comfortable about where I'm headed.

On my way down the hill I couldn't get out of my head how much empathy I had for the drummer and the vitriolic hatred I held for Cool Mom because of her total disregard for me and the entire neighborhood. Play drums until 9:59 p.m. or soundproof the room, right?

QUICK POLL: Total Jerk or Normal Reaction. Respond below.

It had me reaching back to the last two weeks since my inaugural post, where I saw that 40 percent of Republicans surveyed in a recent poll felt that Sarah Palin was currently capable of being President. This poll taken, I'm assuming, based on a question of McCain's possible, some say probable, demise while in office.

Sure. 60 percent of these fine, upstanding conservatives, didn't agree. But, seriously, what deep recesses in the Warren Jeffs gene pool are these Wind tunnel-haired, dead-behind-the-eyes women and Dogma-blind men swimming in to think this is even a remotely intelligent thing to say out loud, much less actually believe.

Are these the same people boycotting Oprah Winfrey for refusing to let her spew scripted GOP rhetoric that she doesn't even understand? Or worse, force Oprah to submit to interview guidelines so Palin doesn't look her age or intelligence? And how can anybody chastise the gadflys from The View for actually doing the best interview they've ever done. Better than all major network anchors combined, by the way. Is it because they are asking their potential President and Vice President to be freaking accountable for what they have said and what they have done? For trying to make them answer to how their actions impact other people?

No matter where you plant your ass on this political seesaw (I was a McCain supporter in 2000, btw), you should demand this of all of your media, which I guess means CNN or Fox News. Please God...don't make me turn The View into my new standard for political watchdog journalism. Um, I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.

It's gotten to the point where I'm actually having conversations with the television or talking to my wife about the jaw-dropping crap I see on television simply because I can hold it in anymore.

I suppose, when my house gets egged or toilet papered by little drummer boy and Cool Mom, the unraveling will be complete and I'll be carted away for good. Please come visit me and bring cookies and a handful of Xanax.

In the interest of offering you all something positive in this sea of causticity, check this out. Never had it before, but this sounded tasty to me. Good wine and music are just what the Good Doctor would have ordered.

Catena Alta Malbec 2005 -- Argentina
93 Points from Wine Spectator
"Very concentrated, with dark fig and currant paste notes, but it's also pure and driven, with intense mocha, bittersweet cocoa and melted licorice notes that stretch out the long, polished finish. Really gorgeous for its density and mouthfeel. (Mr. Ford, what the hell is 'mouthfeel'? -- ev) Drink now through 2013."

And before you take Wine Spectator's word, read this story from Portland Oregon's own Square Deal Wine Company about a guy who created a fake Italian restaurant and loaded his menu with Spectator wines rated in the 50s and submitted himself for an award to the magazine...and freaking won! Hahahahaa. But I digress.... There are actually good wine shopping tips here too, so it's still positive in the end.

Here's a band to bring a little chill to your weekend. Take us home Budos Band.

Until next time...with the hope of sharing something more useful.

Ev

I do not just want to fade away.......not my style.  Anyone that knows me, knows that I have a flair for the dramatic......suicide is my style.  Problem is, somewhere in the last few days I have decided that I may just want to try out living.  At least for now.  So I am giving the Army my all......there are a few hurdles that I need to blow through yet before I can leave but hopefully by this time next month I am either gone or have a leave date.  I am not a religious person by any means but hopefully someone out there is looking out for me......

exwives.  waste of time this subject, as Brock is on his way O-U-T but I feel that I need to at least touch on the subject.  Part of the reason I am going to the Army is out of deep hatred, disgust, annoyance at Brock and his "past life."  I don't feel like going into all of it because it makes me want to destroy everything in my house and then eating lead shot but if anyone even reads this; most of the horror that is Brock and his previous life, is only a few pages back.  He is currently going through some custody things with his skank of a ex wife...... I have tried to be nice to her but that is also not my style.  Last night he met with her for over 2 hours.  I was told her new husband was going to be there.  I was lied to.  Then today she deleted me from her myspace and blocked it.....because Brock talked shit.  I just take all of this anger and hatred for Brock, the slut, Lucy and Jr and just bottle it up.  I am going to need to re lie on it in the coming weeks.......Anyway....I only wish bad things for the 5 of them.  The skank, her child-groom and both her inbred, retard children; and Brock.  I am sure that Karma is gonna bite me in the ass but oh well.......I could give a shit.  Brock takes the cunts side in EVERYTHING so after last night any lingering doubts about leaving him went out the window.  I am outta HERE!

