The Facebook Series Chapter 1 – Part I

If you are apart of the Facebook culture then you have experienced the exciting reunions with old classmates, neighborhood pals and perhaps former lovers. You may have also gotten the awkward friend request from someone you don’t want back in your life. This new culture has unearthed both the good and bad in relationship etiquette. Now, I am sure I am not the first person to chitter chat about this new culture on their blog, but many of my reconnections have been extreme tales - stay with me here...I know the first tale is long, but trust me it is a doozy. I will break it into a 2 parter. I have seen this exciting revolution bring me to the brink of absolute giddiness over random reconnections and it has also brought out the painful sorrow of deep down guilt. Here's one of those connections.



PART 1 (of 2)

I will start with my childhood next door neighbor. Ah, but which one....that mystery will unfold as we go. My hometown is 35 minutes outside of New York City. It's an idealistic New Jersey community with tons of ethnic and economic diversity, yet most of my block was Jewish. It’s the kind of town that doesn’t have a “downtown”, but rather a “Village”. My block was stunning and trimmed with real gas street lamps, it still is. (It is now known as the Historic District, which cracks me up). I was lucky to have 4 best friends on my block. 3 of us were the same age and one was 1 year older. Our colonel houses were in a row. It could not have been more perfect. We didn’t even need to cross the street to play. We could run from yard to yard with no interference. We even managed to create the world's sweetest Slip-n-Slide you have ever seen....yard to yard! For the sake of my own privacy (I won’t pretend it is for them) I will be using fictional names. The girl in house number 1 was the oldest, the tallest, the prettiest, the bossiest, a bit of a snob and my best-friend, Audrey. She had silky brown hair that flowed to her butt. It was the 70's and that was cool! The next house was me, short, artsy and very sensitive. I was a "natural" auburn back then with big brown eyes and freakles. The third house was Elana, spoiled, chubby and had the best toys. She also had great clothes. The last house was Katie, she was a bit of a book worm with a strict mother that scared the shit out of us, so we didn’t play with her as often. Audrey and I were by far the closest. My Mother died when I was 6 years old and just starting the first grade. Audrey, at only 7 years old, tried to take on the role of Mother. It was more then your average game of "house". I had a loving house-keeper at that time, but I remember Audrey making me oatmeal for breakfast and walking to school with me. I can’t image what that must have been like for her…watching your best-friend’s Mother die at such a young age…it must have been a terrifying reality.

Whenever we would play with Elana it would be fun…but we were mean. We would always leave a mess behind in Elana’s house so that she would get in trouble and we honestly just used her for her toys. I also remember us calling her names. Looking back I must have been hurting so much from the death of my Mom, that I took it out on my poor neighbor to the left. As we got older and our bodies changed – we got meaner. We toilet papered her house and made prank phone calls late at night. When I was alone with Elana I actually liked her…and we would have a blast (I think these moments are what Elana chooses to remember today). We liked many of the same things; we loved to sing together, ride bikes in her driveway and make-up dance routines. I just felt like I had to keep it a secret…she was the loser of the block…the kid that got bullied, and sadly, I was one of those bullies. I moved from that block when I was 11 years old. My Dad was getting remarried and we needed a bigger house since our family was doubling in size. The new house was in an affluent part of town “up the hill”. I did not hang out with those girls again and I eventually went off to boarding school a few years later.

I saw Audrey a handful of times over the years. Our Father’s played poker together every Monday night for almost 40 years and when the Jewish High Holidays rolled around there was always a chance I would see her at Yom Kipper Break Fast over a bagel with lox. Those poker guys were more like Uncles - so "family" holidays were often spent with the same cast of characters. I miss those guys today - a few have since passed away. When I would see Audrey at these holiday events it was usually awkward. I would linger in another room until we were forced to cross paths. When I moved away – she was hurt. I was getting a step-sister and that’s a role that she had always played – or wanted to. She didn’t know her place anymore and as much as we wanted to maintain the friendship, she was a year older, into being popular and a bit of a J.A.P. – it just wasn’t a fit. I always found her to be self absorbed and at times down right mean. We went to the same middle school and we did acknowledge each other in the halls with a slight nod. She was also in the same grade as my step-sister – that was just weird. We eventually stopped speaking to each other. There was no big blowout fight, it was just too hard. I would see Elana in school, but we were in different cliques, actually I’m not sure Elana had any friends. Katie went to private school in another town.

