Leave me here in my stark raving sick sad little world

Well, World, I'm here to tell you about madness. I'm here to tell you what frightens me most; my boogeyman.  I'm so afraid of loosing myself, more so, my grip on reality. I truly fear insanity. For me, it's not just some out there notion, for me it's a realistic monster looming on my doorstep, outside my window, in the dark corners of my room--my mind, really.  I don't know why I feel this way--I don't know why I'm even telling you this--except for maybe the hope that someone can help keep me grounded here. I like it here, it's nice. I don't want to leave yet, at least, not like that.  You see, World, I'm bipolar. A rapid cycler, to be precise.  I'm not one of those lazy assholes who can't control themselves, so they blame it on chemical screw ups. I'm the genuine article, folks, and I've refused medication for years. You don't know how hard it is to function like this.  With each manic episode, the psychotic symptoms get worse, and they linger longer. You see, I experience some psychotic episodes in my mania, which is I experience things like a schizophrenic sometimes in my mania.  Here, now, as I come down from this craziness (or maybe I'm going back up, who knows) I find it harder and harder to keep in mind what is real. I can't watch T.V. or read, especially not fantasy.  Fantasy is dangerous to me, but I enjoy it anyway. I feel so lost afterwards, like I want to be back home in the made up world. I hear things, see things, feel things that aren't there. I begin a war in my own head, not knowing which side is good. And then the emotions flood me, spur me to actions I don't want to do. Sometimes it's nice, I don't really know what I'm doing, the ignorance is fantastic. Others, I feel like a spectator at the worst marionette show ever.  Fighting for control exhausts me. The medicine isn't a good alternative, mind you. I know there may be a few out there who think I should just give in to meds if it will help. Truth is, they make my quality of living just as bad. I'd rather have fire and ice inside me than nothing at all. Lithium is the only real med for bipolar. Antidepressants only cover half the chemical basis, and therefore are inadequate.  Lithium makes you gain tons of weight, hurts your kidneys and other valuable organs...like your heart...and it makes you, I don't know how to describe it, not there.  I felt like a cracked out ghost. I felt like a body. I just hope I don't spiral out of control. I'm so scared each episode will last too long.  Music helps calm me down.  So does the OCD, although that can backfire. I feel like if I can control my environment, I can help control the episodes--both high and low.  But sometimes the when I get too OCD, it compounds the emotions that are brewing beneath the surface.  You see, if you had a good psych class, you'd have gotten this explanation: There's stages or a cycle in bipolar, typically. Depression, which is intense, and usually encompasses the majority of the cycle.  There's a slightly normal stage, which for me a lot, is vapid.  There's hypo-mania, which is that super happy awesomeness most people mistake for mania. Here, I'm happy, excited and exciting, flirtatious, funny, outgoing, and just the life of the party. When this turns into real mania, it's like watching a mirror shatter and seeing everything distort and turn strange shades of colors. Here, Em takes backstage and it comes out.  My mania warps everything in hypo-mania; fun turns to danger, happiness to fanaticism, and usually intense wrath and violence. I could be incredibly dangerous to myself, but mainly to others.  I've wanted to kill. I could've, too.  Mind you, I have enough control to remove myself from the situation.  I am not a danger to society. Training yourself to stop the monster, to take over her power, it's almost too much.  Sometimes I'm the observer, sometimes it's like it chloroformed me and I'm out in the closet.  I can't predict it.  Meditation, martial arts, crafts to focus, philosophy, and anything to try and release endorphins and serotonin all help keep me functioning.  This balancing act is tough, but it's my only way to function in society. I have too much I want to do before they haul me off, and when I'm truly me, I don't want to hurt people.  I won't, don't get me wrong, I already said I'm not a danger to society.  Bigots with a gun are more dangerous than I will ever be.  Besides, I'd hurt with my hands and body before ever picking up a weapon...and those who know me, I'm a shrimpy kid. Some damage I would do, haha.

What a dramatic turn, eh World? This is part of my reason for writing this blog, release, control, understanding.  Mental illness has such an ugly stigma surrounding it, but we need help. It is a common problem and disgustingly misdiagnosed.  If we could all educate each other, things would be better on all sides.  People could understand those like me and help us, while we help broaden the mind of society.  I was in a phasing stage writing this, so I apologize, but I hope you can learn something, and in turn, let me learn from you.  

Before I've even finished this entry, my mood has already changed.  I feel clearer, I know what is real, and I'm "fine" now.  At least things will never be boring in my life, I guess I can look at it that way, haha.

Namaste

A little bit of country...A little bit of Rock and Roll...

So this is going to be a dual purpose entry today.  I'm talking about fashion and food all in one! Woah! Spicy!
Let's start with...

