Medication Station (Psych Pills)

*Disclaimer: I am not a medical professional. Talk to yo doctor.

Medication routine can be really hard to get into a good rhythm. If you’re starting new medications or have never taken any medication before, it can be really frustrating. Most of them take a while to start working or have side effects. It’s even more frustrating if you forget to take your pills, and then get angry at yourself. But it’s okay. Even my cat needed a little extra one-clawed hold for balance to prop herself comfortably up on my couch. (Everything comes back to cats, you see.)

I’ve been taking medication since I was 18 (I’m 26 now), so I’ve gotten a pretty good handle on routine. But once in a while, I still forget.

Here are some things I do to help myself out.

1) I keep all of my medicine in the same place. Right now that would be the closet in my bedroom so that the cats can’t unknowingly be medicated for their psychiatric issues.

2) I try to take my medications within the same general time frames each day. For me, it’s breakfast, dinner, and bedtime. Now mine is a little more strict due to thyroid medication. However, I try to keep the rest of it within a range of general time frames, so that I’m on time but not overwhelmed.

3) Speaking of bedtime, if I’m feeling tired I try to set out my medicine a few hours ahead of when I plan to go to sleep. This helps me not doze off without them. (P.S. – I also do this with my cpap, in terms of set up preparations).

4) Reminders from family members to take medication can be very helpful. If I’m not feeling comfortable in my routine, I try not to get defensive when asked if I’m taking my medicine. As long as family is not being antagonistic or derisive, it’s okay to accept gentle reminders from them. Sometimes they genuinely want to help you, even if it’s poorly worded. I try to keep the lines of communication open unless I’m well established in my routine.

5) I try not to beat myself up if I occasionally miss one dose/time of medication. Yes, it’s not ideal. But I try instead to focus on forgiving myself and focusing on getting it right the next time rather than falling into perfectionism/obsessing.

6) When I start a new medication (which I did recently), I need to be patient. Results aren’t immediate and sometimes I have to wade through side effects (*ask your doctor) so I can allow the medicine the potential to work for me. ┬áThis can be the worst part of it all. It’s frustrating and leaves you with uncertainty hanging over your head. Over time, I’ve learned to take my focus off of the medicine and be more calm as things progress. I focus on my life instead. If you put all of your obsession into whether or not a medicine will work, you will wring yourself very into a very raw exhaustion. (I once tried 8 different medicines in one summer).

Focus on other things,

Focus on other things,

Focus on other things.

7) Take care of yourself in general, in terms of family, friends, hobbies, exercise, and whatever else makes you feel good (in a constructive way).

“A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.”

You’d be surprised at how much this song may relate to (at least parts of) your situation.



Pit Paste in Pictures

Process of trying a natural deodorant…

It felt like the creamy icing from a particular cinnamon roll that I always purchase from a local bakery, which actually felt pretty good. It was just a touch greasy, but still worth it. I loved the way it smelled. The scent was pretty strong. Mmm, lavendar.

I can’t say whether it worked or not because I don’t wear deordant as often as I should. I probably always stink.

But here’s a link to more creamy, yummy smelling paste.

I’m not getting paid for this. I just thought it was a super neat product.

What the Cat Whispered (a processing/reaction poem)

She cocks bald triangles
shed from the back of a moth
in the mausoleum of winged bodies
that is my hallway.

Orange and black, grey and brown,
white and blue, little diamonds of death
coat the yellow paint and greenish carpet.

I am choking down exoskeletons.
Can you taste the pale blue of morning?

The mint in my tea
was supposed to glare
back up at the sun.
All sharpness is gone.

My hand brushes horror.
Even the cat knows this is wrong.
Her eyes widen at the bottoms –
deep amber fountains of distrust.

Mismatched wing diamonds line up as ordered,
ready to crunch into newsprint.

The beginning of a poem (that comes out when you feel out of place at a bar)

Hot Cincinnati Nights

Squares of strobe
slap the tree barrier
between the red hot “Newport” sign
and Great American Insurance.
Lights coat the bridge.
The horizon is nothing
but blinking.

The ginger beer went down
in heat with the lime.
Club music itches beneath the top
layer of skin on my back.
I feel the virus permeate.
I twitch with the bumping of people.
No one notices
my limbs jerking like a Sim.

My body is a collection of positive affirmations

I’ve continued to be very depressed lately, so I picked up this “The best is yet to come” bracelet at Target in the hopes that it might encourage me to look past any given/current moment of mental pain. I’m surprised, but it’s actually been sort of working for me. It sometimes pulls me out of my moment just a little.

I thought I’d talk about doing that in general. I also added another ring on top of my constant yellow heart ring, and a bracelet that my mother found me on one of her thrift shopping excursions. Sometimes having more jewelry to fight with helps me with anxiety, so I amped it up a notch.

I also have six tattoos. Does that seem weird? I’ll note I’ve been working on them since I was 19. I’m 26.

1) Paper crane on my back – loyalty

2) Bird on my shoulder – hope

3) “Contend” on my wrist – encouragement to fight my mental illness

4) A rainbow on my wrist – gay pride

5) A quote from Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem “Kindness” on my chest –

“Before you know what kindness really is

you must lose things,

feel the future dissolve in a moment

like salt in a weakened broth.”

6) A semicolon behind one ear – Suicide awareness/project semicolon


I’ve also been trying to put more healthy things in and around my body such as moderate exercise (which I LOVE) and somewhat healthier food. I’ve been giving mind-food the same effort by trying to give myself books, time with positive people, and sometimes time to write a little. This includes balancing my schedule as well.