About 11 years later I was 24 years old and living with my parents in Soho (they moved out of New Jersey when all of their kids finished school). I was about to move into my own apartment on 29th street…but trust me, I didn’t want to go. I was living rent free and it was the most fabulous apartment in NYC. It was a Monday night…poker night. My Dad still made the trip to New Jersey for the weekly game. The same group of guys. Like any other Monday my Dad would get home around mid-night. It was always the same routine, he would say goodnight as he passed the lower level den and head off to bed. On that night he walked past, said goodnight and headed up the stairs…but turned around with news to share. “I have sad news about your old friend Audrey”. A shiver went through my entire body. I had a dream about Audrey the night before. I had not thought about her for years. In my dream we were in our childhood houses. My Mother’s sewing room faced Audrey’s bedroom window about 50 yards away. We were our adult selves…the dream was like a silent movie. I was trying to reach out to Audrey’s hand, but I could not touch it. “She doesn’t want anyone to know, but she has cancer”, my Dad said, “So, don’t reach out to her”. He actually said those words “don’t reach out to her”. I was completely freaked out. I told my Dad about my dream through tears and we agreed that I had to reconnect with Audrey. I was afraid for her. The next day I called my Aunt B. – she was best friends with Audrey’s Mother and she would tell me what to do. She immediately gave me the green light and said that Audrey just needed a friend right now.

Audrey and I were fine, we picked up like we were 10 years old again. She was terrified and it was my turn to be the Mother. She had Hodgkin’s Disease – stage 2b. As we caught up on our lives it turned out that we were on a similar career path in the entertainment industry. Although she wanted to be a writer she had just left her job as an assistant with a Talent Manager in the New York. I had interviewed for HER job just a few weeks earlier – not realizing at that time that it was her job. I recalled the manager saying that her assistant “Audrey” was leaving to work for Howard Stern. I was offered the position, but the hours conflicted with my schedule in film school. Audrey and I chatted for about 3 hours that night. She was starting chemo the next day and just needed to talk it out. She was 25 years old, back living with her parents…and very sick. I asked her if she was going to write about her journey with cancer since she was an aspiring writer, but she said it was too painful to put down in words. That night when we hung up the phone I started a journal for her. I have no idea where that journal is now…but I remember my first entry very well, “Audrey is starting chemo tomorrow, God I am so afraid for her, I would rather die then go through something like that.” Those words would come back to smack me in the face about 4 months later....


(End of Part I - The Facebook Series)
Stay tuned to find out who in this tale I reconnect with. Does Audrey survive? Why would my words come back to haunt me? Whatever happened to the girl we bullied?....

I can bust a move!

Another good day. I seem to be the 48 hour subway queen and still riding strong baby.

