This morning I had a dream that I was following a woman with an underwater camera as she dove into a murky lake on a cloudy day. She began to swim with schools of fishes who seemed to follow her as she followed them.
A concerned relative asked me to find out what was going on because a huge shark fin had been seen in the water, heading right toward her.
Turns out that it was a grey oven mitt shaped like a fin.
That section followed a part in the dream where I was on some tugboat fixed up like a pirate ship where I was jousting with several young men on the main deck.
I love/hate dreams like that.
***
I was going through my emails today and found several from my aunt which I had kept. One of them was an update on the status of her cancer, that it had spread and she was at peace with that.
Should I keep them or delete them?
I took about 10 minutes to think about it.
It was too painful to keep them so I deleted them.
I want to remember her for the good things, not the cancer that invaded her body and eventually killed her.
I can't even begin to imagine what my cousin and uncle are going through.
Apparently, they were with her when she died. She just stopped breathing in her sleep.
A peaceful way to go for her, but to see that actually happen, I think I would rip my eyes out to erase that final image...
Monday, October 29, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
goodbye
It was the preamble nobody wants to hear - "while you were away..."
My aunt died last Thursday.
My family didn't want to tell me right away because this was weekend I was going to Toronto to attend a festival where 3 of my photos and film were being shown. I was so happy, had such a wonderful weekend, but now, none of that matters. My sorrow runs deeper than I thought as my aunt's battle with cancer echoes my most terrifying fear that my mother might be next if the cancer comes back.
My aunt died a day after she was moved to the hospice, in her sleep, the most peaceful and gentle way to go. She leaves behind a husband, daughter and 1 year old granddaughter, and a huge hole in our family tree.
It's ironic how I took this photo only a week ago to document the memory of a beautiful summer while simultaneously grieving the passing of yet another season: everything is dying or preparing for the big sleep. I never thought that this natural process of things would hit so close to home so soon.
So I will be away for a little while, hopefully with a more positive spin on things, and with the rest of those pictures from what remains the best photo shoot to date, but now, my natural process of grieving begins.
I thank you all for being there when I needed you the most.
My aunt died last Thursday.
My family didn't want to tell me right away because this was weekend I was going to Toronto to attend a festival where 3 of my photos and film were being shown. I was so happy, had such a wonderful weekend, but now, none of that matters. My sorrow runs deeper than I thought as my aunt's battle with cancer echoes my most terrifying fear that my mother might be next if the cancer comes back.
My aunt died a day after she was moved to the hospice, in her sleep, the most peaceful and gentle way to go. She leaves behind a husband, daughter and 1 year old granddaughter, and a huge hole in our family tree.
It's ironic how I took this photo only a week ago to document the memory of a beautiful summer while simultaneously grieving the passing of yet another season: everything is dying or preparing for the big sleep. I never thought that this natural process of things would hit so close to home so soon.
So I will be away for a little while, hopefully with a more positive spin on things, and with the rest of those pictures from what remains the best photo shoot to date, but now, my natural process of grieving begins.
I thank you all for being there when I needed you the most.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
rock star
Seems like I'm a rock star here - people know me, have heard about me, want to meet me, are blown away with my work. I'm meeting photographers, graphic artists, movers, shakers. It's wacky cool.
I'm pooped tho - but not the same pooped that comes from running around nyc. Toronto is a big spread out place, but it lacks the deep funky that new york oozes. Every time I turn a corner or emerge from the subway, I flash back to the moment of realization that "Wait! I'm in new york!" to "oh, i just thought this was new york..."
But in December I'll be there
and for now, I must say, Toronto has been more accommodating to my art than even my own province. How f&*ed is that?
The festival is great - these people with all their disabilities are so inspiring, mind blowing. I am so impressed. Really moved. And have met some wonderful truly beautiful people here.
Coming back next week for leg two of my story.
I think next week will be even cooler than this one
if that's possible...
lol
I'm pooped tho - but not the same pooped that comes from running around nyc. Toronto is a big spread out place, but it lacks the deep funky that new york oozes. Every time I turn a corner or emerge from the subway, I flash back to the moment of realization that "Wait! I'm in new york!" to "oh, i just thought this was new york..."
But in December I'll be there
and for now, I must say, Toronto has been more accommodating to my art than even my own province. How f&*ed is that?
The festival is great - these people with all their disabilities are so inspiring, mind blowing. I am so impressed. Really moved. And have met some wonderful truly beautiful people here.
Coming back next week for leg two of my story.