It even includes a new hair cut from Greatclips (I’m not loaded) to increase confidence.

Seeing things repeatedly really can help. From thrift store bracelets to post it notes (like Operation Beautiful -, whatever you have available to you can be made into an affirmation. Go get it.

Porg (x) 3

I didn’t make it to Target in time to stalk the movements of employees opening the doors. I did, however, make it shortly after they opened (8 am). I snatched one of my favorite red carts (I’m a Target regular and passionately heated Bullseye fan). My hands trembled with anticipation. I felt invisible little white-hot worms of fear crawling over my knuckles and fingers as they gingerly clutched the cart. I took off, heading decidedly in the direction of the Women’s underwear section because I knew that’s where the imprinted porg would be if Target officials had not yet discovered his nest. I lit a warm mental candle inside my head to ask the Goddess of all things to hold steady the connection between myself and my imprinted porg.

The cart rolled decidedly along, but I did not race with it. Trepidation of my porg having been moved held me back to a regular, yet swift pace. I refrained from gripping the holes in the sides of the cart as if clutching at an empty porg basinett in order to avoid alerting Target officials of my undertaking, and instead tried to steady my breath while picturing the color, texture, and softness of each pair of panties that my porg would hopefully be delicately resting its fuzzy penguin-esque bottom upon.

Red, beige, purple, soft pink, black, shades of neon…

all felt by imprinted porg bottom…

in silks, imitation knits, cottons, and synthetics (hopefully of a comfortable fashion)…

My porg must be resting upon thongs, briefs, boyshorts, g-strings, and granny panties. I hoped they were comfortable enough and that they had not shifted through the night too much for the liking of the porg’s bottom. Or worse, there loomed the possibility of the nest having been destroyed entirely by Target officials, and my chance of locating the porg first imprinted upon utterly desecrated. I pushed the more vile possibility out of my mind as a small bit of vomit burned the back of my throat like the filth of a pumpkin spice latte.

I distracted myself so well with visions of underwear that before I was really aware of my surroundings, I felt the choking sensation in my windpipe/chest that one gets when one takes too big a bite of potatoes or crackers and must wash it down with drink.

I was now upon the underwear section, and my porg still sat nestled in undies looking as happy as a baby penguin!

My heart raced as I grabbed him and held him to me. We were not to be parted – just as mother (or father or parent of any gender) will desperately clutch to babe.

I shed a few mental tears of relief, then placed my imprinted, delighted baby porg in my red cart. Off we went, joyfully, to the toy section to see if we could not find still more porg relatives as there were the day before.

In short, I found 3 porgs in the store that morning for $19.99 each. Though the cost was great, I left with all 3 because I could not bear to err in the same fashion yet again.

I am currently working with the imprinted porg (who my Target partner in crime provided a most beautiful and colorful tracking ankle (friendship) bracelet for), and will be soon endeavoring to complete the process of imprinting with each porg in turn.


Suffice it to say that the porgs have brought infinite light into my life. I don’t think I should be allowed to visit toy sections again soon (what with a wish of safety and good cheer directed towards my wallet).

However, even the cats are peacefully coexisting with the porg.





My Porg [Part 2, with more to follow]

As I held my Porg under the hot lights of Target, I felt that dry, prickly, dizzy feeling accompanied by the sensation of everything shrinking. I didn’t quite see white spots, but it was close. The cactus-like heat that always sinks under my clothes after being in a department store a little too long exacerbated into the frantic desire found only when one has found a true soul-item, but is cleaved evenly between the predicament of stewing over limited funds and the desire to leave the overheated aisles of the store as soon as possible.

Sometimes it is prudent to put back the item you don’t really need. This time, it was not. Target officials hollered “closing time” over the loudspeaker. I replaced my Porg and hurried as fast as I could toward fresh air (and the bathroom). My partner in Target crime understood that I was turning my face away from the strong wind of devastation, and kindly nested my Porg in the women’s underwear section. I am certain it felt safe and comforted there. Soft panties will do that for you.

I returned to the vehicle and sobbed in despair that I had left my Porg behind.

“Why did I let $20 come between me and eternal happiness?”

I’ve been trying to be pretty tight with my funds (donating to Harvey and Irma relief efforts, sponsoring two children abroad through Compassion and World Vision, caring for my needy cats, paying for food, stocking up on Christmas presents ahead of time, and balancing bills = tight math (and I have a B.A. in English lit!)), but as I rode away I knew this had been a mistake. I’d been so conservative that I hadn’t recognized the correct change to shell out…

I curled up like a rotting snail shell in the corner of my couch and shed from my eyes endlessly. My lungs could barely handle the wheezing between crying that was so painful it almost gnarled itself into laughter. I repeated the word “porg” as many times as possible within the sentences I choked out – making it almost a chant to myself.

Amazon,, Google…

But no. That was wrong. I HAD to have the porg I’d so wrongfully abandoned.

I made a plan. The alarm was set for the extreme early hour of 7:45am (Target opens at 8:00am). It was hard to say whether I would be able to weather these extreme circumstances, but I knew I would endeavor to persevere for my porg.

I suckled myself off to sleep on comforting little hiccup sobs as I pined more gently for my porg. Slipped my heavy, wracked body into the soft darkness of my deep blue comforter and sheets, and I drifted into waiting until morning.