Taking some time to enjoy The View

"I can remember lying frozen in bed, crying because I was too frightened to take a shower, and at the same time knowing that showers are not scary."
-Andrew Solomon, The Noonday Demon

The quote above pretty much sums up where I have been the last couple months. Living in a dark place. But now I'm back from outer space. I knew I was back when I started watching QVC. For the last couple months I haven't been able to watch tv. Literally, could not watch television. Too much stimulation. Too scary. But I knew I was back when I could watch QVC- Bob Mackie's wonderful embroidered shirts! frozen steaks delivered right to your door! Kitchenaid appliances! I can watch it all day. So soothing to me. Consumer therapy as I try to enter the real world again.

After September 11th, during another breakdown it was the only thing I would watch. I was freaked out, really freaked out about terrorism and dirty bombs and anthrax. Totally overreacting. QVC was the only network that would not mention 9/11. There would be the occasional American flag pin for sale, with a soft mention of the "tough times" our country was going through. But I knew that they wouldn't cut away to a shot of the towers falling. Safe.

I still wasn't ready for The View. Erik mentioned that maybe I had moved beyond the view. Perhaps I was on to better, deeper and more meaningful televisions. FAT CHANCE! It took awhile. I am happy to say I am back watching the ladies around the table discussing "Hot Topics." By the way, something is going on with Whoppi. She has been calling in sick an awful lot. I am very suspicious. Is she terribly ill or is she playing hardball renegotiating her contract. That's really why Rosie left. I'll keep an eye on it for you.

I don't what details to share about my meltdown. I am so happy to have such a patient and caring support system. I was in a LOT of therapy for a long time. I am properly medicated now. This wasn't something that could be solved by exercising or eating a balanced diet. It was not good. It was really bad. I was in a state of anedonia. Nothing made me feel better, nothing made me happy, nothing helped, nothing, nothing, nothing.

One day I was lying in bed under my covers forcing myself to read and I felt ok. Just ok. I don't know if my medication finally kicked or what but I felt ok. I didn't want to jinx it. Didn't want to get out of the bed or turn on the light or stop reading. I felt safe again, the world wasn't so distant. I repeated this again the next day. Staying in bed, underneath the blanket my mother made me. Reading. I have kept taking baby steps since then. Still unsteady, doubting my ok feelings, but pushing through.

Bad Day

Blueberry Mini-Tarts and the Anti-Depressant Solution

As a treat for a wonderful Sunday evening at Ravinia, I decided to make Martha Stewart's Blueberry Mini Tarts.

I am also reading and trying to follow The Antidepressant Solution. My experience has been very difficult.

The crust, if I am not mistaken, is a Pate Sucree meaning there is sugar in it. I like it much better than the Pate Brisee which has no sugar and is too floury tasting for my liking.

pissed

So, I'm pissed because according to photobucket.com someone entered my account and deleted all of my pictures that I have had since 2006. So I hope that person dies painfully and slowly. So now, I have to go back and fix all my pictures (I have some on my computer, some not). This is why I haven't blogged in awhile. I have been mad at the person who stole my pictures and I don't even want to look at stupid thejeremyshow.com. This person is an evildoer and they will have a terrible life. Ok, letting it go. I wish them love and light and happiness.

i dont like your hair

Today I wanted to do nothing. I wanted to just sit on the couch and watch television and be covered with blankets and have no stress on my body or mind. But the computer keeps calling me. Write something, make something. Make a hat where there never was a hat.

Its difficult to write when you don't have perspective, a point of view. I'm in coping mode. Cigarettes and coffee and antidepressants. Watching a lot of movies and television- consuming art and making none. Art should be a recycling. When you see a movie you should create something inspired by that movie and put it out there.

I just keep thinking negatively about everything. Judging everything. So, best to keep my mouth shut. Because its not how I really ultimately feel about your hairdo. I think its fine. I just hate mine so much that I'm gonna lash out at yours. But if I keep it all bottled up inside I'll just act out. Acting out for me is sleeping. A mostly benign act.

