A very good place to start

I guess I'll start at the beginning...  I was a good kid but never got great grades.  Never really got in trouble. Quiet. Shy.  At least until I hit high school.  Boy was that fun.  Sex, drugs and rock-n-roll.  With smoking and alcohol sprinkled on top.  I dropped out my 2nd go at 9th grade and got my GED.  When I was 17 I hooked up with a complete loser, whom I will lovingly refer to as Dickhead.  He was an abusive bastard.  I got pregnant and had a beautiful baby girl when I was 18.  I grew up fast.  I worked (unlike Dickhead) and supported all of us but after a few years it hit me.  "What the fuck am I doing?"  So, I dumped his lazy ass, moved in with my parents, went to college and worked up to 3 part-time jobs at a time until I graduated.  College is where I met my hubby.  We became instant best friends doing everything together.  After a while we realize we were falling for each other.  Next thing you know we're getting married, he is adopting my daughter, and we are having a baby boy.  That was it.  December 1999 was the last time I had my sanity.

It was originally diagnosed as postpartum depression with numerous diagnosises (is that right?  Is "diagnosises" a word?) since then.  When our son was a baby I was unable to care for him and never wanted the hubbs to leave my side.  My family was very supportive by caring for the kids and what-not but it wasn't long until Larry had to leave his job because of my problems.

Wow.  There is really a lot more to that.  Maybe I'll talk about that one day.

After a year I was on meds and receiving therapy and we thought it would be a good idea for me to work.  So I got a job.  Then another one.  Then another one.  The last one lasted 3 or 4 years and I did okay at work.  Had my moments but they were understanding.  Home life sucked.  I would come home crying and go to bed.  Somewhere during those years I was finally diagnosed as Bipolar type 2, with my meds constantly changing since this all began.

Did I mention, I LOVE to sleep!  It's my favorite activity.  Ask my kids, they'll tell ya.

So I left a perfectly good job for another one making more $$.  I completely flipped out there.  I think at my "good" job, I felt safe.  People knew what was wrong with me and took care of me.  Plus, I am more comfortable with men and I was surrounded by them there.  The job I flipped at was mostly all women.  I knew it was not going to be a good fit, but I went anyways.

The men comment...  No, I'm not sleeping with them.  But I am a disgusting perv that likes to talk about my sexcapades with my hubbs, dirty jokes, football and I cuss like a sailor.  (Actually I've dated a sailor that told me my mouth was worse than one.)  I'm not into fashion, hair, shoes, makeup, purses, mani/pedi's.  I own 3 pairs of shoes.  My "working in the yard" flip flops, my "everyday" flip flops, and my "dressy" flip flops.  I haven't put a pair of socks on in years, nor shoes that cover my toes.  I just don't give a shit about that stuff and have no interest in a conversation that includes it.  Don't get me wrong, I do have female friends, but I'm not especially close to any but maybe 1 or 2 of them.  And for that matter I haven't seen them in years.  I only have one friend that I try to see and talk to and that is John Dillinger.  Besides my hubbs, he's my bestie.

Bla bla bla.  Anyhow, I left that job and was unable to work for a while.  Got another job and walked out on that one and haven't worked since.  I've been Baker Acted a couple of times, have had several suicide attempts and just recently went through 9 rounds of Electro Convulsive Therapy.

And that is it in a nut shell.  Here I am.  I'm unable to work because I hate being near people, I have a short attention span (took me forever to type this - I keep getting side tracked), I have an awful memory because of the ECT's, I don't retain information, bla bla bla.  Oh, and because I'm fucking crazy.

I didn't really get into any of my crazy "episodes"...  Not really sure what is going to go into the blog.  I'm sure I will at some point.