Arrgh

So, I call the ex psych doc's office because I want a copy of my file. There's no particular reason, really, except that it documents a 5 years period of my life in a psych-med induced haze that partially fried my memory. I might want to refer to it, for example, every time some new revelation about pharmaceutical company lies are revealed or I experience some health issue and want to look back at that for possible causes.

Which may be the problem. Hahaha

I left a message and got a call back from office staff, saying nope. "Why?" I asked, and was met with silence, prompting me to ask if the caller was even still on the phone, let alone the planet. I asked again, and was told that office policy was that they only release to other doctors.

I'm not a huge conspiracy theorist, but I am a skeptic. My records, of my treatment, and I don't have access to them?

So I asked what am I supposed to do if, say 30 years in the future (when he is dead, I think privately) a doctor does need those records? "Oh, we destroy them after 7 years."

Sure ya do. And that serves the patient, right? Not you, not pharma. Right? Let the conspiracy begin!

And I look up law/statute stuff on this, and because I'm no lawyer, I can only vaguely comprehend the general stuff. (I say 'vaguely' because in law-speak, a perfectly normal sounding everyday word that you think you know the meaning of can have it's own special convoluted definition. Because law, like medicine, is here to serve the public. Hahaha)

Okay, so law sez they're not my property. And I should be able to request a copy, with exceptions. Exceptions? Lemme look further at some state law looking stuff...

However, copies of a patient's records shall not be furnished to such patient when the patient's treating physician or clinical psychologist, in the exercise of professional judgment, has made a part of the patient's records a written statement that in his opinion the furnishing to or review by the patient of such records would be reasonably likely to endanger the life or physical safety of the patient or another person, or that such health records make reference to a person, other than a health care provider, and the access requested would be reasonably likely to cause substantial harm to such referenced person.

Seeing as how the files are now in storage, says office person, it's not like anyone pulled them to find a note saying "Oh Noes! Don't ever let her read this shit as it would endanger humans!" Rather, it is assumed that simply being a consumer of mental services that I am by default a scary person. Like being on that crap for 5 years was a walk in the park and it would be seeing my records, and not the actual hell that was life-on-meds, that would send me over the edge.

Fuckers.

I'm just fuming, is all.

Listening to:

Philip Dawdy speaks on the Zyprexa documents, psychopharmacology and the media on Madness Radio. Thank you, Philip for all you do.

Fucked up things that make me sick to my stomach, Vol. 2345

Mentally challenged, bipolar teen is reported missing. Teen taken to authorities 4 times and released. Is later identified in the morgue.

M357

Some of the shit I used to take and will never take again.
Except for those white ones. They go everywhere with me.

To Vicodin or not to Vicodin, that is the question. Tonight I got this familar feeling in my mid-back, one that I used to think was general soreness or intestinal stuff. It's grown into a full-blown I-feel-like-my-lungs-are-collapsing hours-long muscle-contraction-spasm-thing enough times now that I start looking for the Vicodin immediately.

Found it!

If I take it now, it will kick in just before the pain radiates and starts to become unbearable. If I wait too long, it won't be enough and while the pain will be cut quite a bit, it will still make labor contractions seem like a indigestion by comparison.

Seriously. Take a labor contraction, the worst one, and make it last 2 hours with no break. Have it wrap entirely around your torso - front, back and sides - from your armpits to the bottom of your ribcage - and squeeze the living shit out of you like some nightmarish hufuckingmungous blood pressure cuff torture device, so that when you are writhing on the floor in constant pain and moaning and panting and feel like your internal organs are about to be crushed to death by your own muscles, you know that it can still get worse. It's worse when you can no longer moan and writhe. Which is scary shit, because the only thing left to no longer do is pant, and that's kinda a breathing thing, ya know?

But maybe it won't happen, and it's a false alarm, and I can save those one or two pills to further delay going back to the doctor for a refill. Which I don't wanna do. Because while I love that the doc gave me something that takes the pain away, he irritates the shit out of me when he spends 20 minutes on his laptop trying to figure out what the heck my deal is (which is, like, 16 more minutes more than he usually spends with a patient), only to arrive at the miraculous conclusion: "I'm stumped."

He's done this twice now.

The second time he was all stumped as he perused pubmed or google or whattheheckever it was he was doing, he sent me to a spine doc. Who listened to my description. And without prodding a thing, said it sounds like a bulging disk, and come back if it happens again.

