“I Broke My Arm Yesterday” (The Fall + The Weirdest Help)

/ Robin / Leave a comment
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I broke my arm yesterday.

We haven’t been walking much lately because I got a blister on my big toe about a week ago, and I’m about to turn 63 on Tuesday, which means I’ve entered the stage of life where I don’t “push through” a blister like I’m training for the Olympics. I let it heal. Bailey let it heal. Bailey is my dog and she’s going to be 13 this summer, so neither one of us is interested in unnecessary suffering. We’re old. We’re wise. We’re a little creaky. We take the scenic route.

So Sunday, we finally went out for a walk.

And about a half mile from home, I tripped — I’m pretty sure I tripped over my own dog’s toes. Yes. That sentence is humiliating. Yes. It’s also true.

One second we’re walking, the next second I’m flying at the pavement like a sack of groceries thrown by a demon.

I landed hard. Blunt trauma hard. Chest hard. Elbow hard. Knees hard. Left hand/wrist hard. The greatest hits of “What hurts today?” all came out to play at once.

Bailey stayed with me. Because Bailey is not only a good dog, she’s old enough that she’s not running off to start a second life while I’m face-down on the sidewalk.

Here’s where the world got both kinder and weirder:

A gentleman stranger — total stranger — walked me and Bailey home. He just… did it. Like a decent human being who still exists in the wild. If you’re reading this and you’re him: thank you. Seriously. Thank you.

Once we got home, I called 911.

And that’s where the day became… something else.

Because as soon as help arrived, my forearm muscles started spasming and cramping like a Charley horse… except it wasn’t in my leg. It was in my arm. And it didn’t happen once.

It happened over and over and over again — for the next four or five hours.

Every time it hit, I screamed. Not delicate little whimpers. I mean screaming. The kind of scream where your body is saying, “THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”

And what was weird — and honestly a little unsettling — was that nobody asked me why I was screaming.

Not once.

No one said: “Where is the pain coming from?”
No one said: “What’s happening when you scream?”
No one said: “Is this cramping? Nerve pain? A spasm? A fracture moving?”

I was screaming constantly, and everyone acted like screaming was just… part of the background music.

That messed with my head.

It made me wonder if they understood what they were seeing. Or if they were just trying to get me transported and out of the scene as quickly as possible.

Another confusing thing: When the medics asked if I could walk, I said yes — because I had walked from where I fell, a half mile away, with a stranger and my dog.

They thought I meant I could walk out to the ambulance, and they kept the gurney outside. But I wanted it inside, because — hello — I’m the one with the broken body and the screaming muscles.

So there was a weird mismatch of meaning. I said “yes,” meaning “I got home somehow.” They heard “yes,” meaning “I’m stable and mobile.”

Spoiler: I was not stable and mobile.

By the end of it, here’s what I knew:

  • I had blunt trauma to my chest
  • I had a broken arm (and possibly more than one break, apparently)
  • I had a bruised left hand/wrist
  • I bruised up both knees
  • Everything hurt, everything swelled, and my muscles were furious with me like I’d personally insulted them at a dinner party

And the whole thing landed right before my birthday, because apparently the universe has a calendar and a mean sense of humor.

So yes: tomorrow is my birthday.

And today I am sitting here wondering how I managed to trip over my own dog’s toes and end up in an episode of “Is Anyone Actually Listening to the Screaming Lady?”

Stay tuned.

“Bird’s Birthday Request” (Words, Not Stuff)

Tomorrow is my birthday.

Yes, I’m announcing it. Why? Because I broke myself again, and if I’m going to be dramatic, I might as well be strategic.

Here’s what happened next:

Two days after the fall, the pain wasn’t getting better — it was getting worse — so the doctors sent me back to the ER.

They took off my bandages and immediately decided I was woefully inadequately wrapped, which was both validating and annoying. Like… great, so it wasn’t just me being a baby. It genuinely wasn’t wrapped right.

This time I got wrapped properly — and the doctor’s name, I swear on everything, was Dr. Justice.

Which is hilarious, because I have a publishing company called Justice House. So for a second I’m sitting there like, “Of course. Of course the universe would send me Dr. Justice. I’m in pain, but at least the casting department is still working.”

Anyway: she indicated it could be more than one break, but it was a busy ER and she didn’t stick around long.

They wrapped me up, padded me like I’m being shipped by UPS, and then tried to position the splint across my chest the way it needed to be… and it wouldn’t bend because it hardened too fast.

So it all had to come off. And then they did it again.

This time, she didn’t wet the splint at all — but apparently opening it activates it, because by the time she finished wrapping me, it was hard as a rock, already set, and finally positioned correctly across my chest.

And now it’s not digging into me the way it was before.