Tonight's tale is brought to you by Cracker Barrel & Gallo wines.
This evening we had a rare work gathering over some cheap wine and cheese (note the not-so-witty Cracker Barrel reference). The head of our department was in New York from LA and we were in need of some serious departmental bonding. Well - she brought along a little surprise guest with her (to rattle the nerves of every intern and assistant in the room) - the President of our extremely large and public media corporation. There were about 20 people in the room - so it was quite intimate and there was nowhere to hide. I saw many 23 year olds sweating and one side of the room cleared just to make room for her. (I must note that she had the most fabulous shoes on). We were asked to go around the room and say who we are...what we do...and one thing about ourselves that people would be surprised to know. My manic brain suddenly popped up the most random thing imaginable...something my parents don't even know. I don't even know how my brain filtered this particular segment of my life and I was already laughing when I shouted out that I HAD to go first! I built up the suspension...I told them that NO ONE knows this...not my family, not my best friends....not even my shrink (you know that got a big laugh)...
(Oh Manic Blogger would you friggen tell us already?!?!). I (my dear friends) - was in a break dance crew in 1983. To know me now....well you would die. I am 230 lbs, Jewish and have the biggest tits you have ever seen. I painted the visual and talked about my signature moves...the robot and the worm. I was only upstaged by one woman who has half a sewing needle stuck in her knee and it will be there for the rest of her life. Damn needle injury will win every time. Bitch.

Holy Crap! Bush Block!

Ok...I may need to thank Mr. President and the lovely Governor Palin for creating the worst grid-lock in New York City history and maybe for curing me. What am I talking about...you maybe asking your pretty self. Well, of course I'll tell ya.... I am never shy of a good rant...or clear personal drama. After-all it all revolves around me. (smirk)
OK....sigh...ok (still a bit worked up). If you are one of my 5 lovely blog followers (thank you repeat customers - I do love ya) you know that I have major panic issues with walking the streets or taking the subway. Slight problem if you live in NYC. Well, on this lovely fall morning I got a cab to work - like any other day (oh my poor broke ass!). BUT, ugh...BUT (ok,getting worked up again)The UN General Assembly is in session (let's hear it for world peace...never mind that Bipolar lady in Gramercy Park who is trying to get to mid-town and fast!). This session includes world leaders like President Bush, Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and Sara Palin (wait...what? I said WORLD leaders...yikes!) - so security is SUPER tight all over the city. The city shut down so many streets that there was/is insane grid-lock like no other I tell ya. I have never EVER seen traffic like this. 14 dollars and 30 minutes later - we were NOWHERE - an actual circle! 5 blocks from my house. I was running late for work, the big boss lady is in town and I had no choice...but (wait for it)...but (here it comes)to TAKE A SUBWAY! A what? A who? I started to cry in the back of the cab (such a poor dear). I kept telling myself that this would be good for me and to push forward. So I did.

The last time I was on a subway was early July with my Exposure Therapy Doctor (trust me...I have a friggen team!). It was about 96 degrees that day and we stupidly got in the only car with no air-conditioning (Manic Blogger internal dialogue alert) "Gee...I wonder why that car is empty -let's get in that one - so we have lots of room - that will keep me calm" (sucker). I kind of flipped out...I couldn't breath....I had too many layers on that I would not take off - suffer or show my fat arms...I will always choose to suffer. There was this woman just sitting there reading her paperback novel and I wanted to yell "Lady, what the fuck? It is 102 degrees in here...there's no air....get out! RUN!". All the while my doctor is smiling at me and telling me to breath with my abdomen. In through the nose, and out through the mouth and repeat. I was pissed at my doctor when we got out at the next stop (panting - looking quite attractive may I add)...I told him that he blew it (nicely of course)....I would never take a subway again. OK...a bit dramatic...but what was he thinking pushing me on such a hot day? Feh. Before that day I had not been on the subway in about a year.

So, back to today. I was OK. A touch stressed...but really OK. What? Who said that? The funny thing is (as if this was not all ridiculous to start with)...my subway ride is only 6 minutes! I'm such a dork. My chemicals are clearly WAY more balanced now (god bless Trileptal). This could be the big breakthrough me and my doctor have been waiting for (maybe all will be forgiven). Such drama...but a good tale.

So, you maybe asking yourself..."Oh Manic Blogger, how did you get home tonight?" - well my dear friend(s) - I TOOK THE SUBWAY HOME! TADA!

End Scene.