Which would be fine, but I'd kinda like it if it didn't happen again ifyoudontmind. Damn MRIs. I've had a bulging disk in my neck already, which at the time had my doc probably googling "spine doc" and referring me for a diagnosis from a freaking spine surgeon who said basically "why the heck are you here?" and slapped a collar on me that only made my neck sore and stiff. So when I asked about chiro and doc said chiropractors were quacks and would break my back, I of course dropped his arrogant scare-tactic ass and got a doc who would refer me to the chiropractor who, of course, made everything all right and dandy and I haven't had a problem there since.

Besides, I have this feeling that the torso contraction from hell is just the morping of anxiety shit as I age, as the first time it happened was the day after Bush was "re"-"elected". Who wouldn't end up in the ER after that?

So, at this moment, that weird, "warm" soreness in my mid-back has subsided, and hopefully I've dodged another freakout wherein kids think I am dying and spouse calls 911 so the EMTs can yell at me, yes yell at me, because I was not able to immediately answer my name and age through pants of excrutiating pain in the ambulance. Asshats.

No thanks.

Just waiting it out in a relaxing, hyper-aware sort of way.

Depression stuff

Two articles today:

Gene for Depression Discovered suggests it has squat to do with serotonin, which isn't really news for anyone who's taken several rides on an antidepressant-go-round.

Abortion drug could rapidly treat depression. Yeah, that's what the title says, all right. RU486 could be effective within hours instead of weeks. Apparently its already used for severe psychotic depression, which just shows that when you're not taking up to 6 different psych meds while still feeling like crap, maybe you don't read up on this stuff as much as you used to.

Mental Snapshot: Sounds, Startling

It was really crappy wading through this stuff and editing it down yesterday. I posted it and decided it was still too much, not focused enough on the key symptoms. Today I chopped it with an major unapologetic edit. 10am, 5/23/06

Summer 2003

This isn't going to read quite like the Clang Thang. That mental snapshot was quite literally my writing as I was experiencing mania for the first time. It was very much like "getting into someone else's head" live and up-close for 10 intense minutes. Just 10 minutes.

This snapshot is selected phrases from rambling notes over a six week period in August and September of 2003 when I was severly manic.

The main theme (symptom) of this mania is auditory amplifications and an almost constant startle response. Are you typing while someone else is on the phone? That was like fingernails on a chalkboard. Add another voice and I'd leap out of my seat. One sound: okay. Two sounds: bad. Three or more sounds, or any unexpected sound: really fucking bad. Voices: times two. My muscles were always, always, always tensed.

---

July 31

I'm getting more agitated, irritable and teary

Aug 2

I knew there was a reason I crawled into a hole

Aug 5

the sound sensory input is at full blast
losing my temper, crying

Aug 10

things were horrendous sensory-wise and irritability
Missed some work, a family visit
avoidance because I fear losing it, or quitting my job in a fit of irritation
all sounds are sharp, in the foreground, yet chaotic

Aug 15

Perhaps there is something to be said for all the people who don't show up at high school reunions

Aug 17

sensory dropped off
not a constant barrage of every single sound insisting on being in the foreground
instead sounds randomly startling or distracting me multitudes times an hour
irritability and losing my cool stays
weepiness constant
Distractability, forgetfulness
freezing on a simple task and just staring and forgetting what to do

other sensory invasions being amplified
feels like barking in my ear
it's okay if I can control the environment, if there are no other distractions there
I forget I saw a movie before

Aug 19

it makes me get mad at her first, then cry in frustration
still more irritable than before this month started
more prone to feeling startled, and space invaded, and distracted, and teary, and worthless
the sounds all together was like noise with a capital N
It all meshed together and nothing sounded pleasant
I could make nothing background
it all sounded like torture and I tensed, and flinched
I feel like I'll crack any moment now
this is not normal
I have no clue what is me, and I am by now just one big wad of symptoms

Aug 21

Digging a hole, I got mad
it's fucking stressing me
I vented
I vented too much
I even vented about venting in this condition and about how I'd probably regret that

Aug 22

How come stress of people (plural) and sound (plural) only seems to really get to me?
I never ever seem to understand this
It's too fucking confusing to me
Maybe that's because I didn't ever truly have mania until a psychiatrist got his hands on me
give me a break
Please

Aug 25

K took the headphones
Had to find others
Doesn't cut out sound well
There were too many people
more than one voice at a time, meaning not good for me