The only things I have to do now is quit smoking pot.  I have given myself the deadline of Sunday or when the pot runs out.  Whatever happens first.  Then I have to kick the xanax.......without it I feel like I am going FUCKING BATSHIT CRAZY but I won't be able to take it at BMT so I need to kick it and FAST!  I am working on it but between Brock, my brain refusing to shut-off, and inability to sleep without it or pot, leaves me scared that I might not be able to do it.  Whoever is looking out for me.....give me a little help!

Well I think that is all I have to bitch about today.  Keep me in your thoughts and hopefully in a few months I will be blogging somewhere that is not here and SINGLE!

uncertain

:))

ia xanax:

T.O. acknowledges that he should have done some things differently in Philadelphia, but he pinned the blame for his bitter divorce from McNabb on the QB's fragile ego.

"We obviously could have done some great things together," T.O. said after the TV cameras had left his locker, "but it wasn't me letting my pride get in the way."

Um, actually it was all about you. Were you an amazing player for the Eagles? Yeah, no doubt about that. But hadn't the Eagles just restructured your deal and done battle with the Baltimore Ravens to get you here, which was what you wanted? Yup. So, you couldn't have played ball for one more year, put up big numbers and then bitched if they didn't show you the money? Nope, you had to make personal attacks against McNabb and sabotage the season to get what you wanted. I hope it was you letting your pride get in the way, because otherwise, you're just an anarchist lunatic. (Editor's note: Lucy, The Pundit needs Xanax, pronto! Just start dumping the bottle down his throat!)

T.O. didn't have to be probed much to give his opinion on why his relationship with McNabb went sour. He was asked whether Tony Romo was the first quarterback to really get him.

"Well, I was really thinking that was the case in Philly before I think the fans and just the excitement of me coming there and being there, it became too overwhelming for Donovan," T.O. replied. "Other than that, I think at one point in time I will say that we had a good relationship. I think I got too big for Philly, too big for him. But here, Tony and I have a great relationship."

Yeah, McNabb couldn't handle having another popular kid in class. He just can't deal with adversity, that guy. Don't you remember how he cried like a little bitch when he got booed on draft day? Oh, right, that didn't happen. Forgot about that. But, he's been super jealous of all of the success Brian Westbrook has had, that's been super obvious, you know? Oh, wait, haven't really noticed that happening, either. And the idea that T.O. got too big for Philly? What does that mean? Did his ego get too big for Philly, because then I would agree with him. And when did he get too big for McNabb? I'd love to go back in time and ask people who they thought the most indispensable player on that team was, because I'd venture that their response would be McNabb. Remember, the Eagles made their playoff run without T.O. in the lineup.

But he sensed the relationship changing during the 2004 season, which ended with T.O. making a miraculous return from injury to put up big numbers in a Super Bowl loss to the Patriots - and later pointing out that McNabb was vomiting during the Eagles' final drive.

"I think everybody knows without harping on it too much," T.O. said. "It is what it is. I can only do so much. Everywhere that I've gone, the cameras follow me. I'm going to get a great deal of fan support and a fan base.

"As I mentioned in the conference call [with Philadelphia media] earlier, I can remember being in that stadium and hearing them chanting my name. That couldn't bode well for Donovan to hear that. It was an every-week thing."

Back to the popularity contest, eh? But let's think like T.O. for a second. Imagine you are T.O., and somebody else's name is being "chanted in the stadium." That would really piss you off. You wouldn't know how to handle the attention being given to someone else. It would drive you absolutely crazy inside. Hey, hey you guys, look at me guys, I'm really special too, please pay attention to ME!  LOVE ME, DAMNIT! ME ME ME! So, isn't it logical that everybody would think this way? This must be the response that Donovan would have, right? RIGHT? (Editor's note: Lucy, forget about The Pundit for a second, I've got a wicked headache from all of this silliness. Could you grab me a bottle of Tylenol or something - yeah, I'll just swallow the whole bottle, thanks).

"I honestly can say that Donovan made me a better receiver in Philly," T.O. said, "but I think it would be hard for him to admit that I made him a better quarterback."

Yes, Donovan had his best statistical season ever with T.O. around. He had career highs in completion percentage (64%), yards (3875), TD's (31) and passer rating (104.7). But, this is actually a bit more philosophical than the numbers. T.O. certainly made Donovan's job easier. Hell, he made the other receiver's jobs easier, attracting double teams. But McNabb still had to make his reads, distribute the ball, and run when necessary. He didn't make Donovan a better quarterback so much as he made it so Donovan didn't have to be "the man" all of the time. They were a good pair, and I don't think the Donovan would deny he played some of his best football with T.O.