I think next week will be even cooler than this one
if that's possible...
lol
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
All wet - the morning after...
crazy.
Alex and Max - thank you so very much. You have both saved me from a slow and painful creative death.
This means more to me than either of you will ever know...
Alex and Max - thank you so very much. You have both saved me from a slow and painful creative death.
This means more to me than either of you will ever know...
Stanley Steemer Toby's New Trick
I saw this the other night and we almost peed our pants. For close to an hour, all we did was laugh over and over again. E sent this to me today, and I'm still laughing.
Good medicine for anything that ails you.
ougabuga
Oh my God.
I am so baked, and it took me almost an hour to scrape off all that musty crap and muddy dirt I had been rolling in all day during the shoot from hell.
Everything went wrong - the models were late, the locations were wrong, and once we did find one, there was no power and we had to go on a mad goose chase to find some in a warehouses the sizes of two football fields each...
And then A had to paint all the girls, and then the main actor.
and then, and then
By the time we got ready, I had spent two hours in a dark and musty garbage strewn mucky abandon warehouse. The sun was already on its way into the horizon for dinner time, and the rain would not let up. Not even one drop.
But despite my panic, and A's panic, it all turned out well. Not as well as I had hoped it would - had to change my lighting setup three times before I settled on one that had enough potential for some decent eye candy - and 5 models and 5 hours later, we managed to pull off something that I had no idea I could do successfully.
M and A loved the results. That put me at ease.
I began to loosen up when we went back to M's studio and began my "bathroom" shoot in his industrial/minimalist shower. That made me grin like a kid in a candy store - eye candy store for me...
So in the end - all exhausted, dusty (God. I think I have to throw my whole camera into the washing machine. There is soo much dust!!) it was a good shoot.
I was so flattered when A told me that for each shoot, I'm first on his list. That is a huge compliment from someone who I have no doubt, will soon become one of the world's most influential body painters of his time.
I have no more energy or hard drive space (E - WE NEED MORE HD SPACE AND A FASTER COMPUTER!! I have 400 images and they are all in RAW format! It will be Christmas before I finish processing them!!
But relieved I am. This is always a good thing, in so many many ways...
I am so baked, and it took me almost an hour to scrape off all that musty crap and muddy dirt I had been rolling in all day during the shoot from hell.
Everything went wrong - the models were late, the locations were wrong, and once we did find one, there was no power and we had to go on a mad goose chase to find some in a warehouses the sizes of two football fields each...
And then A had to paint all the girls, and then the main actor.
and then, and then
By the time we got ready, I had spent two hours in a dark and musty garbage strewn mucky abandon warehouse. The sun was already on its way into the horizon for dinner time, and the rain would not let up. Not even one drop.
But despite my panic, and A's panic, it all turned out well. Not as well as I had hoped it would - had to change my lighting setup three times before I settled on one that had enough potential for some decent eye candy - and 5 models and 5 hours later, we managed to pull off something that I had no idea I could do successfully.
M and A loved the results. That put me at ease.
I began to loosen up when we went back to M's studio and began my "bathroom" shoot in his industrial/minimalist shower. That made me grin like a kid in a candy store - eye candy store for me...
So in the end - all exhausted, dusty (God. I think I have to throw my whole camera into the washing machine. There is soo much dust!!) it was a good shoot.
I was so flattered when A told me that for each shoot, I'm first on his list. That is a huge compliment from someone who I have no doubt, will soon become one of the world's most influential body painters of his time.
I have no more energy or hard drive space (E - WE NEED MORE HD SPACE AND A FASTER COMPUTER!! I have 400 images and they are all in RAW format! It will be Christmas before I finish processing them!!
But relieved I am. This is always a good thing, in so many many ways...
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Chernobyl in the city
I had a huge meltdown last night.
And it was ugly...
It began the way it always does - I freak out over something, and every other grain of frustration erodes away that one particular spot until it's a blistering and burning sore. First it was the camera snafus, then about the whole bankruptcy thing, then the "What am I doing with my life?" drama.
Bubble bubble toil and trouble
It didn't help that the night before I was on a manic high - I knew it had to come crashing down at some point.
Better yesterday that during the shoot!
But it was ugly.
I didn't think that my mind could go down those back roads of insanity twice in one lifetime, but there I was, white knuckled holding on to whatever shreds of reason I had left, and watched the rest fly by in a blinding explosion.
During these times, whatever lies within my circumference will become airborne. Heavy or light, it doesn't matter. I saw three camera bodies and a cluster of lenses and knew it was time to get out of the house.