My mom did not like my plan of "not doing anything day." She said I should do something so if someone asked what I did today I would have something to tell them.

Thinking about
pyschology school
key lime pie
madonna
bread machine
sleeping
audiobooks
wound on my hand that is healing
cigarettes
lube
boundaries

hey you

When Madonna's song "Hey You" came out I wanted to pretend like it didnt happen. I didnt like it. But the remix comes out and I'm all over it. Typical.

"First love yourself, or if you can't,
Try to love someone else."

Word.

Who do you want to be today? I want to be a preppie college graduate from the eighties. Wearing stone washed jeans with a long sleeved polo tucked in. A thin-ish black leather belt. Topsiders with no socks. Confident! A sports car. A long engagement with an unnatural blonde, that doesn't work out because she spots me going down on a college buddy. A successful career in marketing or business. A brief cocaine habit that lands me in rehab. These are just bits and pieces. I'm still sketching it out.

Goddam sleepy nap time man.

I am reading listening to "Againsst Depression," by Peter Kramer MD. He is the author of "Finding Prozac." He stresses that Depression is a disease. And not only that, a progressive disease that should be treated as agressivley as cancer. This was a mindfuck for me! Also reading about SSRI's and how they were not designed for long term use and can actually cause relapses if used too long. It's time to nip this. Nip it! This has been going on too long. I need to find a top drawer psychiatrist.

He also discusses the "charm" of the depressive. Because depression has been linked to artists, it has a romance attached to it. He suggests that this "charm" factor only lasts through the early stages of depression. Once shit starts to go bad-- it's not so charming anymore.

The longer it goes on the more damage it does to the brain. Fascinating.

I am trying to investigate myself. I am trying to figure it out.

hamster wheel

Today a return to therapy. I was boycotting my therapist because I wasn't happy with my life. I was blaming my therapist. Someones gotta take the blame and it sure as hell ain't me.

Feeling okay this morning. I am very excited about Big Brother. The houseguests have been announced, the theme is high school enemies and the house is decorated in a Alice In Wonderland theme. From the pictures I've seen, they could have done a better job with that but whatever. As I have mentioned, I did send my resume to the new producer of the show, one Ms. Alison Grodner, along with a paper I wrote on Big Brother for Critical Studies class. I have not been contacted. I can confidently say that it is a huge loss for them. I would have been a dedicated employee.



I have been listening to the book, "Finding My Voice" by Diane Rehm. She is my current role model. She started volunteering at a public radio station when she was in her late thirties and worked her way up to having her own show "The Diane Rehm Show." She became afflicted with a neurological disorder called spasmodic dysphonia that affects her voice. She is still plugging away. Very inspiring.

Today I want to work on figuring out what the hell I want to do with my life. I'm not sure if I want to go back to school. It's the only thing I can think about that I am even remotely interested in. But I am doubting this idea for a number of reasons-- Do I just want to do this because this is what I am comfortable with? How will I pay for it? Will this get me anywhere? I really want to do it. I'm not sure exactly what I want to study.

Last night my mother and I went to a seminar at the Newberry Library on genetics and genealogy for African Americans. It was very interesting and reaffirmed my interest in continuing my education.

I do NOT want to work in a random office right now. I am absolutely unable to do that. For the first ten years out of high school, I bounced around from working at McDonald's to Borders to various temp jobs. I feel like I have DONE that. Repeating that would be a huge waste of time and simply would not work. The idea makes me want to throw up on myself. All that is to me is making money so I can spend it. A hamster wheel, going nowhere. Education does not feel that way to me. Even if I don't have a job at the end of it, I feel a sense of acheivement and something tangible to point to and say that I did this. Perhaps I am naive. But I don't feel that there is any other way. I'm sure there is, but this seems like the path that makes sense to me.

Okay, gotta take a shower.

giving grades

"We sit in front of my laptop as This American Life comes to an end. Afterwards I take off your Adidas Tron sneakers and throw them under my bed. I slip off my ballet flats and join you on my concert tee shirt quilt I made at Sew and Tell last month..."