Um, name name name name...
apologized
noticed I was walking real slow
I was honestly not aware of it
At this rate the whole place will know
getting so aware of my own stuff alot and normally I'm not
I'm aware, then it must be horrid
other people have noticed enough to comment the whole time
taking time off and on and off an on and acting like a freak

not going in during the week
said that before
she wanted to know about the week
she's pushing it
even though I went off on her about stuff and stress and severly manic and all I put in
the one thing I asked for in four years and got blown off on
This is my no
She even called at work tonight to ask again
Stress at home
stress at work
hide out in my bedroom
So, no
No no no no no

Aug 31

Big leap
on Sunday only to "keep my toe in" right now with the job
the first time the first half of the night wasn't pure torture
can't speak worth a crap
can't walk well
like I'm intoxicated
Meds maybe
still a bit off otherwise with concentration and sounds

cannot come back to the way things were
Too stressful
too much me resenting being blown off with the schedule and all

took advantage of my feeling calmer than I have in a month at the job
even if I can't speak worth a shit
went to the one of the Managing Editors
how do I handle it
basically she just handled it
one wave of the magic wand
Poof
couldn't even get the time of day on that for 2 months from my freaking boss

Sept 1

eye sockets are numb
afraid to say things are better
Last time I said that it lasted a day
need to keep track though
all I'm doing, keeping track
not buying into it or anything
it doens't count, whoever is keeping track, k?
Okay

head is clearing up
feel more connected to people in general
like I can take things on
made it through a day of work
without constantly fighting this horrific urge to make a scene and quit

other things, side effects, I guess
walk is more wobbly
feel more shaky
face feels a bit numb
keep missing keys when I type
taking forever
Lots of backspacing or doing it very slow
speech is really bad
Broken and stilted and lots of repetition
Porky Pig style
feel like I come across as drunk off my ass

still having problems with too much cross-noise
More than one person speaking
or a person speaking with another sound going on
too much for me to make out
hard to concentrate
it's nerve wracking
lose my cool
Distracting
lose where I'm at
go off on tangents

Forgetfulness
that can be both me and side effect
Lots of things can be
That's the problem
list of lithium side effects
like a list of things I already am suffering symptoms of
I hate this crap

Sept 2

Was going to watch Along Came a Spider
beginning is like voices over a radio
the visual is just these lights or something
Couldn't quite make out what it was
what they were saying
it was distracting
enough to startle me
every phrase, every one, makes me flinch and leap in my seat
My arms flail, my leg shoots out, my shoulders rise
like I'm having a seizure over a movie's opening sequence
like a machine gun going off
my body is jumping all over the place in reaction to it
just can't do this
20 minutes to calm down and relax my body

Sept 6

Sunday at work went well for the first time in a month
10 times better, it seemed
still not all the way at 100%
did not want to scream and run out and quit
Big huge ass improvement

decided to add a weekday back in
another person there who could be emergency backup
need to make up for any pressure/trembling hand/concentration/sound probelms
Can't know if I don't try
this is my test
Can't sit forever waiting for... what, to get to 100%?

Sept 7

Hey, I worked. Hey, I survived. Hey, I'm going to do it again tomorrow.

Amazing how a month of crap can make you thrilled over silly things like not cringing over a squeaky chair, or pulling your hair out over keyboard clacking, or wanting to scream when people speak, or leaping out of your chair when the phone rings, or leaving the room to cry when it all runs together. Wow! you're talking and I don't care! How bloody wonderful!

been getting about 6 hours of sleep a night the past 5 days
not "normal" for me
not done being manic
but it's toned down
not completely dysphoric, or completely euphoric
leans toward euphoric part about 85%
Euphoric mania lite, or hypomania according to the Goldberg Mania Quiz [Update: P.S. for quiz-takers - "not at all" means stable, baseline, "normal"]

---

Bonus Bipolar link of the day: The 5 stages of Bipolar grief

The National Mental Health Association has designated May as Mental Health Month, which has prompted me to dig up old writings and present them as mental snapshots, then cry.

Mental Snapshot: The Clang Thang

February 2000, 4 a.m.

60 mg. of the mania-inducing SSRI Paxil, plus the illegally off-label marketed, ineffective horse pill "stabilizer" Neurontin, equaled my initial foray from agitated depression into full-fledged bipolar mania. The following rapid-fire flight-of-idea clang-association-fest was one of many postings made to a mailing list over several hours, documenting a rapid shift from euphoric hypomania to dysphoric mania. Hindsight was unavailable for comment at the time.

