I Ate COMET – My Response to Extended Stressed

Normally doesn’t kill.
Tastes like yuck.

During my last quarter (a year ago) at university, I had a dream, a dream… I’m sure it was a dream. I’d taken the bottle of Comet out of the bathroom and licked the bottom of it. The powder spread in my mouth and I spit and wiped my tongue on my sleeve.

It was disgusting. The taste spread in my mouth.

It wouldn’t go away.

Was I trying to kill myself?

I looked at the carpet next to my bed – a bottle of Comet sat… staring at me.

And then – I woke up.

This episode was one of a handful of incidents occurring during that last year.

The following list are symptoms that I feel are directly caused by my stress and anxiety.

  • Developing a facial tick  
  • The anxiety that ripped my face off – but NOT my tick
  • Double down depressed, then anxiety comes along and suddenly you have more energy… enough in fact… to say I’m in a mixed state
  • Waking up angry again (Okay honestly, I was heading back to becoming a full-time bitch.)
  • Not sleeping (sleeping pills didn’t help. Likewise, exercise.)
  • Crippling anxiety (I put the exact date and time into my calendar and set an alarm… to buy my parking pass for the upcoming quarter, the fall quarter, as in AFTER summer. I worried about it all summer.)
  • Mixed mood states (Mania and depression working at the same time and never cooperating with one another.)
  • Mania (It ran rampant, never slowing down, taking a breath or pausing to considering which direction to charge to next.)
  • Devastating depression
  • DEVELOPED IBS-D (IRRITABLE BOWEL SYNDROME WITH DIARRHEA). I missed classes. Not all professors were understanding or forgiving.  
  • 2 (TWO) colonoscopes! In one week!

Sorry guys. I’m so horrible at making simple lists. Usually, I give up on trying to do it most of the time. It takes me FOREVER! And… then I don’t post at all. And so, we have long-winded bullet lists. {Doesn’t that make them paragraphs, rather than bullet lists?}

{I did seek out medical help because I think eating Comet is bizarre, and I didn’t want to die.}
It does turn out that some people become addicted to eating it, while others simply like the way it tastes. I’m going to stick to ice cream.

Bipolar – Lesson Learned

Just a quickie…

There is a white car just up the hill on a flat street who is totally and completely stuck. He’s in slush. He’s also been revving his engine and spinning out for the last half hour or so. It has been going on so long I finally got up to look. As I looked up the road (our house is at the beginning of a fairly good sized hill) and saw the car, a family car calmly drove straight down our hill. No problem.

Lesson to All of Us:
They say, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
They should also say, “If it’s broke, FIX IT.”

The consequences of disregarding the lesson and doing the same thing over and over(You know where I’m going with this, don’t you?) and always getting the same result is pure insanity.

Are you going to heed the warning? Or embrace insanity?

We MUST learn to change and adapt. If we don’t, if we allow our condition to deteriorate, it’s our own damn fault if we crash and burn.

@This assumes you’re stable or doing well enough to fight it.

My Perfect Bithday


As often happens, my “This Is My Day So Snap Off” day occurs on the same exact day… hold your breath… as the Super Bowl!

Can you guess what’s wrong with this picture? Oh, no. Not THE picture just above here. That picture is amazing! It’s one of my favorites. The desk you see there was my Mom and Dad’s. I was two and a little bit years old in that hideout.

Today, on my bithday, that desk is in my office, here at my home. Every time I sit at it, open a drawer or pull out the writing board, I remember this picture….

(OMG!!!!!! Will Someone make that jerk… wherever he is, turn that blasted CAR stereo off!)

Sorry, where was I? Right, family feelings, blah, blah, title Bithday….

Yeah… Have I mentioned that it’s snowing here? No? Yep. Actually, I want to tell you something that I feel, that I believe, is essential for each of us to comprehend.

You and I, we are Un-Niche-Able. Right?

(Break it down Robin. Yes, it is your day, but for heaven’s sake settle down. Right.)

I’m finally 56. For a couple years I was 55, but it turns out I was 54 and THEN 55. My kids have been rehearsing it with me this year so all is well. This is my official 56th Bithday!

(Wait, what?? Oh alright then.)

Sorry about that. I need help getting my sweatshirt off. I got stuck in one the other night. Not pretty.

(Shh.. go away! I’m talking here to my friends…. you just shut your face! They can hear you you know! Yes, they can!)

Sorry about that. Family. What am I to do?

Silliness aside – I really am 56 now.

I’ve done something horribly painful to my shoulder and having help with certain things is amazing! Get your mind out! Dressing! I’m talking about dressing and the opposite of it.

And most importantly, because I’m Un-Niche-Able, I can choose to spell the most amazing day of my year “Bithday” if I want to.

And so can you.

Should the birthdays of my three kids be my most important day? Nope. They’d fight if that was how I picked it, so, nope.

In my brief 56 years of living with kookoo for puffs I swear to you, that if I stop believing that I was born when I was born so I could be 56 today I would relax my chokehold on… stuff. And who would want that?

Okay, I’m being weird in parts of this. But, not in all of it.

Your take away from this post (that’s completely confusing to me) could be:

Bithday – whoever you are that is reading this, I’m talking to YOU about YOUR day.

