The Grind

Ooh La La:

I dressed like a French woman today with the little coral floral silk scarf. I wore the brown pinstripe pants and brown 3/4-sleeve turtleneck, and the white stone earrings from the museum gift shop and my newest splurge: three autumn-color bangles in coral rust and cranberry.

Would much rather talk about this.

The woman is coming tomorrow to clean my apartment.

I tip her $20 if she does a good job. She next comes in January. I hope I can keep up this two month cleaning schedule. I really do not like to clean. It's been this way ever since I can remember: as far back as when I was a young girl. I was nine or 10 and even then I didn't like to dust the furniture or vacuum the floor. I would have been perfectly content if I could get away with not doing it. I had no concept of needing to pitch in as part of my contribution to the household.

This is how it has always been: it's not a feminist thing only the way I am: I would rather do anything than clean. It is because I am not a traditional woman in any sense of the Traditional's focus and locus.

One thing: a child should be given an allowance separate from his chores and responsibilities. All kids should be assigned things to do based on their age and ability. I resisted that and I was wrong.

OK: I hope you are able to clean your apartment or house regularly. I know someone who does this and I applaud her. I'm lucky I'm not ill-equipped to clean because I'm depressed: the only reason is I resist doing this and try to get away with not doing it for as long as I can.

Ah: let's move on to something else.

______________________________


I bought for only five dollars a candy-stripe plastic band ring in raspberry-pink-and-plum. It looks delicious.


The young woman who cleaned my apartment did a good job and I tipped her $20.

The jacket is at the tailor to be hemmed. I pick it up next Wednesday after work and take it home. Would love to wear it to the talk I give at the IPRT. I would not wear gray or black if I were giving a speech. Red is my color. As a woman I once worked with told me: "Red is your color, Winter!" I like being a Winter and rarely wear clothes and makeup outside of this season's colors.

I nixed buying lipstick in the drug store when I was shopping there to pass the time before returning to the apartment. Instead I bought a sugar purer and when I arrived home I realized I did not need it. So I will donate it to the Salvation Army along with the other items on Saturday.

What does Amazon.com know that I don't know? Hint, hint: it automatically recommended for me The Newlywed Cookbook. I kid you not. I was up at 3 a.m. ordering from them the Claire Ultimo poetry dog tags kit and the website helpfully suggested I buy that book.

The poetry dog tags come with a ball chain necklace and you string the silver dog tags through the chain. The tags have words like sparkle and hope engraved on them. I'm going to use the sparkle one for my inspiration board.

I also found my black-and-white photo of Audrey Hepburn to tack to the cork board. I have a picture of myself dressed in the red Soho jacket and I'm holding a cup of coffee in front of the now-defunct Lolabelle's. That was my original photo for the Living Life column I started writing seven years ago. I will also hang on the board from a pin the red glass heart necklace to symbolize my compassion and kind heart. I'll go on Sunday to the hardware store to snitch-er, take home-a red paint swatch or two.

Ideally I'd pin up a photo of my new guy friend. Maybe a postcard from Italy or another beautiful note card.

The wind is screaming outside tonight or should I say this early morning.

It reminds me of the Jesus and Mary Chain lyrics: "The wind it screams around the trees for my psychocandy." They were one of my favorite modern rock bands in the 1980s. That's exactly how it sounds now: like someone screaming for salvation.

I'm awake now because I have to get up at 6 a.m. to get ready for a medical test that I took the day off for. Mom drives me there and then we go back to my apartment and she heats up Thanksgiving leftovers: turkey and stuffing, with cranberry sauce on the side. The real Thanksgiving will be celebrated at my cousin's apartment in Queens. Luckily I have that Friday off so I don't have to wake up early the next day.

I have a salty mouth. The dining foyer smelled like a communion wafer. I took up running last night. Hopefully I will not have to repeat this test for at least five years.

One hour to go until medicine time.

A cavity in my tooth and now this. I feel ancient even though I'm only almost 45. The other people in the doctor's office were all older and I wondered: is this really necessary at my age? Apparently it is. My primary care doctor is on top of things. She knows what she's doing. I'm the rare person with schizophrenia who has the absolute best medical treatment.

The guy on the Island couldn't be accused of malpractice though he certainly wasn't a good doctor. Dr. Krall is a Diplomate of Internal Medicine and that can only be a good thing.

Before this devolves into a rant I will begin to wind down this blog entry.

You have heard enough from me all this time and I will leave you now to enjoy the sunrise coming up wherever you live. Or the midnight sun.

Tootles.

Justice

Would it be consolation to you if I said that the people who stand in judgment of those of us with mental illnesses most likely treat everyone with the same lack of respect?