---

i'm so out of sorts, sort of. sorta sorting it out. now i don't know what sort means. sounds so funny... sort sort sorta like a walrus would sound like, or a gross of cartoon aliens talking to each other, "sort," "sort!" "sort, sort." eep, op, ork, aah aah, and that means i am really out of it. sorts. certs. with retsin. what the hell is retsin? did they just make that word up or what? retsin, makes me think of dentist for some reason, like sit in the chair nice and still while i drill into the bone in your mouth and stuff is flying all over the place and your whole head vibrates.

how masochistic must one be to go to the dentist anyway? and doesn't masochistic sound like such an appropriate word? really, what else would you call it, masochistic is perfect. unlike so may other words. like certs, or sorts, or retsin. or words. what kind of word is word? blah, it sounds ridiculous. ridiculous is a good word. word is not. language is better. lan-gu-age. it makes your mouth contort all over the place and that's so appropriate for what it means. laaan-guuuu-aage. and blah, it's such a blah word, it's perfect too. blah. blaaah. word? sounds like were. were the word to be blah, what were i to do? duh. were sounds like duh. as it were, duh. like, duh. like, omigawd! fershure! like, ya so totally talk valley and like wear like a man's shirt it's like, it like totally turns yer guy on, y'know? if you can explain *that* to me you will have solved one of the great mysteries of mankind!

mankind, isn't that an oxymoron? man is not kind. like, um, DUH! freaking idiots. not mankind, mancruel. manselfish. mancentered. man, bite me! idiocy turns mancruel on, so excited, baby talk stupid to me. yeah, eff-off. i ramble, another great word. ramble, rambling, rumble, rumbling, ramble on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on ramble ramble ramble ramble. i was born a ramblin' woman. not man. WOman. not woMAN, human. not huMAN. PERSON. there, finally. geez. PERSON!!!!!! i am PERSON, hear me roar! personally, i think person makes it very personal. doncha think? does anyone THINK? do ya think? i don't think so. that's what i thought. thinking about thoughts. thinking about thinking. think think sink sank sunk stink stank skank skunk. it stinks. skunky stinky. here, stinky skunky! it's putrid. putrid is such a putrid word. P-U-trid! stinking thinking kinking the linking of my thinking has me stinking sinking. don't be winking, i may start drinking. nah, just blinking. aaaaaak!!!! i think, therefore i suffer. ergo, i suffer. i love ergo. my ego loves ergo. ergo, i have an ego. ergo, i go...

i numbed out today to cool down my overstimulated self. overloaded circuit tripping the breaker to give it all a rest. yup, i'm a circuit box, i'm a little teapot, i'm a circuit box and my brain circuits and nerve circuits got overloaded so the breaker tripped, numbing out. staring staring at nothing. thinking nothing. blah, duh, empty, nil, zilch, nada, not even a person anymore, not there, invisible not invincible. shut down, nuclear reactor shutdown. omigawd, how apropos, oui? me, nuclear. reactor, reactions. shutdown. shut out. all these connections, making random connections. this is when i power up after the shutdown. the shutdown of my nuclear reactions. get it? my nuclear reactor shut down. ha ha freaking ha. i'm three mile island. i'm an island. a deserted island. i am a rock, i am an island. rocks are nothing, do nothing, feel nothing, contribute nothing. rock and roll. rock me gently. rockabye. bye bye. by and by. here and now, or there and never. pick one or the other. never never land. pick one. pick more. pick to power back up after the nuclear reactor shutdown. the shutdown of my nuclear reactions. wake up, come back, pick and choose, choose to pick. and here i am, going zing zing again 'til the next shutdown.

rambling. person oh person i'm freaking out. gotta get thru, always it's just get thru it, get thru it until what? until it starts all over again. replay. rewind. and start all over again. ring around the rosie, we all fall down. we get back up and do it again. repeat. replay, rewind, repeat. wash, rinse, repeat. it's all so ridiculous. my logic suffers at the mindlessness of it all. logical mind and mindlessness. mindless mind. i just can't stop! i'm trying to stop! stop! go! red light, green light! simon says. yes, no. up, down, spinning all around, fall down. yo, get down, get back up again. stop, in the name of love. stop, wait a minute mr. postMAN! i was born a poor black child. and this ashtray, and that's all i need. and this chair. this ashtray, this chair... and this lamp. and that's ALL i need! yup, that's me. poor jerk. the jerk. got my name in the phone book that's what makes me real. that's it. that's all. that's all i need. and this thermos. i'm picking out a thermos for you. pathetic jerk. pathetic lovable jerk. nathan, the jerk. i love that jerk.