Un-Niche-Able – we are amazing! Yes, YOU! You are the only one who will ever, in the whole of time and space…

(what do you WANT now? The beta readers said what was too expansive? Oh, I see. Whatever. Yes, yes I’ll… do it. OMG… what? No, i… didn’t say “whatever.” I said… somet…. I said nothing. Bye! Gotta go!). So sorry.

As I was saying… writing…. <muttering>… reading, rereading… Yep. Got it now.

Un-Niche-Able – we are amazing! Yes, YOU! You are the only one who will ever, in the whole… on the hole… whole of the world who can be YOU!

Don’t tell me that you’ve never, ever had a day when your brain does the Anti-Niche dance. It’s impossible for you not to have had your very own version of this. I know its true.

At the risk of sounding like I’ve forgotten what I’ve previously written, may I say once again that when marketing people or super successful YouTubers tell us that we have to pick a niche and just promote and make our platform all about that specific niche… that they ARE WRONG.

I don’t know of one single person who looks like a flat piece of copier paper. No one’s like that. I mean, even paper can be folded and rolled and crumpled.

Reader, my dear, dear Reader, you’re Un-Niche-Able. Embrace the words (bits of words…) Embrace yourself.

{Get away from my keyboard!!}

I neeed sleep. Bithday sleep!

Believe in Yourself

I’ve been gone a little while Friends. I know that you know what that’s like.

I’m stepping back up to the plate. I can’t wait to carry on

When You Believe

Bipolar – Verbal Dump


I have Bipolar Disorder and ADHD. I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder over twenty years ago. At least, that’s about when my brain says it remembers it happening – I’m super reliable when it comes to the passing of time. Umm, no way! Don’t let me tell you otherwise. I was diagnosed as having ADHD only a few years ago.

The other day my mom told me she’d had a major breakthrough in her thinking about ADHD. Apparently, she’d talked to her realtor and she had told him that I have it. I know she shares stuff about my brain (problems) to people in the town/city we live in and with Rhett (the fellow I just mentioned who sells property) who lives in another one.

That’s two.

Back to the breakdown.

I know my mom loves me. She expresses it in a sort of micro-managing way, but she loves me nonetheless.

I’d hate to have had a child like me. How did she not accidentally roll over me in the family car? I would have had a daycare person come take me away. A nanny. Anyway, Rhett told her that he has ADHD too. {Deep sigh coming from my side of the conversation.}

You know how we can look up literally ANYTHING online? I really don’t think she understands that she can Google Bipolar Disorder and ADHD and not have to rely upon the information she can glean from a single person. There are many fantastic sites to visit that contains a lot of very good information on both BD and ADHD.

But, you know what, the idea that she can talk to someone about me, without asking me first, and telling him my very personal business is just bad.

My mom thinks of Rhett as another son. (I have a brother.) She knows more about him than she does about me. Sometimes I discover I have feelings of resentment and anger toward the nice guy. I don’t like feeling that way.

I guess accepting and understanding something about Bipolar Disorder have to continue to wait.

I believe, that if she understood a little about Bipolar Disorder and how I present, we would get along better. We might even want to spend more time together. Maybe she’d trust me more. Forgive me more. I admit, there is much I want to be forgiven for. I think she’s better at letting things go than I am so maybe she doesn’t need to be able to forgive me once she understands I don’t really control myself sometimes.

My experience with Bipolar Disorder is that about 80% of the time I’m manic. All the time I’ve been alive, I’ve been either straight up manic, or in a mixed state featuring the bits that tend to “intensify” my emotions. I’m confused, being depressed while manic.

My most blatantly obvious symptom… I never, ever stop talking. When the rare moment does happen, my friends ask me if I’m okay. I think that even Bailey notices. (Bailey is my support dog. She’s wonderful.)

Bailey is my emergency brake. When I’m frustrated, angry or yelling, she finds me and sits directly facing me, very close, toes to paws, and with her beautiful sad brown eyes and waits for the noise to stop. Honestly, she won’t budge even if I tell her I need to pee. No mercy from my faithful pup.

My chart at the mental health place I go to says that I say I think I’m smarter than they are. My current counselor asked me if I really believe that. Without a pause, I said, “YES.” I reminded him of how they let my stress / anger / mania / and anxiety cause all the suffering I experienced while I was going to school. over the last year, my symptoms intensified, and I broke.

Have you heard the axiom do no harm or through inaction to cause harm?

So, the reality is that they watched and did not intervene. They listened and didn’t reach out to catch me while I fell and fell farther and farther down. If you think about it like that, like what role they played in my unwilling self-destruction, then YES, I think they’re morons and I really am so much smarter than they are. My counselor asked me if I thought I was smarter than he was. I grinned and told him, “that remains to be seen.”

Delusional? Grandiose thoughts? Delusions of grandeur? Or brilliant or very smart? And who’s to judge which is which?

ADHD, Bipolar… Let’s figure it out. I promise I’ll own it.

You have just been exposed to an often irritating and yet integral bit of my brain in all its glory. It’s what I call, “a verbal dump.” My kids prefer saying I barf words. Wait, maybe it was that I vomit words. Well, in any case, it’s not great.

Please write to me or leave a comment. I love hearing from you.

Be well,

Robin / Un-niche-able Me