I find it hard to believe someone could turn his love on and off like a light switch depending on who he decided to give his love to. This holds true for the females among us as well so feel free to replace he with she in that sentence. It is a possibility I do not wish to consider.

This is the last I will talk about this except to tell you one thing:
In April 1998 when I lived at home and was working in the City and going to school I received a call from my psychiatrist's wife that Dr. Cruz had died. I hung up the phone and slumped in a chair at the kitchen table.

Mind you this was going on 12 years ago before I even began writing my memoir or doing public speaking as an advocate.

My father must have thought I lost it because I blurted out:

"I want to see justice served for the last forsaken lot of misunderstood crazy people."

I had an ally in Dr. Cruz. He told me once that there was no stigma because he treated everyone equally and he referred to a woman who had been sitting in the waiting area with her husband and young son.

Dr. Cruz told me on my first visit to him outside of the hospital that one day I would be able to live independently and find a job.

Why did I tell my father that when I received the news that my psychiatrist had died?

I have no idea.

I told him:

"I want to see justice served for the last forsaken lot of misunderstood crazy people."

Please forgive my language: those were the words that came to me at the time.

Again I have continued in this vein so let me go and begin elsewhere.

I would like to believe that most people would be compassionate.

I hold out that hope.

This hope keeps me going at a time like this.

That is all we can do:

Hope.

No Hope On The Horizon

It seems like there is no hope on the horizon for people who have the EQ [emotional quotient] of a pea.

I logged into Blogger to begin writing this entry and was sidetracked reading AC's GainingInsight entry posted earlier today. I had a similar reaction that she did, only it was to a stigmatizing post at a website that I write for.

It hurts me that some people have no compassion for those of us diagnosed and living with mental illnesses. I spent the better part of last Friday upset about this. People diagnosed with schizophrenia need to be treated with dignity just like anyone else. We deserve extra respect for dealing with this medical condition every day. Schizophrenia doesn't take a holiday. It doesn't discriminate against who it chooses to devastate.

And: I realize I'm lucky I haven't experienced stigma in over a decade. That will change when I publish my memoir, Left of the Dial. A therapist told me most people would be supportive and the unlikeliest people would not be. I keep the diagnosis to myself when I first meet someone and do not feel the need to tell everyone I meet.

You might ask how it is that I haven't experienced any stigma and I wouldn't know what to tell you except that God or the Universe possibly had a hand in this because it's all part of the plan for my life: to educate others and to uplift and inspire people. The greater goal is what will determine whether you disclose: if disclosing would destroy your chance of a better opportunity I would not do so.

A friend who has schizophrenia who was the CEO of a company told me that if he disclosed, he would not have an inspiring story to tell others because he wouldn't have become a CEO. So you have to determine whether not being open and honest would be the greater good in the long term. He is now an advocate.

The reality is that even today, circa 2009, stigma exists and is destructive to everyone involved.

Last night as I wrote in the hardbound journal a friend gave me I thought long and hard about my decision to be open and honest to the people who would benefit from hearing my life story. Who else would risk making this choice? Again and again as I wrote about this I kept questioning why I feel so strongly about my role as a mental health activist. I understand that I'm a woman committed to a cause just like anyone else committed to a charity. Some women devote their time to breast cancer. My cause just happens to be mental health.

You see: in August 2004 I was the featured reader at the poetry reading and I read the breakdown scene from my memoir and the positive ending of the book. Why did I feel compelled to do that? I was met only with compliments after I left the stage.

I have told you in here before that I do this because I believe in my vision that people can recover from schizophrenia. Even though I know that is why I do this I still grapple with my choice. "I have taken the road less traveled and that made all the difference" as the expression goes.

I wouldn't expect most people to understand this. Not those of us who keep sacred the status quo. Do you understand my decision? Do you find it odd that I've been accepted? I wonder about this. I can only speak for myself: the astrologer told me I have six planets in Earth in my natal chart and that accounts for why I'm so grounded and non-threatening to people. S. told me: "It's as if you never really exited the premises."

Even though that is so I wouldn't judge another person even if to other people he or she came across as a little off. We Are The One, remember?

It begs the question as to whether someone can tell you have schizophrenia. A woman who found out accidentally about me claimed you couldn't tell by looking at someone.

It is scary and sad and troubling that someone like Perez Hilton pigeonholes people who are in distress and seek help.

Stigma is a disease. I would find no joy in being accepted by someone who does not accept all of us living with a mental health issue. Then again by Perez Hilton's standards I'm just plain "wacko" and so is Mischa Barton who he termed a "wacktress" for checking into a psychiatric ward. Who is he with a name like Perez Hilton to be judging other people?