FASHION!
Here in New Orleans, it's Sprimmer, or pre-Summer. This season usually lasts about two weeks before cascading into full blown Summer, though sometimes it rolls back into another freeze, then bypasses Sprimmer for Summer.  Though the pictures are inadequate today, I have an example of good shorts-weather attire, and a good explanation of shitty shorts-weather attire.

Good

• The shorts are distressed, but don't have holes in them. They are a nice semi-dark wash, but are very soft and light and breathable; good for Nola heat.
• The shorts are short, but not showing ass, cellulite, or pubic hair.
• The top is colorful and flattering with a v-neck, which shows off collarbone and shoulders without too much cleavage.
• Tucking the shirt in lets the belt define the waistline (w/o tight fabric suffocating your skin) and proves you have a crotch. Hiding your crotch is a sure fire way to make you seem short(er) and like you have stubby legs. Elongate your gams, girls! 
• Comfortable, simple flats with arch support are in. TOMS=love.
• The sweater compliments the lavender in the shirt, but isn't too heavy. (Optional)
• The deep brown leather with bronze is a soft, yet rustic touch.
• The locket (hard to see) matches the bronze belt buckle. (Optional)
• And a smile is always in season.

Bad

• Those are athletic shorts.  If you aren't sleeping or doing some form of athletics, step away from the spandex! Not only do you look sloppy, you look completely unprofessional. I wear these on campus as rarely as possible. I feel the need to give the professors the courtesy of me wearing real clothes to class.
• The shorts are so tight and thin, I can see your panties. Gross. I don't want to see a camel toe in the front either, ladies, even grosser.  Not only that, but they barely cover the ass. Can you imagine if she bent over?! How much butt and vagina is enough?!?
• Bra straps slip out on every girl, it happens, but if your shirt has a racer-back, use a proper bra. 
• Tight, thin wife-beaters are lounge shirts and undershirts.  My older brothers got on my case all the time when I was younger about how sloppy and skanky I looked walking outside in one. Colored or nicer tank tops are cheap, try that instead.

That's my fashion commentary for the day! I'm by no means a prude, so if you got that message, you weren't reading correctly. On a slight tangent, I, personally, embrace European/Asian/Anywhere but America ideals about sexuality and the human body. Puritans and censors be damned! My body is beautiful and deserves to be loved/shown off/embraced/worked/fed/photographed/worshiped/seen! However, I believe there are sensible ways to show it off, being shorts that accentuate my hips and butt without revealing if I tan my rosy cheeks with the rest of my body.  Same with my boobs; they're huge and should be flaunted without flashing everyone. I'm going to stop before I let this tangent go on into slightly feminist notions regarding expletives, sex, the right to choose (anything, not abortion stuff, kiddies) the power of the vagina, and  a certain professor at my school...whose class I don't even take...

Next on the menu:

FOOD FOOD NOM NOM NOM.

I'll take you back to last night and last winter with this entry.  The most recent first, last night was definitely an experiment night.  With only mild explorations on the web for ideas, I needed a tasty, light, healthy(ish) dish to use my sweet bell peppers and cherry tomatoes.  I went back to my Mediterranean pasta I made Valentine's day (sorry, no pictures :( I know, I've failed you, World) and decided to use that technique.  And thus Bell Pepper Pasta was conceived! 

To begin, sauté a yellow and orange bell pepper in olive oil. I just covered the pan bottom and added more as I saw fit. OO is my best friend, and I hope you two will get along nicely, too.

Over low heat, sauté for about 15 mins, adding a splash of Vanilla Vodka 3/4 of the way through.  Now here, kiddies, is where I goofed a little. I intended to use the mass load of cherry tomatoes my boymate's mom gave us, but I couldn't successfully cut the suckers, so I decided to spoon in gratuitous amounts of this organic Bruschetta topping. The Bruschetta consisted of diced tomatoes, olive oil, basil, and garlic. I added a few dashes of garlic powder, anyway, and let this cook down for about 20-30 mins, adding OO periodically when I thought necessary.  Cook up some spaghetti, drain, add some OO, then mix in the bell pepper and Bruschetta sauce.  Add some grated parmesian cheese, have one final toss, and viola! 

  Not the best picture, but you get the drift. Sorry I didn't have it plated pretty, I was EXTREMELY hungry when I made this and juggling a baking project, too.  I cook in the Italian spirit: Cook according to taste, sight, and smell; not a set recipe.  "It's more like guidelines than actual rules..." Side note: I found tongs work best for tossing pasta with sauces like this.