A site devoted to hipster erotica. Funniest thing I've heard all day. A+

Ahhh. Waiting for Peapod. My mom lovingly agreed to buy me some groceries for nourishment as I weather this anhedonic storm of unemployment and bad television. My boyfriend must be plotting my demise for all I do is watch old, DVR'd Kathy Griffin stand up specials.

Watched "Sicko" last night. Really good. I hope it makes more of a difference than F 911 did. The film is very Michael Moore-- it doesn't show much of the opposing view. But I still give it an A+.

Ohh, I was going to tell you about this yesterday.

The New York Times reports on real people and how they imagine themselves in Second Life. Love it.

It is interesting because when you are designing your avatar, a cyber representation of yourself, you start to think about yourself and what you like or don't like. I don't have to have a beer belly in cyberworld if I don't want to. I can have a tail if I want, or horns. It does raise your self-esteem to have complete control over your appearance.

I'm sort of over Second Life. Once I figured it out, I can't really think of anything to do there. There are support groups on "Support For Healing" island. I enjoy that. But lately it's just been friendly Linux programmers from the UK. They are patient listening to my problems but I think it's time to move on. Love it though. Really opened my eyes to the blurring lines of real world vs. virtual world.

Feel like a real Chatty Cathy today.

My perfect life. Once I did an improv show on a boat. It was for a prom after party. Very odd. I was dressed as a woman for part of the show, naturally. Afterwards I remember sitting with a boy (who was named earlier on this blog and I shall not name him again) and we were talking about what we want in the future. I noticed some houses along the lake we were traveling on. I said that I would like a house on the lake. I imagined dinner parties with close friends. Afterwards we would retire to the deck and look over the lake, smoking, drinking wine, being adults.

This is not where I am. (Although I am grateful everyday for the life I DO have) Thoughts like this, designs on my future, give me hope for the future. There is a real Jeremy in here trying to get out. There really is. Perhaps I am looking at things the wrong way. Perhaps the real Jeremy is here now. He just needs to pull himself up by his boot straps. Maybe, maybe not.

oxygen

back from walk. i have decided that oxygen has a profound effect on the human body. take that down.

i saw squirrels. lots of squirrels. i saw a sign in front of my apartment building announcing that they pay heat. well, they also pay my electricity and that better not be changing anytime soon.

brewing a pot of personality in the kitchen. french roast ambition. if i may steal a phrase from dolly parton.

its about money kids. and if ya dont work. ya dont make money. thats what its about. aint no pussyfootin' around it. thats just been a little hard for me to digest. been givin me a stomachace for a real long time now. and its time to face facts.

again, i am not my bank account. i am not my shoes.

going to work on my book now. the one im writing about me. there's only one star...

write it out

this time of day the black fog rolls in. i feel like i am trying to chew on or bite into a quarter. nauseous. bad goosebumps. nails on a chalkboard, that kind of feeling. a whole body migraine sort of.

take a pill and lay down. close the shades.

different from the morning with the coffee and the cigarettes. stimulating. ideas and projects. feeling the ability to do anything. hyperproductive. lets move a couch up the stairwell of the sears tower and go get breakfast after.

but now, its different. the shades are drawn. no prospect for the future.

the mood swings are terrible. hard to plan anything because you don't know where you'll be mentally when you are expected to be somewhere, and expected to be yourself. whoever that is.

with so many years of medication it is difficult to tell who "myself" is. myself comes around once in awhile. a happy accident. there he is! a stand in appears when myself is not there. and he is a cheap imitation.

more chills, nauseousness. and no one to explain it to really. no one who gets it. no one who has the manual on me.

i caught myself praying just a minute ago.
please give me the strength to get through it.

just another afternoon spell.

this is not working. not seeing therapist right now. talking in circles. too expensive. checks bouncing all over the place.

one thing i will do is go for a walk around the block. no ipod. this seems to work or is advised, at least, to us, the depressed-- "the walking dead," as oprah described recently.

my goodness. i apologize. carry on. this is not unusual. i just chose to write it out today. honest writing should do no harm.