My whole body shook - heaving and gasping for air. Cockroaches in my head, snakes inside my veins, my heart about to explode. It was hell.
I'm typing this but it seems so odd and incoherent, surreal.
So many things I want to write about - that whole experience of sitting in the car and screaming at the top of my lungs out of sheer terror, the inability to even stop any of this. I was not my body and it was not me. Perhaps it's the exhaustion setting in. It's still so fresh - that manic meltdown.
I'm better now.
Better in the sense that I'm calm. But better in the real sense - not really.
This mania can strike back at any moment - which is what scares the shit out of me. I am a walking time bomb. A Chernobyl in the city waiting to happen.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
oh yea - new york, here I come...
Oh yea...
I spoke with Rhonda today.
She is so excited to have me as part of her artist network. She's only chosen 4 artists to 'officially represent" - and I'm one of them.
She says she's just moved to pieces about my photography and loves loves my work. This is perhaps one of the highest form of flattery coming from a woman who has been in the art world in New York city for a long time, and owns her own gallery in Chelsea.
and it's in the same building as Aperture.
It still has not yet sunken in.
I think I'll be doing some serious back flips when I go down in December for the first many group shows in her space.
wow.
New York.
My work.
in a gallery
in New York
in Chelsea
a floor above the famous Aperture gallery
now that's enough to make anybody manic with joy!
I spoke with Rhonda today.
She is so excited to have me as part of her artist network. She's only chosen 4 artists to 'officially represent" - and I'm one of them.
She says she's just moved to pieces about my photography and loves loves my work. This is perhaps one of the highest form of flattery coming from a woman who has been in the art world in New York city for a long time, and owns her own gallery in Chelsea.
and it's in the same building as Aperture.
It still has not yet sunken in.
I think I'll be doing some serious back flips when I go down in December for the first many group shows in her space.
wow.
New York.
My work.
in a gallery
in New York
in Chelsea
a floor above the famous Aperture gallery
now that's enough to make anybody manic with joy!
Friday, October 19, 2007
Before defining art - or any concept...
I could have sworn Andrei was with me today in that warehouse.
The shots I took were just outrageously beautiful. My eye felt comfortable in this industrial surrounding. A vision guided by a mentor - truly a zen experience.
The shots I took were just outrageously beautiful. My eye felt comfortable in this industrial surrounding. A vision guided by a mentor - truly a zen experience.
Deathwatch
My mom got a call from my cousin a few hours ago - my aunt is too sick to be on daily chemo because her WBC is almost non existent. Apparently she is confused and tired all the time.
I don't even want to think about what my poor cousin must be going through - they were almost fused at the hip. This will crush her. I am so sad for her and for her mother. I can't even imagine what they are going through.
I will miss her.
I ended up walking to the park this afternoon and found a spot where i used to feed the ducks and wept my eyes out - probably will be the last time I will feed them until next spring.
The city uprooted all the flowers and took away all the benches - everything looks like a preparation for a funeral. What a stark contrast to the memories of blooming colors and chirping birds everywhere, the sweet smell of pine cones hanging heavy in the humid summer afternoon air.
I will miss it.
I used to think that February was my worst month - grey, bleak, everything is still sleeping underneath the snow, but I have to say it's late October/early November.
Everything is dying, returning to its roots.
Preparing for a big sleep.
So now we wait.
I don't even want to think about what my poor cousin must be going through - they were almost fused at the hip. This will crush her. I am so sad for her and for her mother. I can't even imagine what they are going through.
I will miss her.
I ended up walking to the park this afternoon and found a spot where i used to feed the ducks and wept my eyes out - probably will be the last time I will feed them until next spring.
The city uprooted all the flowers and took away all the benches - everything looks like a preparation for a funeral. What a stark contrast to the memories of blooming colors and chirping birds everywhere, the sweet smell of pine cones hanging heavy in the humid summer afternoon air.
I will miss it.
I used to think that February was my worst month - grey, bleak, everything is still sleeping underneath the snow, but I have to say it's late October/early November.
Everything is dying, returning to its roots.
Preparing for a big sleep.
So now we wait.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
i feel like a photographer again...
I am sooo stoked.
(Now I'm thinking, if this was any indication of what direction we will be going into - then it's gonna be one hell of a crazy ride!!!!)
After weeks of being uninspired, I met up with my best buddy - Alex Hansen and I are going to do a shoot which promises to be out of this world.