I also dabbled in the realm of baking...which is dangerous to do sans recipe...but I did it anyway :P

Here's Emmy's version of Easy Apple Cobbler:

For a 8x4 bread pan, I used

• 1 apple
• half a box yellow cake mix
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1/2 cup brown sugar
• cinnamon
• 1 stick butter
• 1 cup water
• NOTE: I'm guessing on the amounts I actually used

Peel and thinly slice the apple, then put slices in the bottom of the pan.  Fill the pan with enough water to cover the bottom and cover 1/4 of the apples (in other words, not too much, but make sure you can see water on each side of pan).  I used a handful of brown sugar, a handful of white sugar, and a hefty sprinkling of cinnamon (to taste, really), then mixed/tossed the apples to coat evenly.  Pour about half the bag of dry cake mix on top the apples and smooth out the top.  Cut the butter into squares and cover the entire top of the mix.  Mine worked out perfectly with rows of 3 squares.  Sprinkle some brown sugar and cinnamon on top.  Here, I get a little complicated only because I haven't experimented enough to see if the outcome varies with temp. If you know better, feel free to do it without all the fuss. Bake at 375 for 15 mins, 300 for 35, and 350 for 10-20 mins.  Turn the oven off and let cool in there for a bit. It's delicious, golden, slightly crispy, and incredibly rich and sugary--just the way cobbler, to me, is supposed to be. It feeds two fatty pigs like my boymate and I very comfortably, or 4-6 regular people.

Something I had touched on in my lest entry was the amazing power of hummus. I will probably be singing its praises all blog long, so get used to it, World.  I thought back to a strange breakfast/pizza alternative I created once (though not so healthy) was absolutely delicious.  I call it Wowzza for obvious reasons.

Essentially, I was hungry and rummaged through the boymate's mom's kitchen for food only to find random stuff.  Being hungry for me is like being on drugs, I get really creative and make random shit.  This masterpiece consists of Tandoori Naan bread, toasted, with hummus and some sweet onion and yellow pepper salsa/jelly.  I then fried/grilled some bacon and sandwich turkey and threw that on top.  Next we have spinach drizzled with a little Croatian olive oil and apple cider vinegar.  Crowning my creation is one friend egg.  Ridiculus, I know. But it tasted so good, especially with the pepper stuff.  This is just one of my many hummus featured creations. Thank you for tuning in.

I'll get into juicy stuff about life tomorrow, World.  Why not end on such a good, tasty note? 

Me ke aloha,

Emmy Bird

NSync or Backstreet Boys?

Today was one of those days where you realize the value of a goodnight's rest...and usually how rarely a night of such bliss actually happens.  In my half-hearted delirium, I broke out into a fantastic rendition of "Bye Bye Bye" outside the UC, stopped only by a debate as to who actually performs the song. I'm not that old, but the days of boy bands are over a decade behind me.  I digress...

FOOD FOOD FOOD.

Yesterday, I created the sandwich to end all sandwiches. Okay, it was just really delicious. My plate consisted of:

• Sandwich: Organic Chicken breast, swiss, and caramelized onion patty with melted provolone cheese, more caramelized onions, hummus, spinach, and black forest ham.
• Bruchetta on low sodium crackers
• Water
• Hot Raspberry Chai Tea for digestion

As you'll pick up, World, I like to substitute hummus for mayo whenever possible for an extra protein punch and its not-so-fatty content. I'm slowly weening myself of the Blue Plate. It's tough, we southern belles love our mayo. Satisfying and delicious, this was an INCREDIBLY filling lunch. I'm a firm believer in several small, healthy meals throughout the day, so this may have been a little too big for me.

Sorry to cut it short, World, but I'm still catching up on rest and school work, so I'm calling it a day. I have a big day tomorrow with work related stuff, anyway. Deets later, KK??? Promise!!

Peace Out!

Ground Control to Major Tom...

Well hello there, World! Pleased to meet you, you can call me Emmy Bird, Emmy, or Bird.  I'd bore you with the long introduction of who I am and what I do, but that would take all the fun out of future posts. "So why are you blogging, Em?" Well, World, I'll tell you. Whether I have 100 followers or 0 followers, the idea that people are going to be counting on me to keep them posted on my quest to retain sanity will drive me to continue the quest...following me? I'm a space cadet in the most out-there way, and I'm pursuing some form of peace through the juggling of my daily life and my endeavors in different hobbies. On the menu this year: How to manage 2 jobs and full time school while maintaining a fabulous relationship and sex life. Also: Bird's Adventures in Knitting! My many dabblings in cooking will of course make a few appearances; I am Sicilian, after all (There! my 2nd revealing fact! Cookies if you picked out the first bit!)  And happier, healthier living styles will be dessert.

Tomorrow starts the real adventure, as tonight requires the completion of school work.  I can't wait to shove off, World! We'll have a great time!

Bisous!