what is "normal"? is it giving in to the ignorance of mancruel? to say we're wrong and therefore they are right? no, too stubborn for that. can't do it, can't surrender me to them. guess i gotta suffer in this stupid uncaring world of idiots then. suffer forever. cuz i won't do it. me against the world. why can't they just lay off and accept that? i'm just one person. give it up already. go your stupid way and leave me be. stop trying to control me take me over rape my mind. the world just wants to rape us all, that's how they feel good about themselves, the assholes.

everything in my head is all over the place. why is my head zinging like this all over the place like some music video where the images flash quickly all over the place and you have just enough time to see one and then it's gone before you can even register it and nothing sticks around more than a fleeting moment? nothing to grasp, thoughts wont stay long enough to register. register my thoughts. step up to the desk to register. register for what? let me see your license and registration. license to think.

what is this? who am i? am i even a who at all? all the who's in whoville. who. who, hoo hoo. owls who. owl scowl i scowl and howl, it's fowl. foul! 10 yard penalty! one step forward two steps back. back to back. two-step. step right up, enjoy the show. freak show. show me your license to lose it. penalty foul. too many fouls, outta the game. game of life. three strikes you're out. no excuses no way. are you game? seems gamey. game name same blame. who's to blame? name the blame. what's your name? is anyone the same? same or sane? insane. outsane. out sane? if you're insane, you're out! outsane! take the in out of sane. you are in sane in a ward locked away. locked in but really locked out. locked out of life. out of everything. out of energy out of mind. so out they stick you in. in insane.

welcome to inn sane, we leave a mint on your pillow, it will fry your brain. step up to the desk to register. register your complaint and we'll just ignore it as we always do. officially out because now your at the inn sane. you'll love it here. you need this, we all say so. you just don't know what you're thinking, that's all. there there, it will be okay. try the spa, we give you a nice massage and suck out your brain. we'll take care of you. we'll take care of you all right, are we really taking care of you or ourselves? remove the unwanted diseased there that's better. we feel so much better now that you're locked away. enjoy your stay at the inn sane. all booked up check out the hotel california. check it out, check in. check. such a lovely place, such a lovely face. just a face. face it.

---

Bipolar link of the day: The 10 Commandments of Manic-Depression

The National Mental Health Association has designated May as Mental Health Month, which has prompted me to dig up old writings and present them as mental snapshots.

Oh, please (a rant in F minor)

Toddlers diagnosed with bipolar

Because, you know, those two year-olds are really good at communicating all those subjective experiences so that you can determine whether it's bipolar, ADHD, giftedness, or any number of other things with similar and crossover traits. But hey, the money's in the bipolar, not the giftedness, so why not "be safe" and put them on meds that can really screw things up for them, right?

Our son is gifted. He could read kid's books on his own and do addition and subtraction well before he got out of diapers. He can also be extremely sensitive, perfectionist, not get along well with peers, get easily frustrated and take criticism and direction of any sort way too personally, live in his head, etc. So, when a psychiatrist saw him because he "wanted someone to talk to", which means that to see the therapist he needs to go through the med guy first, it's no wonder that his need to feel understood in the perhaps context of giftedness was not taken into consideration, but my bipolar diagnosis and things like ADHD were, because that's his thing.

Thing is, I know he's gifted. I do not know he's bipolar or ADD (he had nothing that could be taken as H whatsoever). In fact, his "quirks" can easily be explained by that we know, which is that's he's gifted. Bipolar or ADD didn't make sense. Still, the psychiatrist wanted to put him on an ADHD and antidepressant med, which we reluctantly did out of being hit with it unprepared, and out of an absolute refusal on my part to add mood stabilizers "just in case" he might be bipolar (good gawd). I/we basically said look, if for some reason he is, we know how to look out for the signs (which of course didn't exist, but could be triggered by the SSRI), but if we see no change, we're dropping the whole thing.

And we didn't, so we did.

He still got to see the therapist, who he liked, but eventually pushed too much to make it a family affair while not giving a one good reason why. All I could tell was that he was just conversing one on one, enjoying the uninterrupted time to share all the things he thinks about, a bit of a respite from struggling like he always has to fit in to a world where his giftedness makes him different and misunderstood.