Serotonin Syndrome

BACKSTORY again - If you read my last entry (which you should because I somehow managed to be a bit funny) - I shared a panic story from hell (or Times Square - same thing). I forgot to mention how I got better (ish)! It turns out that I was suffering from Serotonin Syndrome. Serotonin syndrome - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia - My Doctor is a bit of a genius and figured it out in about 10 minutes. I was on 3 meds that had Serotonin in them - even just trace amounts. A beta-blocker, Trazodone, and Wellbutrim (I think...I am trying to remember). Just a reminder of how much this can be chemical - forgive yourself (please). I really saw the other side of sanity that bitter night. I hope to never see it again. It took about 2 weeks from me to get the maddening Serotonin levels out of my system. I was suffering for about 2 months without knowing it. I had to have an intern or an assistant walk me out of the building every night (can you imagine working for such a nutty boss - I told them I had health issues...which is not really a lie - I terrified them...I think they thought I was dying). I could no longer take the escalator - so they had to bring my down to street level through the freight elevator, which was also the secret celebrity entrance. They would hold my arm - and watch me shake and have to take mini steps to the lobby. Then one of them would stay behind to hail a cab for me. On the below evening - they were both not in the office...so I had to go it alone (I hid all of this from my boss!). I did call a dear friend to come get me...but she was confused and went to my apartment downtown. I felt too bad to have her come up to mid-town so I lied and told her I was fine. I had to lie about many things during that time.

I hate weekends!

Oh the weekends. Most people start their countdown to the weekend on Mondays – for me I kind of dread them. I once loved the weekends. I would walk the streets of Manhattan – one camera around my neck, another in hand. My passion for this dreamy city was huge and the weekends were like a drug. Soho, Battery Park City, Central Park, East Village…all of it. My favorite adventure was a good walk over the Brooklyn Bridge on a crisp fall day with a dear friend. We would have brunch in Dumbo Brooklyn and chat it up over some slamming coffee and decedent pancakes at Bubby’s Restaurant. Sigh. Those days are long gone.

I have been crippled with panic disorder for about 2 years now. I had it in my early 20’s as well. The beast of panic is something that is hard to put into words or explain to anyone who has not experienced it first had. I am not talking about a racing heart and shortness of breath (although I’ve had that too and it is not to be taken lightly) – I am talking about irrational fear that makes your head spin. I get very dizzy out on the streets or in wide-open spaces and I don’t surf the emotions well. I have fainted from panic. I have gotten stuck while crossing 3rd Avenue in the intersection – traffic coming and my feet would not move. I felt completely disconnected from my body – which is also known as depersonalization (which I once experienced for about 5 months straight!).

My doctor feels that my “manic” state shows it ugly face through sever panic. I don’t have the pleasure of experiencing hypo-mania or mania like other bipolar patients. I don’t go on shopping sprees, sex-capades or stay up for nights with creative bursts (although I sometimes get a bit brain-stormy). The panic has taken over my life and has strained a few friendships. I manage to get to work and back home (in a cab). I avoid lunch dates with colleagues outside of the building because I work in Times Square of all places. It is a bit comical. I mean there I am – holding on to a lamp post at 45th and Broadway – middle of the winter…shaking with fear praying for a damn cab. The Naked Cowboy is singing away, tourists are snapping photos with me as the nut-job in the background, the lady trying to sell comedy show tickets is screaming in my ear “Who likes comedy” – and I am about to punch her in the face (not really – but I have fantasized about it). “I’m having a meltdown here people!” I want to scream for help. But I can’t….I am outside work and what if someone I know sees me? So…I stand there…shaking…freezing…terrified. Finally I ask a police officer for help. I tell him I have panic disorder and can he please get me a cab (pretty nervy right…to ask New York’s finest to be a doorman and fetch me a ride?). He gently asked me if I needed to go to the hospital (he was young and compassionate)…I pondered it…and kindly said no with tears streaming down my red/frozen cheeks (I wish I wore a hat and gloves that day – I was so numb from the cold it hurt). He and his partner stop traffic in TIMES SQUARE and tell the cab diver I have a hip problem (at the time I was 275 lbs and that was an easy sell). I eased into the back of the warm cab - finally safe - silence - (I could not believe what just happened…it took me 1 hour to get a cab because I would not let go of the lamp post!).