dishes still not done

i can not believe i was in los angeles for a month! i was just laying in my bed and i had a flashback of my apartment there. the bed, the couch, the kitchen counter, the shower, the cement sidewalk leading to the little convienient mart where i bought my cigarettes. i remember how scared i was there. jesus christ. so scared. just this terrible fear. i feel it now too. hot and flushed, this prickly sensation all over my body, my stomach tied in knots. scared of what?

most of my anxiety at the current moment is about money-- but there i had prepared myself and money wasn't a concern. i react to stress in the most obnoxious, oversensitive over-the-top way. chicken little, the sky is falling. the sky is falling. i will alert others to the fact that the sky IS falling. they listen but there is always a raised eyebrow.

i know deep down that the sky is not falling. mama needs some help.

is this fear is why people drink, do drugs, play video games all the time? escape. escape.

my psychology class last summer. Freud talks about work being very important to a healthy mind. very true. i am so afraid of it. am i afraid of it? jesus christ. get over it.

i will get over this. ive been here before.

train notes

Crisis today for a lady on the train. On the phone was Don. Was Don going to pick up the child? Another concern was what was for dinner. The woman's mother had chicken. So chicken is what they were having, no question. She didn't want to worry about it. The deal was done. Chicken, period.

One woman behind me pointed out an article to her friend that she had written in a magazine. I couldn't determine the magazine. It was about "wacky diets"- not her idea she assured her friend.

Cute black man talked on his cell phone. His name was Mel. He drank water out of a styrofoam cup made for coffee. "I'm going to Tampa on Friday"

A woman stares blankly at a picture of Donald Trump on the cover of a newspaper.

I'm thinking I need to be prescribed cocaine. Medical cocaine. I've never taken cocaine. I think I just need stimulated pharmeucetically beyond just antidepressants. If someone could develop Miracle-Gro for humans. That doesn't make any sense.

And don't fucking tell me to eat right and not smoke and pay bills and get a job. These tricks are not a fix.

Woman who was looking at Trump now doing Sodoku.

I'm so fucking pissed at myself and that does no one any good. Rise above. Get wings first.

"They get paranoid in general," the "wacky diets" writer tells her friend about Alzheimer's patients. It's a new story she's working on.

I am slightly paranoid that someone might come on the train and start shooting people. Interesting mind when depressed.

Train conductor flirts with the woman who looked at Trump and then did Sodoku.

I think a Willy Wonka themed party would be obnoxious to say nothing of confusing. Which Wonka to choose- Gene Wilder or Johnny Depp. Very different. No one suggested this idea, I don't know why I even thought of this.

4 in the morning

maybe if i got glasses things would be better. a nice sturdy pair of glasses that would say to the world i'm serious about me. unfortunately, i don't have vision problems, at least not in the literal sense.

it's 8:26 am. i plan to go back to bed after this post.
to do:
laundry
dishes
keep up the job search

i'm sorry i'm not as bright and bushy tailed as you would like.

it occured to me that i need not play the victim constantly. it also occured to be that i need not write publicly about my inner thoughts.

the only thing worth watching on television is american idol. i needn't worry about virginia tech. very sad, yes. no more information needed, thank you.

alec baldwin is calling his daughter a pig. this shouldn't concern me. i don't know him. i do not know alec baldwin.

drawerful of pantyhose

we all got problems. it's backbreaking being alive. you try to clean it all up. clean your apartment, do the dishes, do laundry, go grocery shopping. the next day you have to do it all over again. its madness. all with a smile on your face and a "i'm doing pretty good." and we're all not. we're all doing terrible. we're all treading water.

everythings dirty. everything is a big mess. i guess this is when im supposed to have kids and all of the petty things just slip away. the only thing that matters is my baby. well i cant have no baby! im sorry. im a fag. im gay. having a baby would be a disaster. and what do i leave to the world? ugh! to think of my personal effects at a thrift store with old ladies and hipsters picking through them. disgusting. they'd lift one of my sweaters to their nose and smell stale smoke and move on. as they should.