This is about all the energy I have to expound on this topic.

Feel free to chime in with your comments.

Hello: I must be going.

I do not want to go off in another direction in this blog entry.

I would rather post a new one that has nothing to do with this topic.

My point exactly is that treating everyone with dignity doesn't appear to be the norm so is it any wonder people with mental illnesses are treated as less than zero?

This isn't about you or me or anyone with a diagnosis: it is always only about the hang-ups of the other person making the judgments.

As Don Miguel Ruiz wrote in his book The Four Agreements: don't take things personally.

Stigma hurts.

Recovery heals.

I urge you to choose recovery.

Be strong. Stand tall. Walk proud.

You are a star.

Shine on.

After Greenwich

Holy Cannoli Batwoman! I do have a minor cavity that needs to be taken care of. Still I submit that to not have had a cavity in over 10 years is OK. So I have one now.

I took the train to the Barnes & Noble on 86th & Lex and bought for the price of the expensive desk calendar two appointment books. One is a Tuscany diary and the other satisfies the decorator in me because it has colorful patterns. I keep the Tuscany one at home and the design one at work.

The Bruni in the City column I wrote for the next issue of New York City Voices is titled "The Dating Game" and has my Top 10 Tips for a First Date. In it I clarified my position on The Face Test. It has to do with whether you feel any chemistry with the other person. I do not covet a boy toy or someone with conventional good looks. I prefer a guy who is intelligent and kind and has a sense of humor. This is what I value: not whether he has chiseled cheekbones or an Armani physique.

My own beauty is an accident of genes: my mother was an attractive young woman and my father was a good-looking young man and they carried that down. My brother looks like he could be a fashion model.

I'm going to buy the Isaac Mizrahi book How To Have Style. I will also buy a cork board to create an inspiration board. The expression "If you believe it, you can achieve it" rings true here. To have a visual of what your new life looks and feels like is the first step in getting there.

Where could I buy a cork board? Staples? I'll go online and search their website.

The first step is letting go.

I decided to donate my purple leather Coach key chain to Sal's. I've had it for close to 10 years. Now I use the green strap key chain I bought in Greenwich. The Coach one I bought when I first began working as a librarian. I coveted the keys I was given because I could open and close the doors. Somebody else could use that key chain now to hold the keys to her own freedom. It was an impromptu decision to get the new green strap.

With great hope-and no regret about the past-I begin my new life. You have to let go in order to move on. A friend says my life is now complete because I have met someone. I will not go there now. You can read about it in my Bruni in the City column for New York City Voices.

This much is true: the past is over and done with as soon as it's gone. Today is the only day that matters. Take risks and you will gain confidence. "Do the thing you think you cannot do." I will take Eleanor Roosevelt up on this. Every morning when we wake up our life is a blank slate to write in as we choose. We can choose to go beyond our comfort zone. We can dare.

Five years ago I took a risk: I dared to enter into a relationship with a friend of mine. He coveted being normal as the Holy Grail. Dr. Altman told me I must have been relieved when the guy broke up with me because dating him was stressful. I lost a friendship. Girls: after you break up with someone do not try to remain friends. It's over. There can be no friendship.

So you take a risk and you will find you are stronger than all that. You must be courageous. You cannot live your life on 33 RPM in an iPod world. Go with the times. Leave the era before the era leaves you.

I realized today that if my brother died responding to the World Trade Center attacks my life would have been over. He is alive today because his fire squad responded later in the day. This is proof that God gives us only what we can handle. I would have been shattered.

True: it does not help when you are with someone who does not let you express yourself or be who you are. I wrote about this in a comment at the Connection. In the fall before I had the breakdown I wrote in my journal "The root of my psychosis is that I was not allowed to be who I wanted to be." How prophetic. You see. Now. How joining the radio station was the defining moment of my life.

The ex-boyfriend told me once:that he was "almost normal now." Then he went off his meds. There is no normal. Only what's right for you.

In my new life:

I am certain that I am OK just as I am.

I am confident that I am on the right road.

I am able to change people's lives for the better.


No: I do not regret a moment lived.

I would rather have loved and lost than not taken the risk.

Yes: I'm convinced I was better off even though it was stressful. Life goes on. Eleanor Roosevelt said something else that was true: "A woman is like a tea bag. You do not know how strong she is until she gets in hot water."

You see: I could not be involved with someone who was not humble. The ex-boyfriend was also a Tiger, the mortal enemy of little ol' Snake me. The new guy is a Rat-and the Rat-Snake combo is rated three out of four stars for its "alluring fascination." He is also a Sagittarius so I wonder about that because I'm a Taurus. My father is a Sagittarius and so is D.-who is one of my two best friends.