So, back to the weekends. With all of that said…why would I leave my house on the weekends? How can I? But I have to. It’s called exposure therapy and the more I do it…the easier it will get. And maybe, just maybe (I write this with tears in my eyes) I will be able to walk over the Brooklyn Bridge with my friend Donna again.

Today, Sunday – I had success. I went to a trade show and schmoozed for business (I could have easily gotten out of it)…then I walked 3 blocks – hopped a downtown bus and went shopping at Lord and Taylor (not a fun manic spree…as I said…just lost some weight and have nothing to wear – found one sweater…no fun in that!). After Lord and Taylor I walked another 5 blocks to another store (Lane Bryant…I dream of the day I can get out of the fatty stores…but that’s for another blog). This was a big day for me. I have done this route before many times…but it is nice to see things in an upswing again. I did it.

The above photo is from one of my winter walks over the Brooklyn Bridge with my friend. The moment the rain came – it was as if we had the entire bridge to ourselves. The back-story to this photo is even more spectacular. My apartment had been robbed in October of 2003 and all of my cameras were stolen (no renter’s insurance). An amazing group of friends (including the one in the picture) – raised money from clients and colleagues and gave me over $2,000 to buy new cameras! Over 35 people pitched in and wrote the most touching card (I have never felt more loved and special). This was the first shot I took with my new camera (film). Winter 2004.

About Me and the stigma of being a wack-a-doodle

Hey there Manic Blog visitor! Come sit awhile and hear my back-story, will ya? Thanks for reading my not-so-first but VERY honest blog. I live everyday in secret - 90% of the people I interact with on a daily basis have no idea that I suffer from bipolar (there...I said it!). I am an executive at a very large media corporation in the talent group. I friggen love my job - but the love for life has gotten away from me due to this imbalance. I am "high-functioning" according to my doctors. I am a "fighter" according to my friends. If this blog helps one person continue their fight for balance...or one person to speak up at work against disability discrimination...or helps one person to better understand and support their friend, family member or co-worker who is suffering from mental illness - then I have been blessed with being well enough to share my voice and thank you. I hope to one day fight the insurance laws - so that the mentally ill are covered - just like any other major illness. You can be high-functioning and still be mentally ill, just like any other disease. You are a human being with a chemical imbalance and IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT.

When I started to blog on another site I was ready to share my hilarious life stories...the ones that would make people giggle and walk through life's embarrassments with me....and somewhere in the mix share some of the painful crap too. But I was too busy trying to get my life on track to look back. I needed to deal with the present. So I didn't blog - I wrote on http://www.dailystrength.org/ in my private online journal and in my pretty leather bond diary tucked next to my bed. I let out all the hurt and anger -released through words - but never quite gone for good.

Here's the important long-winded back story to my current state. Mental illness has had a grip on me for almost 5 years. While I had issues with depression and anxiety in my early 20's - it was nothing like this. It all started when I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism. The synthetic thyroid replacement drug, Synthroid, did not agree with my system...and it put me in a tailspin that I am still trying to get out of today. It caused manic behavior that mirrored the side-effects of having HYPERthyroidism. I kept telling my MD (at that time) that something was wrong, but he kept telling me that my thyroid levels were normal and to see a shrink. ("Tailspin" does not even come close to describing where my brain went 5 years ago...it was like someone threw the crazy switch on). I called a Psychiatrist that I had not seen in about 6 months and told her I was having anxiety and asked her to please put me back on Prozac. I failed to mention the Synthroid because the doctor kept telling me it was not apart of the problem and I began to believe him. Within 2 weeks of being back on Prozac I went insane. Faces started to look odd to me - I felt paranoid. The lights hurt my eyes. I was on edge all the time and snapping at everyone. I could no longer function on the streets of Manhattan - it was all too fast and too much. My resting heart rate was over 105. The nightmare of the next 5 years had begun. I went on a six week unpaid medical leave from the job I had at that time (8 years at the same company as a talent agent). 6 weeks was not nearly enough time...I returned before I was ready because my boss was going on maternity leave and if I didn't come back - they were gonna replace me. I somehow pushed through as my doctors tried to find the right combo of meds while building my thyroid back up to right way. Fast forward 2 years....