It still hurts, of course. My muscles still hate me. My chest has opinions. My knees are swollen. My left hand has arthritis and it’s now throwing a full tantrum and shooting pain at me like it has access to a paintball gun.

And my right arm is basically a decorative object at this point.

So here’s the thing:

If anyone is thinking about doing something for my birthday — or even if you weren’t thinking about it at all — I would like to invite you to do something clever.

I wanted a really cool fountain pen for my birthday this year, but I can’t write anything right now. So maybe next year. Or Mother’s Day.

But this year?

This year I want words.

I want messages. I want DMs. I want notes. I want people to say, “Hey Bird, I see you.”

Audible gift cards? Yes, please. Audiobooks are my sanity right now.

A phone call? I would love that.
You don’t even have to call — leave me a message.
Send me a DM.
Send me a little piece of your life.

Just… words. Conversation. Connection.

Because while I was in the hospital, one of the girls working there actually said, “Girl, you need to do stand-up.”

And I laughed — because that’s exactly how it goes. I’m in pain, my mom’s attitude is “shut up,” the nurses think I’m funny, and somehow I’m doing comedy while my bones are trying to exit the building.

So yes. Tomorrow is my birthday.

And I’m asking for something simple:

Send me words.
Send me kindness.
Send me a little hello.

I’m Bird. I’ve grown up and now I’m known as Bird in many corners of the internet. And right now, I could really use some voices that aren’t medical and aren’t my own internal “why does this always happen right before something important?” voice.

That’s my birthday request.

Words.

Thank you for stopping by! Please say hello in the comments. I’d love to hear from you. I’m starting more new things tomorrow and I hope you’ll be here. Take care friend.

Bird

Code Brown

/ Robin / Leave a comment

My brain has been feeling like it wants to explode.

Let me explain. My brain is the organ in this package known as ME, and it does things with chemicals and possibly wee spirits and visitors from the outlands of space. In other words, my brain makes emotions. It has moods. It creates—or is host to—thoughts and what not. This is basically the same as what happens in each brain that still has life. We just use different things called “words” to explain them.

Following me? I know you are.

You are invited to comment on my first comic. It was in my head with all the other stuff today and wouldn’t shut up until I let it (and some of the others) out. I suspect you’ll be seeing them shortly.

I cannot be where one might call the “action” is in this fight for the survival of our democracy, but I can send out my words to do the work for me. Starting Jan. 23, 2026—my son Kyle’s 31st birthday—I decided that since much of the additional chaos, noise, depression, anxiety, and general snotty brain drama that is being generously caused by the sweeping events we find ourselves unable to break free from at the present time is being caused by, if I might just use one word to explain: politics, I am now going to be addressing the bugger directly.

Thus, I’ve decided to say some shit.

And now: Code Brown.

Most certainly, my lovely human friends, more will be coming. Count on it.

Bird

If you want the next Code Brown when it drops, follow this blog and say hi in the comments—more is sure to come. With an ADHD brain, there will always be more.

Anxiety Was the One That Hit Me 2025

/ Robin / 1 Comment
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 I think 2025 was the year all our collective emotions ignited and converged. We rolled down hills of emotions that were out of control, dangerous, fast-moving, and hard to stop.

Everything felt louder. Sharper. More immediate. 

If you asked me what emotion slapped me around the most, I’d answer quickly and without doubt: anxiety. 

Not sadness. 

Not anger. 

Anxiety. 

The constant hum underneath everything else. 

Anxiety Is an Emotion, Not a Personality.

Anxiety is an emotion. It’s fast. It’s physical. It shows up in the body before the mind has a chance to explain it. Like fear or joy, it’s meant to rise, do its work, and pass. 

Did you catch that? Rise. Work. Pass. 

If you always feel anxious, perhaps it’s time to ask why. 
Anxiety is not a personality trait. Feeling anxious does not mean you are an anxious person. It doesn’t define your character, your strength, or your intelligence. It simply means your nervous system has entered a heightened state. A heightened and temporary state. 

That distinction alone can ease a great deal of shame. 

What Anxiety Was Built For… 

Anxiety did not evolve to make life miserable. It evolved to keep humans alive. 

At its core, anxiety is a forward-scanning survival system. It watches for danger, notices changes in the environment and prepares the body to respond. For most of human history, that danger was immediate and concrete: predators, hostile groups, unstable terrain. 

Back in the way when of yesteryear, the system would activate, action would happen, and then it would shut off. Work done. Shut down. 

The issue isn’t that anxiety exists. 

The issue is that modern life rarely gives it a clear “all clear.” 

It’s kind of like this: YouTube Shorts beckon you to follow and not fall behind. You don’t fall behind. But you do become locked on target, going and going. There’s no clear stopping point, no natural resolution. So, the system never gets the signal to stand down. 