He is working on Deathrace 2000 which is shooting here, and one of the main actors -Max Ryan, has agreed to undergo some strange bodypainting with Alex (with Maestro airbrush at the helm and moi behind the camera) It will be a huge shoot - perhaps a 19 hour shoot from start to finish, but I have no doubt that this will be one for the record books!!
It's been almost 20 years since I met Alex.
That's a loooong time.
We had a good laugh when we told Max. He must have thought we met when we were 10 cause neither of us kooks look like we are pushing 40.
Eehh.
What an idea.
Scratch that for now...
I'll keep you posted.
(and I'm a little more tired than Monday night. I might just fall asleep before 4am this time...)
(Now I'm thinking, if this was any indication of what direction we will be going into - then it's gonna be one hell of a crazy ride!!!!)
After weeks of being uninspired, I met up with my best buddy - Alex Hansen and I are going to do a shoot which promises to be out of this world.
He is working on Deathrace 2000 which is shooting here, and one of the main actors -Max Ryan, has agreed to undergo some strange bodypainting with Alex (with Maestro airbrush at the helm and moi behind the camera) It will be a huge shoot - perhaps a 19 hour shoot from start to finish, but I have no doubt that this will be one for the record books!!
It's been almost 20 years since I met Alex.
That's a loooong time.
We had a good laugh when we told Max. He must have thought we met when we were 10 cause neither of us kooks look like we are pushing 40.
Eehh.
What an idea.
Scratch that for now...
I'll keep you posted.
(and I'm a little more tired than Monday night. I might just fall asleep before 4am this time...)
Monday, October 15, 2007
thank you...
Thank you for saving my photographic sanity
it means more to me than you could ever know
you know who you are
oxoxox
it means more to me than you could ever know
you know who you are
oxoxox
chatter
the panic is almost constant now.
an incessant industrial hum that runs from the base of my neck to behind my eyeballs
typewriter keys
300wpm
breathing has become a hiccup in between deep sighs
part of me wants to cry until my eyes run bleached streaks down my face
the other part
the phantom hysterical middle aged housewife
aching for the next little miracle she dissolves underneath her tongue
trimming all the frayed edges away
needs sleep and solace in a dreamless heavy rest which remains elusive to even the most exhausted set of limbs and layer of sticky cold skin
I can't sleep...
Laughter takes my mind off of being on
it seems as if the soul rests on a duvet cloud of delight
but sadly enough
there are not enough Frasier re-runs to pacify the restless
for long enough to benefit from a giggle or a smirk
The mind races
my fingers scramble to filter the chatter
to form coherent sos distress calls
so I can understand myself
hello anti-depressant?
yes, this mr. tranquilizer calling for a broken lady
who's wires need fixin'
she's home but not answering the door
she's behind the door but not answering the phone
she's underneath
she's beside
herself
not home
not home
where are you?
where am I?
in this late night episodic vampire hoax
fighting off invisible mental monsters
tiny synaptic elves
ants of doom and fear of everything that can ever be spoken from
a slow death by blood letting or a quick invisible evaporation in a big bang
sweeping side to side finding scraps of reason to dispose of
fucken bloody hell
I can't stop this. I've tried breathing, but that becomes too intense. Following the paths of a cardiac giant inside of my body begins to freak me out - awestruck by the complexity of human anatomy
How about staring into the bubbling wick of a scented candle (I'm getting desperate here...), I see armies of exploding heads, melting faces.
How about just letting it pass?
highway din that never stops
it never really stops because the pavement always echoes the engine roar
*****
Way back when I was depressed, when I was more depressed than manic, I would cry for hours. Catatonic weeping that deepened with every gasp. There was a tunnel that i could see no end to. Easy to get lost, hard to get out. My body would eventually give up. A coma-like sleep would overcome me. By the time we got to the hospital, I was unconscious from the exhaustion. I ache for that surrender right now.
2:20am
*****
There is a solution to this problem - this - le grand prix suicide mission in my head?
Good evening Mr. ativan
How are you doing Professor rivotril
and so glad to see you Doctor cyclobenzaprine
but they are an addictive panacea to a greater chemical imbalance, or has this become a dependency already? Is my brain already hooked on this industrial factory pace that it has become its own worst enemy?