I am a changed person. The schizophrenia changed me. It made me a more compassionate person. I could not judge someone unless I walked a mile in his or her moccasins.

When I turned 40 I convinced myself I wanted to be married. That was a long-ago dream. It was when the ex-boyfriend appeared on the scene. I sat in Dr. Altman's office crying because I was 40 and hadn't met my life partner. He told me I was just like any single woman in the City looking for love.

After Greenwich: I am ready to begin again.

The cognitive therapist told me: "It just happened. You had no control over it." And so I go with that. Only I remembered exactly when it started: September 11, 2004 when I was riding the S44 bus to the Staten Island Ferry.

Exactly five years later-on September 11, 2009-I sat in the office of the director of the cognitive therapy practice telling him what brought me there. A coincidence? I wonder.

The anniversary of 9/11 will resonate in me forever because it is the only time I ever dealt in "What if?" I did not ask what would have happened if I didn't get sick. Nor did I ever tell myself "If only I didn't get sick." I'm a realist: I deal in the real. Yet always I know I'm lucky that my brother didn't die because that is the biggest If: He could have died. What if he died?

Exactly one month before the meltdown on the S44 bus I risked disclosure in a global way: I was the featured reader at the Cornelia Street Cafe event and read the breakdown scene from my memoir and the positive ending of the book.

Disclosure changes everything. I was on the bus a month later going to the Ferry to Manhattan to attend the IAWA event again. You may ask why I do this. You may ask why I'm open and honest. After you disclose the dynamic changes. You wonder what people think. A friend tells me I'm lucky because people have only responded positively so far.

Even today she said: "You turned a terrible thing into a good thing."

I do this because in offering you my life I want to show you there is hope. My optimism is not an empty slogan.

Today I am coming to terms with the truth: I cannot change what happened on the bus. I cannot go back and reverse my decision to disclose. I cannot be other than who I am: a woman whose life was changed forever on September 25, 1987.

God Bless You.

I hope you find some joy and happiness in reading this blog.

Keep the faith.

I believe that love will prevail in a world overrun with hate.

So I urge you to join the world.

Do the thing you think you cannot do.

Live.

Passionately.


Chris

The Drill

10:52 am. Library. Waiting to see the dentist.

My energy level has not risen yet it hasn't plummeted. It seems to be on the upswing. Slowly, slowly.

It was a lovely day in Greenwich yesterday.

I bought a green strap key chain to replace the purple Coach key chain I bought in 2000 when I first started work as a librarian. A classic brown nubuck belt from Zara. And a pair of round pearl earrings for $21 [not real of course]. I can wear the belt with the black pants and my beige sweater if we go to the theater in January again. In Claire's I found an interesting notebook with a graffiti design cover. Swag.

In Greenwich on the main street traffic guards conduct traffic.

We ate in Thataway: I had the crab and shrimp burger. I was so full I did not eat dinner until after eight o'clock when I ordered the Aegean salad from a diner.

Alas: a beautiful hot salmon pink scarf cost $190 in an upscale store so I did not buy it. We looked around and hurried out. I would like to go back in the new year to buy a pair of skinny jeans in the Lucky Brand shop. I wanted to buy a green embroidered belt in that store however they did not have it in my size. I nixed a beautiful Lucky scarf though.

I am able to write in here now because I have a half hour before the appointment. Otherwise I would not be free to do so. Though suddenly I have no energy again. After I will go the pizzeria to get two grandma slices and a peach Snapple.

Will do only what I can do. Today I dropped off the laundry rather than do it myself this weekend.

The final verdict: I do not buy the expensive appointment book from Cooper Hewitt. I would've done so if it were an offering on their website's store. It wasn't.

Yes: I remember a long-ago friend who I went to Greenwich with the first time. Where is she now? I hope she has a good life. We'd go to the Galaxy Diner in the City for dinner before we parted ways. It was another era in my life: the time before I moved here. In retrospect I learned a lesson: try to patch up whatever it is that's not right with a friend. I got the impression she didn't want to continue the friendship and so I let it be.

OK. I have no energy. Let me go look for a magazine to read while I wait. I still have time before I need to head to the dentist. Luckily I just get X-rays and a cleaning twice a year.

One thing I will leave you with:

Do not go without food and make sure you eat small, nutritious meals throughout the day.

Going on a cleanse or fast is not healthy.

Have fruit or cheese and whole wheat crackers or nuts or yogurt for a snack to tide you over until lunch or dinner.

Get checked out by your primary care doctor if your energy level is low.

Now I must be going.

Ciao.