mthor

At this point, it's be worth it, and I'll throw in a pint of my sister's home made wisznowka.

I'm a solitaire woman myself. Then I can always win. ;D

Come clean my house, and I will let you pick what kind of cookies I make you.

Meh, I don't know. It's nice to be able to have the occasional chocolate bar or milk shake and have the only consequence be salad for dinner for a night or two, not a session of either messing around with my insulin or saying to hell with it and begging for complications. I live by myself, I mow my own lawn, I go up and down stairs, even at my craziest; can't do that with no legs. I'm so nearsighted in one eye that I don't have any depth perception, so losing it wouldn't make much difference. I've watched a lot of people die from cancer, including my parents. I'd rather be bipolar - no matter how much pain I'm in, I can always get up and go to the bathroom, I can (although I might not) feed myself, and I can turn over in bed. You don't have those options in end-stage cancer. And the thing is, is that bipolar disorder is treatable. Not easily, no 100% symptom free guaranteed, but enough so that one can get along. I'd rather have something like bipolar disorder than a personality disorder, which can't be medicated per se, but instead requires intensive therapy, which horrifies me more than a life on meds. And to go completely Pollyanna on you: Life is not a matter of holding good cards, but of playing a poor hand well. (Robert Louis Stevenson)

If you weren't bipolar, you'd be something else that sucks in its own special way. That's why I stick with the devil I know.

How can you tell that he's bored with his tank? Turtles aren't the most expressive creatures. For that matter, how can you tell it's a him? (and now all I can think of is "have you ever smelled mothballs?" "Yes." "How did you get your head between their little tiny legs?")

Then burn them and scatter the ashes at a cross roads.

Oh, stop, you're killing me. Nobody portrays you as a hapless manchild - you ARE a hapless manchild.

Robbing from the rich and giving to the poor =/= shoplifting because you can't keep a job long enough to afford the toys you want

Then what do you mean? Not trying to be snarky, it's just that you present an interesting question: What would make a previously rational person reach an emotional point where they'd attempt, or at least consider, suicide? I'm afraid that my perspective is so skewed on this that, outside of rational suicides, I can't really think of anything. (And again, not trying to be flip, I'm genuinely curious.)

If you haven't lost it by now, you probably won't. Most mental illnesses develop, or at least the symptoms become obvious, in late adolescence/early adulthood (or younger).

Thank you.

Do you think if we did, that anybody would ever figure out the connection?

Crock pots rule. Great for chili and corned beef, too (it's not just for St Patrick's day anymore).

I saw the title of this threads, and thought it said TucksGoneWild.com. A] Oh, the possibilities. B] I need new glasses.

At my age, riding a bicycle is one of the ways I court death.

When I'm not cycling, I don't. Oddly enough, when I'm depressed, I just wait for death to come to me. It's only when I hit a certain point in mania that I go out looking for it.

Who poured salt on your cheerios this morning? Please just stop. You know better, and you know that this will end badly. It always does.

Don't forget the fat in the granola.

Why do you do this? It wouldn't occur to me post the latest in enema bags or the spiffy new wound packing we've got. What happens at work might be amusing, but what you use at work should stay at work.

Youth is wasted on the young, and rehab is wasted on the dead.

And this is why I don't have TV.

I'm going to have to go out for smokes shortly - watch me get snacks and forget the cigarettes (and I'm not even hungry).