Listen, all of this is just silly. I know what T.O. is doing here - he's hyping a primetime, nationally televised game. This is standard boxing-promotion, Don King jibberish. T.O. is just stirring the pot to peak the intrigue of this game. I get that. And, quite frankly, I felt a bit silly responding his quotations; I'm just falling into his lap that way. (Editor's note: Um...ah, never mind). But, the thing is, this game doesn't need any hype! The ratings for this game will be huge no matter what T.O. says. And don't you think it's just a bit odd that T.O. would go after McNabb in the media again after DNabb had as big of a game as he just did? Like somehow his little jabs might get in Donovan's head? It's just so childish. Keep Donovan's name outta your mouth, T.O. - there's no need for this. You may be an entertainer, and some of your stunts are pretty good (Editor's note: I thought the Usain Bolt bit last weekend was pretty funny myself), but that doesn't give you a license to do or say anything you damn please. Here in Philly, we may be hard on Donovan, but that's a family thing. You don't get to talk shit about family, Mr. Owens, especially when we invited you to dinner and you were totally gracious during the feasting, until you had a few too many drinks and trashed the house. We don't really want to hear your opinion about our house anymore. You can try to chip away at Donovan's good guy reputation all you want, but your track record speaks for itself - if it looks like an ego-maniac, and it smells like an ego-maniac, its probably an ego-maniac.

Donovan, keep quiet, stay focused, and tear the Cowboys up. Do what you normally do - let your play speak for itself. And T.O, if you feel the need to play the villain in order to hype up the game, then so be it - I respect the fact that you apparently do not care in the least what people think of you. Reminds me of the scene in Scarface, where Pacino gives the genius speech about everyday people needing to define the "bad guys" (Editor's note: You need people like me!). But then again, Tony Montana really was a pretty unsavory guy - are you, Mr. Owens?

I can hear the breath of my dog just outside the door.  He is probably wondering if I am ever coming out and if not, who is going to take him for his afternoon walk. 

Today started like it was going to be a good day but the hopes for that went out the window by nine o’clock.  I am a neurotic mess.  I cannot write anything worth wasting paper for.  I cannot sleep as I am out of Xanax and cannot get my prescription refilled for two weeks.  I guess that’s what happens when you don’t follow the printed directions of take one tablet three times a day as needed.  The problem with the directions is that they are wrong.  I need Xanax by the handful in order to survive. 

My daughter is an aggressive autistic and she is fifteen and overweighs me.  See the problem?  Funny, but nobody at the county mental health office can see it.

I am tempted to stand on the corner with a sign that reads. “Will be forever in your debt for a couple pills of Xanax” but decide it may bring unwanted scumbags to my door.

I would drink a rum and pepsi but I am out of pepsi and cannot bear to get dressed and go to the store to buy the damn pepsi.  I guess I am not desperate enough yet as I have not drank the rum straight.  I am surviving on simply sleep tablets.  They don’t make me sleep but they do take the edge off.

Any one out there have an extra xanax they are willing to trade for an aggressive autistic teen?  Just kidding. Don’t call protective services.  Jeesh.  You can’t even joke about mental health these days.

Some Final Thoughts

I hope I haven't demonized the medication Xanax or other benzodiazepines too much. They have legitimate uses when used properly, when needed. I wouldn't have been able to drive without them due to anxiety attacks behind the wheel.

The main point I want to stress is to be aware of new medications, and question your doctors thoroughly, even if it annoys them. After all, they are human and are bound to make mistakes like the rest of us. Do your own research before blindly adding a new substance to your body. Just because it's a prescribed medication, as opposed to an illegal one, does not mean it doesn't carry any risks.

Present Situation

Currently, I have found two excellent doctors who have put me on a reduction plan (I reduce my dosage by .5mg every two months). I still take Xanax to this day but at MUCH smaller doses and only when I really need them. I am still physically addicted to it, but not nearly as much as I once was. It will take some time to finally be off the medication all together.

To help my anxiety issues while reducing my Xanax intake, I have been prescribed Neurotin (an anti-seizure medication) and hydroxyzine (an antihistamine). Both medications have anti-anxiety properties and have been extremely helpful to reduce panic attacks. And they are much safer than benzodiazepines.

Warnings

Also, do not suddenly quit a medication until you know about it withdrawal effects. Some you can discontinue immediately; others you will need to taper off slowly.

And never assume you are not a risk for addiction. Everyone is potentially at risk. I found out the hard way.

Side Note

The term "little blue footballs" is a street name for the 1mg Xanax tablet, due to its shape and color. The 2mg bar form is often referred to as "totem poles." Other drug slang for Xanax are "double crosses," "railroad signs," and "double X's." I'm sure there are others of which I am not aware.