I am 2 years into a new job with my dream corporation and have a slamming view of NYC. I am kicking ass at my job, but I am faced with the pain that I have to go on another medical leave because the tailspin...well....it never stopped. 16 months ago I went on that leave and I checked into a hospital for 12 nights just to trapper of Cymbalta (one of the many drugs we tried over the recent years). I was suffering from rare withdrawal syndrome from Cymbalta and was experiencing what can only be described as "brain zaps". The withdrawal also left me with the most sever depression I have ever experienced. I just wanted to die. I gained 75lbs on Cymbalta and I was on medical leave for 4 1/2 months. Once again I returned before my body was ready - but I did not want to lose my position that I worked so damn hard for.

Today I am "possibly" turning a corner (it's only been a week!) and all I can think about is helping others and what I will do when I truly get better (oh the freedom of sanity!). But I am afraid...what if people figure out who I am - then they will all know that I suffer from depression and crippling panic disorder (I don't like to call this bipolar because I am not convinced - or perhaps I just fear the stigma). What if I lose my job? Well, the harsh reality that I WAS being discriminated against at work started to unfold just 3 weeks ago. My boss made a case against me for other issues like not being a good manager and went on record with HR. People from work and even outside of the office started to come forward to tell me that my boss was gossiping about my health and my weight! She was fishing for poor reviews and leaving out the good. She was even asking people to report me that had no issues with me. My instincts were right...the stigma of mental illness lives. The mountains of evidence against her began to rise, such as inappropriate conversations with colleagues regarding my "behavior" or private health issues. The brave people started to come forward. I now have an attorney (one that has made a case against this same boss before!) - but I am not suing. I love my career and the company I work for....I am just protecting myself in case they try to fire me...and I have gone on record with human resources as well (2 can play at that game).

While all of the above drama was occurring...my chemical state was severely off and rapidly declining with each day. I had to put on a face everyday to make it through. My doctors were trying to keep me a float. My weekends were the darkest...crying in bed / screaming into my pillow - wishing for cancer (and I am a cancer survivor!).

On top of the work stress and the apparently acute chemical meltdown....all of my insurance bounced back from May 1st on (my 35 out of network out-patient visits for mental health care were already used for the year by mid-April). I owe my doctors thousands of dollars. They all assured me it would be fine because I was protected by the NY State Law - Timothy's Law that went into effect in 2007. So, I kept seeing my doctors...the bills kept mounting and I kept trying to get coverage from my insurance company. Well....there is a loop hole. Timothy's Law http://www.timothyslaw.org/ does not apply to self-insured corporations or companies who's insurance is based outside of NY state. My company is both self-insured and based out of CA.

I could not make ends meet for another reason. Due to my panic disorder I get very dizzy when outside. I can't walk the 7 blocks to the subway. I even went through a period of time when I could not cross the street - the fear would lock my brain - frozen. So, I have to take a cab to and from work each day. That usually costs about $25 a day!

Then the food! I am obese. When there is food in the house...I eat it all! So I started ordering every meal in. But who was I kidding...I wasn't ordering steamed chicken and broccoli and saving some for tomorrow - I was ordering burgers and fries and pounding it all down in one sitting. So I got up to 274 pounds! I started to see an obesity specialist in March - who put me on a low glycemic index diet. I swiftly made the shift and have lost 40lbs (to date). Getting the sugar out of my body was not easy - but I immediately realized how sick it was making me...and it was the cause of my migraines! I will never eat sugar again - sugar equals illness for me.