With her and the doc, giftedness was not on their radar as an explanation for anything. His best outlet for that is, and continues to be, placement in a gifted program. The teacher gets it, and his peers are like him, instead of thinking he's weird for always thinking and being philosophical and trying to solve all the mysteries of the universe and absorbing knowledge with glee. I also ramble, and talk conceptually a lot, and he soaks that stuff up like crazy. It makes him feel understood and a connection on a different level.

Therapist did not get it. Doc only knows how to prescribe things as an answer for anything, and doesn't know how to say, "you don't need this". I'll let the world know when I come across a psychiatrist who comes across a person and says they dosn't need meds. Until then, after my vast experience with all two of them, they can all flip off.

Bipolar toddlers. Give me a break.

Life and perpetual death

It rained, and the rock got wet. The sun came out and warmed the rock. The rock didn't seek nourishment from the rain or turn toward the warmth of the sun. It just was. Does the rock want to be on a mountain, in a quarry, at the bottom of a fish tank? The rock says nothing, does nothing, and just lands wherever it is placed by other forces. The rock is and will always be a rock, no matter what happens to it. Yet the rock is content, without seeking contentment. It exists without effort. If the rock were a human, it would not survive. If the human were a rock, it wouldn't matter.

I haven't talked to or seen my brother for quite some time. He's a few thousand miles away, in more ways than one. In a sense I, and most everyone else, lost him some time back. Or maybe we, or humanity, never had him. Our parents on the other hand, living nearby, were still trying to get through to him, trying to find the thing that would spark motivation in the rock, trying to understand this whole thing.

Not expecting an answer, I tried calling my brother anyway. It was his birthday, and I still vividly remember the car ride that brought them home from the hospital 37 years ago, him being held by our mother in the back seat.

His phones were disconnected. I knew this meant that things were still unchanged for him, passively observing life's final impacts on him. I called our mother.

We've talked about this stuff before, long conversations about what is going on and why. I served in a support role for our mom. Someone connected and trusted but not immersed in the daily stresses. I don't often bring it up on my own with her or dad, though. They need to keep from being totally immersed themselves.

It seems to be a deterioration that has been going on a lifetime. The longer it goes on, the worse it gets, and the harder it is to change course. He has now arrived at a point where he will lose his house in a few days. No human connections, no job, no home. No cares. It really doesn't matter to him one way or the other, as long as he doesn't do anything. Motivation so lacking that hair washing is too much work, so he shaved his head. If my parents take him in, fine. If they don't, fine. Either way, he will sit and do nothing, holding on to the only things he will have motivation enough to take with him: his clothes and his laptop.

Clothes and laptop. The shelter is of no concern. The job and the health of no concern. When you have none of these things, and no motivation to call or inquire or plan, there's not much left that will keep you alive. And that seems to be fine. In fact, the only emotion he seems to have with all this is contentment.

I have a hard time wrapping my head around how this came to be. It probably wouldn't matter if I could. A rock is a rock, after all.

My brother was born 37 years ago.

I'm not sure when he died.

Oh, the tragedy of sacrificing body for mind

In 1992, Patty Duke published her story of living with mental illness, A Brilliant Madness. This month, two writers, one a psychiatrist, hijack "her story" in Beautiful Madness, a sexist testament to their male entitlement, and their defense of the entitlement of others, to ogle an attractive 17 year-old.

Nia, 17, is "too beautiful to be in a psychiatric ward" the article begins. Suffice it to say that it just goes downhill from there. After all is said and done, the authors are left in a conundrum. "Beautiful and mad" vs. "fat and sane". Oh, their suffering!

This story was originally spotted via scathing reaction posts at I Blame the Patriarchy and Feministe, where the threads are still on fire.

An analogy 6 years in the making

The news is that its par for the course.

When my spouse walked in and saw me reading the news story, he said, "Damn, I didn't want you to see that."

It's like finally getting away from an abusive partner, only to find they just came out with a pop-psychology bestseller on relationships and are basking in the rave reviews, kudos, and elevated status received as a result of their aggressively humble self-promotion. Alas, to tell the whole tale would just invite wrath from the masses for selfishly tainting the pure sugary-goodness of the story and its massive touchy-feely fest.

I was eventually plucked from the claws of death-by-cynicism-overdose with the administration of an episode of "My Name is Earl", but symptoms returned with a vengeance when that was followed by an episode of "The Office".