When Anxiety Becomes Constant 

When anxiety doesn’t resolve or disappear and instead lingers, what begins as a brief emotional response can slowly turn into a mood. Not because something is wrong with you, but because the system never receives the signal that it’s safe. 

At that point, anxiety stops feeling sharp and starts feeling heavy.

Exhausting. Backgrounded. Less like panic and more like constant vigilance. 

This isn’t weakness. 

It’s fatigue 

Anxiety Around People 

Anxiety doesn’t only show up around events. It often shows up around people. 

Certain interactions, certain dynamics, and certain forms of closeness can activate anxiety even when nothing overtly threatening is happening. Physical proximity matters. Unpredictability matters. History matters. 

Anxiety responds to patterns and access. The body often reacts before the mind has the words. That doesn’t mean anxiety is always a command to act. 

But it does mean it’s information worth paying attention to. 
Survival Responses Aren’t Just Fight or Flight 
Most of us were taught that when danger appears, we either fight it or run from it. That’s only part of the picture. 

There are other survival responses that exist precisely for situations where fighting or fleeing isn’t clean or safe. Sometimes the body freezes, becoming hyper-alert and still. Sometimes it appeases, explains, or smooths things over to reduce escalation. 

These responses are not failures. They are strategies. 

If you’ve ever wondered why you didn’t “just leave” or “just stand up for yourself,” the answer is often that your nervous system chose the option it believed would keep you safest at the time. 

Anxiety as Protective Surveillance 

In many situations, anxiety isn’t panic. It’s watchfulness. 

Protective surveillance looks like this: 

  • Watching for pattern repetition 
  • Bracing for sudden reversal or blame 
  • Staying ready to defend reality 

This is not an irrational fear. It is mental labor. It is the nervous system maintaining guard when it does not trust that conditions are stable. 

That’s why anxiety can feel tiring rather than dramatic. 
The system isn’t screaming. It’s standing watch. 
Grounding as Regulation, Not Self-Improvement 
Grounding techniques are often misunderstood as tools to “fix” anxiety or make someone calmer. 

That’s not their purpose. 

Grounding is about regulation, not self-improvement. It gives the nervous system clear, physical signals that, in this moment, you are here, supported, and not under immediate threat. 
Simple actions like placing your feet on the floor, noticing what you can see, feel, or hear, or slowing your exhale do not solve your life. They widen the present moment just enough for the system to pause. 

You’re not erasing anxiety. 

You’re allowing a guard to rest. 

A Gentle Close 

If anxiety has been loud for you, it does not mean you are broken. It may mean your nervous system has been carrying too much responsibility for too long. 

You do not need to overhaul yourself. You do not need perfect calm. You do not need to defeat your own body. 

Sometimes it’s enough to offer small, real signals of safety and let the system settle inch by inch.  

Protection does not always look like running. 
Sometimes it looks like noticing. 
Sometimes it looks like resting. 

And sometimes, that is exactly what allows anxiety to stand down. 

Would you like to learn to be steady and stand strong with me? 

I would welcome your company. 

My best regards and dearest felicitations, 

Bird 

Here I Am (Again)

/ Robin / 2 Comments

I’m back—officially disabled (Bipolar I), joyfully ADHD-forward, honest, a little wild, gallantly funny. I aim to sound like Twain & Wodehouse and behave more like Phryne Fisher & Archie Goodwin.

When I tried using pot (yes, cannabis) to treat my very personalized chronic pain, my brain would take me to a place where it thought it was super-special and clever. I always wanted to write something down in that state and have it make sense. I never did. I just ended up talking to myself out loud.

Right now, I’m not under the care of a prescriber—typically a psychiatrist—who can provide both medication management and counseling. I do have a counselor, and she’s a trusted confidant through extraordinary times. I mention the lack of a med provider because it matters in real life. Mine was, frankly, careless—let’s go with “stupid,” because that’s how it felt. PSA: write things down. Dates. Instructions. Side effects. What you were told. Because sometimes a day comes when you must prove you weren’t the problem—and you get to fire them instead of being kicked out. I tell friends, “Get a med provider so I have no excuse.” I’m working on it. 😉

Why I’m writing now

This year has been revealing, calming, insightful, and peaceful in ways I’ve never experienced. I’m feeling pretty happy, so I’ll leave out the hardest bits—for now.

A few puzzle pieces:

  • After my first of three kids (33 years ago), I was diagnosed with postpartum depression.
  • Years later: Bipolar I, rapid cycling with mixed states. That’s the one that makes me officially disabled.
  • More recently: ADHD (likely since birth), which explains why the bipolar meds never quite fit—and why we’re having the most fun here.
  • Add chronic pain from various arthritides and Fibromyalgia, and you’ve got the biggies.