When I learned that Timothy's Law was not gonna come through...I had to budget everywhere I possibly could - I had no choice but to face some fears and make serious changes. As of 3 weeks ago - I stopped ordering in. I only have healthy food in the house. I still binge...but on carrots, apples and cheese. (Boy, I quickly learned that peanut butter could no longer be my friend! - We broke up last night.). Each day with food in the house gets easier - I hope to stop obsessing about it soon. Dear god - so ridiculous. I have not lost weight in 2 weeks - due to the food being around...but I will hang in there - the eating will calm down.

So, with all of this debt I had to cash in a 401k which was just sitting there with a company I left 3 years ago. The 401k has lost over $6,000 in the past 3 months due to the stock market (thanks Bush) - the check came yesterday - it will barely cover the doctors for the year (if I'm lucky). I am OK with cashing it in - I can't imagine I will make it to retirement age - I have already had cancer, radiation, 20 years of obesity, former smoker and years of stress - just wish I could have rolled it over when it was actually making money and taken it out for a house or a sweet vacation.

Things were so bad that 3 weeks ago I thought about going on medical leave (again) - it has been over 12 months since my last leave. If I went on leave - I could get 100% pay for 13 weeks (80% for an additional 13 weeks - but my position will not be held past 12 weeks). I could check into a hospital for treatment which would be fully covered (take THAT stupid laws...now it will cost your triple!). Ah...but my doctor encouraged me to fight for a few more weeks (he seriously laid down the law). With my boss on her summer vacation he wanted me to trust him enough to stay at work and let him adjust my meds as needed. I was afraid to have an even worse reaction and then give her a real reason to witness true odd behavior...but with her out of the way - I could just let go and heal. I am currently on 75mgs of Lamictal and 375 mgs of Trileptal (this was the new addition) - and we upped my Synthroid to hopefully get my thyroid to a happier place (stupid gland!). I take Restoril and Klonopin for sleep and Loestrin24 for my sever PMDD. It seems to be working. My thoughts are not racing as much at night (but I still have a friggen song looping in my head for over a month now!). I don't feel like dying and the manic crying fits have stopped (FYI: I rarely cry at work and keep it hidden if ever). I feel like I can move forward with my CBT/exposure therapy which was put on hold due to the chemical issues. CBT has really helped over the past 2 weeks - here's how....I have major sleep issues that started after my mother died when I was six (I know I am dumping a lot of back-story on you right now...more time for that later). I don't like to feel like I am losing control and sleep can at times be that for me. I am now calming down at night by shutting off the computer and blackberry by 10:00pm. I take my sleep meds earlier and I make sure it all feels like a sleep ritual. I am in bed by 11:00pm. I do breathing exercises or think about all that I am grateful for. Lack of sleep equals panic and depression. We had to get the sleep under control first. I think I am ready to get back to exposure therapy and start walking the streets again....perhaps give public transportation a try (soon). First I have to start with leaving my house more on the weekends. On Sunday (tomorrow) I will go out to cover an event for work and plan on taking the bus there - not a cab. I am some what hopeful - for a change.

I have had amazing support from fabulous friends who are all gorgeous, brilliant and most importantly funny. We always manage to find a joke somewhere in there. Unfortunately most of my family has sucked through this process (the same suspects that sucked 13 years ago when I had cancer). I have one cousin who has rocked! My Dad, Step-mom and brother have failed to cope. My stepsister is trying the best she can. My parents live in fear of me becoming a financial burden. Things have really blown up with them over the past 2 weeks...since I shared all of the above with them. I had to write my Dad a very blunt email. I think it has helped. Only time will tell. I am 38 years old and it is time to truly stand on my own 2 feet and remind myself that IT IS NOT MY FAULT!