let me tell you. im trying to be semi healthy. for me that means making sure i eat before 5. most days i wait until i feel like im going to pass out. then i overcompensate by having a disgusting plate of starch and cheese and then i pass out into a carb induced coma. im barely alive. fueled only by nicotine and caffeine. not to mention a laundry list of psychotropic medicine that would make elvis nervous. this is the hand i was dealt. or that i dealt myself or a combination of the two. i dont remember how i got here.

so many birthdays and holidays and babies. i cant keep up! so sick and tired of pretending, putting on a celebratory show. what would be the perfect gift, the perfect surprise to show i care? enough already. stop the world i want to get off! truer words were never spoken. who created this merry go round? time to throw all my crap off the balcony into the dumpster and scrounge up some money, hop on a plane to asia or india or africa and disappear amongst diseased poultry.

i want simple. i want to clear the surfaces. nothing but an ashtray, a glass of water and a pen and pencil. i dont need all this crap: blank dvds, prom pictures, a library of books with overt or subtle homoerotic tones. why do i have to store all this? who am i storing it for. for reference? what am i referencing? what am i ultimately doing with all this garbage???

from real simple, march edition:

"master bedroom"

PICK AND CHOOSE: Furniture that didn't match (and not in an interesting, eclectic way ) and shelves overflowing with DVD's and books gave the room a garage-sale look. Getting rid of the dresser and and two bookcases was a start. Felicia relocated some things and tossed the rest. 'I work at home now' says Felicia, a scrapbooking consultant. 'Why do I need a drawerful of pantyhose?"



Felicia seems to be getting her shit together and so should I. But I rented two movies from Blockbuster (not to mention four movies that I already have out from Netflix and a bunch I bought during several Best Buy blitzes over Christmas) and somehow that takes priority over everything. I guess I feel like if I watch these movies I might have the chance of connecting with or escaping into a fantasy world.

And that's what it all comes down to. Fantasy. What sort of fantasy am I living in? Why can't I just stare my life right into the eyes and say, "Mister you got a big mess to contend with. Some animal, some cat got in to your life and puked up hairballs all over the carpet and it's time to clean it up."

www.thejeremyshow.com

YOU GET NOTHING! Hahahaha

Crazy faggot walking the streets of Chicago in bad clothes smoking cigarettes. That's what I am. Sleepwalking. That's what it feels like. Can't form sentences.

I came home, watched my shows, made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich x2 and carrot sticks and ranch dressing. Feeling very empty and angry at the same time. I came across a picture of Bette Davis and I thought, yes! I need Bette Davis right now. So, I go to youtube, and found another compilation by the genius vj Danorama and I am instantly happy. It contains scenes from a movie called "Dead Ringer," which I have been trying to remember the name of for about a year now. And...and...JAN HOOKS's fantastic portrayal of her videotaped will on Saturday Night Live.

I also need more JAN HOOKS in my life. Back to basics. If you were me you would be watching this right now.

oh for the love of god!

everything coming out all sideways.
very angry right now.
confused about how people see me.
guess it doesnt matter.
maybe im getting other peoples issues with themselves tangled with my own.
this annoying paragraph/sentence structure isnt helping matters either.

and that whole thing is played out.
im so done with it.

enough.

how jeremy got his groove back

I couldnt remember what we were supposed to write about for class so I thought Id write about my day.

I went to see my therapist today after a three month break. Really felt emotionally raw. We started talking about stuff and something hit a nerve and I wanted to cry. I guess its been awhile since I have talked about my feelings. Ive sort of been numb.

After meeting with my therapist, I felt a mixture of relief and sadness. I walked back to my house through the rain, wanting to talk to someone. I called my mother and some friends but everyone went to voicemail. I came home and fell asleep for five hours.

This always happens in the Fall and its nothing new for me. Its such a shock to see the seasons change so dramatically, so fast. Seasonal Affectiveness Disorder, probably.

I tried to think of something happy today and everything seemed annoying to me.

A book cover? Like the cover of really good quality paperbacks that can take you to another world. Photography in general. Pictures of Madonna. These things make me happy.