Bloody fucken hell
I think I might just take that muscle relaxant
just might take that last glass of LBV port and appreciate the clear "stems" as they romantically slide down the inside of a glass, acknowledge myself folding into bed until the morning - knowing that solace will only be found in my pleas for help and/or guidance into the voice-box of my psychiatrist who is : currently unavailable to take your call so please leave a message after the
beeeeeep
an incessant industrial hum that runs from the base of my neck to behind my eyeballs
typewriter keys
300wpm
breathing has become a hiccup in between deep sighs
part of me wants to cry until my eyes run bleached streaks down my face
the other part
the phantom hysterical middle aged housewife
aching for the next little miracle she dissolves underneath her tongue
trimming all the frayed edges away
needs sleep and solace in a dreamless heavy rest which remains elusive to even the most exhausted set of limbs and layer of sticky cold skin
I can't sleep...
Laughter takes my mind off of being on
it seems as if the soul rests on a duvet cloud of delight
but sadly enough
there are not enough Frasier re-runs to pacify the restless
for long enough to benefit from a giggle or a smirk
The mind races
my fingers scramble to filter the chatter
to form coherent sos distress calls
so I can understand myself
hello anti-depressant?
yes, this mr. tranquilizer calling for a broken lady
who's wires need fixin'
she's home but not answering the door
she's behind the door but not answering the phone
she's underneath
she's beside
herself
not home
not home
where are you?
where am I?
in this late night episodic vampire hoax
fighting off invisible mental monsters
tiny synaptic elves
ants of doom and fear of everything that can ever be spoken from
a slow death by blood letting or a quick invisible evaporation in a big bang
sweeping side to side finding scraps of reason to dispose of
fucken bloody hell
I can't stop this. I've tried breathing, but that becomes too intense. Following the paths of a cardiac giant inside of my body begins to freak me out - awestruck by the complexity of human anatomy
How about staring into the bubbling wick of a scented candle (I'm getting desperate here...), I see armies of exploding heads, melting faces.
How about just letting it pass?
highway din that never stops
it never really stops because the pavement always echoes the engine roar
*****
Way back when I was depressed, when I was more depressed than manic, I would cry for hours. Catatonic weeping that deepened with every gasp. There was a tunnel that i could see no end to. Easy to get lost, hard to get out. My body would eventually give up. A coma-like sleep would overcome me. By the time we got to the hospital, I was unconscious from the exhaustion. I ache for that surrender right now.
2:20am
*****
There is a solution to this problem - this - le grand prix suicide mission in my head?
Good evening Mr. ativan
How are you doing Professor rivotril
and so glad to see you Doctor cyclobenzaprine
but they are an addictive panacea to a greater chemical imbalance, or has this become a dependency already? Is my brain already hooked on this industrial factory pace that it has become its own worst enemy?
Bloody fucken hell
I think I might just take that muscle relaxant
just might take that last glass of LBV port and appreciate the clear "stems" as they romantically slide down the inside of a glass, acknowledge myself folding into bed until the morning - knowing that solace will only be found in my pleas for help and/or guidance into the voice-box of my psychiatrist who is : currently unavailable to take your call so please leave a message after the
beeeeeep
Sunday, October 14, 2007
letter to a friend...
it seems that after a email spewing, I'm too wiped to re-edit the words that I have sent to fit into this blog - so I'll just copy and paste for now...
What's new girl?
I've spent the last two weeks on an emotional rollercoaster - found out that my meds for my ulcer were causing me to go fucken full blown manic/depressed. A little sleuthing on the internet found an obscure article in medical jargon that what I suffered from was in fact because of (all things) Zantac. Yep - less than 2% of the population - that's me. Despite my doctor's reassurances that this would not happen (happened with Prylosec, losec, Nexium - all those stomach meds) he was wrong - so back to square one - bland foods, trying not to stress and Denis and his bad tasting Chinese medicine...
my aunt is doing worse - she decided on the chemo but my uncle says it's perhaps a matter of weeks, not months.
It didn't help that I was manic and wired shooting to hell and back during the news. I'm fighting like you would not beleive to keep thoughts of cancer and dying at bay...
wait a minute - the anxiety monster was in you two.
My question to Gayle (if I can get in touch with her is) - how do you cbt death?
I've tried and tried, but my brain is like a taut piano wire - resisting reason. I am getting physically drained from trying to reign the monsters in. I breathe, let them pass but like a haunted house - they pop up in the most unlikely places, always around the corner. There is a glitch in the system and I can't find the exit...
my selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors are not doing their job...
some neurotransmitter is taking an extended lunch...
but E has been a dream through this whole thing. Despite him shutting between BF nowhere California and New York state, he has been my only constant. How strange it is for me to look back on my shitty mistakes. Even the art I produced as a result makes me uneasy now.
How strange is that?
this is not an email desperate for answers - despite its tone, just a checking in to let you know that I'm alive - shaken, broken, cold all the time, but alive.