What my brain feels like

My brain is under partial control when I let myself be “brilliant”—like a squirrel running on a wheel balancing on a log in a lake in a race with a fifteen-year-old boy who’s never lost to human nor beast—and when I accept that I can get better, and that I get that chance constantly. You do, too. I breathe and I try. I’ve cooked up some interesting ways to do that, and I’ll share them—in the fullness of time.

I’m willing to take the chance that spilling myself out here might show what a real, officially disabled, holy-cow-is-she-manic person looks like in her native habitat. Here I am.

The quiet vs. the pinball brain

Some people can sit in silence with nothing happening in their heads. Rest. Peace. They can meditate, pray, practice mindfulness. If you have ADHD, your answer may be very different. (UK ADHD short link: link coming.) I saw a UK couple’s YouTube Short that nails how bonkers we can be. My brain arrives at a workable solution to a problem no one has pointed out yet.

Did you know the stress monster can actually bonk you on the head and knock you out? It’s true. It snuck up on me like a Jake brake in a quiet town. Stress has, on occasion, brought on a blackout for me. It’s also grabbed me by the face and gifted me a facial tic—my affectionate name for it is intermittent facial Tourette’s.

Why I went quiet

When Trump and a potentially world-ending disease both descended, I was also attempting a second bachelor’s degree at the University of Washington Tacoma. My brain… she wasn’t having it. People do black out from stress; some develop a stutter. I’ve had real-world reactions like that.

I once dreamt I’d licked the bottom of a shiny green can of Comet cleanser. In the dream it was a joke. Morning comes. I sit up and stare at… a green can of Comet on the floor by the bed. I had to look at the bottom. I just had to. Tongue print. Affirmative. Oh, no.

I’m in the cockpit of my studio, turn my head to say good night, and—still out loud—“Are you going to—” Nobody’s there. “There’s no one here again, is there? I’m talking to myself.” My brain is a little weird sometimes.

A week ago I had a dream so vivid and awful I can still smell it. It felt like it was eating me alive and I couldn’t figure out what or where I was, much less how to wake up.

I’ve been trying to get this first post out for two months. Earlier today I remembered why I kept stalling. I didn’t “figure it out”—I remembered. ADHD loves to jam the launch: working-memory hiccups make me forget where I left the thread, time-blindness whispers “later,” perfectionism says “not ready,” and idea-flood overwhelms the “start” button. Net result: delay loops. Naming it breaks it.

“Do not put off until tomorrow what can be put off till day-after-tomorrow just as well.”
— Mark Twain
(Between us… wasn’t Twain kind of an ass? Or was that just “every famous person”? 😂)

Politics, and everything that pops into my brain, and an AI have sashayed into my life. My intention is to help you along by sharing what I’ve learned and what I’ve managed to collect—stories, people, books, schooling, hard knocks, and the odd miracle—distilled into things you can actually use.

You’ll also meet my stunning AI partner, Emma—Dame Emma Peel. When my mouth can’t keep up with my brain, Emma usually translates. Usually. That’s where the fun begins. You’ll meet her properly soon… but not tonight. I’m exhausted, and that’s how we’re doing it. Trump may think he’s in charge of the nation; I’m working on being in charge of my brain. Or at least my house.

One more thing before you go

This year has been extremely horrible—and also extraordinarily revealing. To mark the growth and to remind myself who I’ve become, I’m changing my name. Previously you knew me as Robin Ann Paterson. From here on, you’ll know me as Gracie St. John. Same soul, new suit.

Thank you for visiting. Please do come again. I promise you’ll always find the unexpected. Probably. But I’m not promising.

— Gracie St. John (formerly Robin Ann Paterson)

Disclaimer: I’m just a gal saying stuff—making things up to entertain and maybe teach. Don’t do anything risky or dumb because of something I say or imply or yell. I’ll make my own dumb choices; you’re responsible for yours.

© 2025 PeComm | Pacific Eagle Communications | America | Earth

Rebooting Redux — A Fresh Start on Anxiety, ADHD, Bipolar, and Life

/ Robin

I’m back.

This isn’t my first blog, and it probably won’t be my last. But this time, I’m doing it differently. I’ve spent too long circling the runway, and now it’s time to take off.

What you’ll find here is a mix of things I care about most:

  • Anxiety and mental health — ADHD, bipolar, and the messy, funny, sometimes maddening reality of living with both.
  • Politics — because big headlines have a way of crashing into everyday life.
  • Stories, satire, and the occasional rant — because humor can cut through noise better than anything else.

“Redux” means reboot, a fresh start, and maybe even a do-over. That’s what this blog is: me starting again, with honesty and maybe a little edge.

Thanks for showing up. Let’s see where this goes.

— Robin