And there is always How Stella Got Her Groove Back. What is it about that movie for me? I speak in all serious when I say that my seratonin level increases significantly when that movie is on. Maybe it's the combination of the soul music and the tropical locale that really relaxes me. And Taye Diggs.

I want to be Angela Bassett in Jamaica right now. I want Whoppi Goldberg to be my friend who has some mysterious movie illness that brings us together just before its too late. Then I get married to Taye Diggs and quit my job as a stockbroker to design wood furniture out of my garage.

Just writing about that makes me happy.

one day my soul just opened up

a whiff of fall in the air. soon the beaches of lake michigan will be caked with snow and ice and i shall be in my apartment with the radiator on. i laugh at the radiator now. haha. you are not my friend radiator. the air conditioner is my real friend. but the radiator sits knowingly. knowingly sits.

this time of the year reminds me of my once yearly trips to the mental hospitals of mchenry county. gather round children for another story of auntie jeremy going crazy.

the first time i went to the hospital there was a friendly blonde counselor lady who really helped me. i cant remember why i was there. i was shaky anxiety boy. i remember seeing the book by iyanla vanzant, "One Day My Soul Just Opened Up" in her office. actually, i dont think it was her office because when i asked if i could borrow the book she gave me a "you're kidding" look. this twenty year old boy wanting to borrow an inspirational book written primarily for women in the oprah demographic. she had no idea.

i dont remember much about the book but i remember that it helped me for two or three days. as self help books go for me. i liked the cover the most. i think the cover helped me more and for longer.



recently, as i lay, lie on my couch staring at the television i remembered the book and its cover. this is what i want fall to be for me. what summer wasn't i want fall to be.
vibrant colors. with the ability to breathe.

i think the hospital for me was a place where i felt safe to vomit up all the scary terrible stuff in my life. just feelings packed so tightly together. i needed to explode. couldnt breathe.

I'll just die if I don't get that recipe

I am trying to be more forthcoming with my opinions (whether they are temporary or permanent). To have a voice about how I feel is much more worthwhile than shrouding things in a Stepford haze created with the sole purpose of not hurting others.

I don't like that outfit.
I like you.
You turn me on and I shouldnt be turned on by you but I am.
Shut Up!!
What you are talking about is dumb.
I am busy.
Etc.

If I continue to pretend I am ok with things or not express when I am angry happy or sad-- the world will miss out on the wonder that is me.

Just for today, let's just quit pretending and see what happens.

i know your window and i know it's late.

i am a nice person. i am not bad. i am a retarted boy that people feel sorry for. am i saying that to be dramatic and manipulative? i feel lonely. everything is a mess.

pardon me. "tylenol chest congestion" fucking with my brain. everything takes so much work-- the coffee filters, the paper towels, the dishes, the laundry, the vacuuming. i am exhausted. upper respiratory hell-- do i have SARS? how would you know, you're not even listening because you're sleeping. you have a job, you're bringing home the bacon.

never had a chance to see him, no! never heard nothing but bad things about him.

spending too much time trying to go back in time. looking up people from high school-- they are teachers in illinois and hawaii, futures brokers (what in the hell does that mean), realtors, babies, marriages, more babies. the lonely homosexual sits at 1:24 in the morning and writes it all down.

just the moon and me and you

yes i like to watch a lot of tv. yes i like to smoke and eat bad foods and drink diet cokes and sleep a lot and live a life of shit. of shit. of shit shit shit. things people say haunting me. in a real i-should-see-a-therapist mood. i assure you i am fine. just venting, trying to remove the barnacles off my hull. a nautical reference!

administrations, bills and loans, come with me...

i am sorry if you don't understand. i can't explain the whole thing to you. it's too complicated. let's just go to taco bell. that's what it comes down to, doesn't it? let's just hit the taco bell and call it a night. crawl into my bed, my fort made out of blankets with cigarette burns and saliva stains. blecch! gross. i assure you i'm fine. you'd know if it was a cry for help because i'd be calling you. sleep it off. just sleep it off. doing head rolls, cracking my neck, hoping to crack my neck.

talk of circadian rhythms

ok. good. that's it. oh maybe a little bit more. ok now.