I have to push myself to go out again - what are you doing this week? I'm home most of the time. Maybe I can come over and we can have fun with your new modern/fancypancy easy-bake oven...
What's new girl?
I've spent the last two weeks on an emotional rollercoaster - found out that my meds for my ulcer were causing me to go fucken full blown manic/depressed. A little sleuthing on the internet found an obscure article in medical jargon that what I suffered from was in fact because of (all things) Zantac. Yep - less than 2% of the population - that's me. Despite my doctor's reassurances that this would not happen (happened with Prylosec, losec, Nexium - all those stomach meds) he was wrong - so back to square one - bland foods, trying not to stress and Denis and his bad tasting Chinese medicine...
my aunt is doing worse - she decided on the chemo but my uncle says it's perhaps a matter of weeks, not months.
It didn't help that I was manic and wired shooting to hell and back during the news. I'm fighting like you would not beleive to keep thoughts of cancer and dying at bay...
wait a minute - the anxiety monster was in you two.
My question to Gayle (if I can get in touch with her is) - how do you cbt death?
I've tried and tried, but my brain is like a taut piano wire - resisting reason. I am getting physically drained from trying to reign the monsters in. I breathe, let them pass but like a haunted house - they pop up in the most unlikely places, always around the corner. There is a glitch in the system and I can't find the exit...
my selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors are not doing their job...
some neurotransmitter is taking an extended lunch...
but E has been a dream through this whole thing. Despite him shutting between BF nowhere California and New York state, he has been my only constant. How strange it is for me to look back on my shitty mistakes. Even the art I produced as a result makes me uneasy now.
How strange is that?
this is not an email desperate for answers - despite its tone, just a checking in to let you know that I'm alive - shaken, broken, cold all the time, but alive.
I have to push myself to go out again - what are you doing this week? I'm home most of the time. Maybe I can come over and we can have fun with your new modern/fancypancy easy-bake oven...
Friday, October 12, 2007
Mania-like episodes associated with ranitidine and the cough that would not go away...
Sometimes, the internet can be your best friend, despite its sometimes paranoid inducing onslaught of informational seepage...
I am going to print this out the next time I see my stomach doctor - the one who told me that Zantac would give me little if any side effects on my system (as I'm taking it for my ulcers).
Just when I thought I was really going crazy, the answer might have been as simple as this.
or could it be something more complicated?
I'm going off cold turkey as of today.
I'll keep you posted...
There have been reports of other neuropsychiatnic disorders-
drowsiness, confusion, delirium, visual hallucinations
(2-4), and depression-following treatment with H2 receptom
blockers (ranitidine or cimetidine), but we believe this to
be the first report of acute mania.
The mechanism is unknown, but ranitidine crosses the
blood-brain barrier (2), and there is experimental evidence in
animals of cerebral H1 and/or H2 histaminic receptors that
have the capacity to bind not only antihistamines but also
some antidepressant drugs (5, 6). However, the therapeutic
effects of these may be related to other mechanisms.
REFERENCES
1. Billings RF, Stein MB: Depression associated with ranitidine.
Am J Psychiatry 1986; 143:915-916
2. Price W, Coli L, Brandstetter RD, et at: Ranitidine-associated
hallucinations. Eur J Clin Pharmacol 1985; 29:375-376
3. Mani RB, Spellun JS, Frank JH, et at: H2 receptor blockers and
mental confusion (letter). Lancet 1984; 2:98
4. Silverstone PH: Ranitidine and confusion (letter). Lancet 1984;
1: 1071
S. Coupet J, Szuchs-Myers VA: Brain histamine H1 and H2
receptors and histamine sensitive adrenylate cyclase: effects of
antipsychotics and antidepressants. Eur J Pharmacot 1981; 74:
149-155
I am going to print this out the next time I see my stomach doctor - the one who told me that Zantac would give me little if any side effects on my system (as I'm taking it for my ulcers).
Just when I thought I was really going crazy, the answer might have been as simple as this.
or could it be something more complicated?
I'm going off cold turkey as of today.
I'll keep you posted...
There have been reports of other neuropsychiatnic disorders-
drowsiness, confusion, delirium, visual hallucinations
(2-4), and depression-following treatment with H2 receptom
blockers (ranitidine or cimetidine), but we believe this to
be the first report of acute mania.
The mechanism is unknown, but ranitidine crosses the
blood-brain barrier (2), and there is experimental evidence in
animals of cerebral H1 and/or H2 histaminic receptors that
have the capacity to bind not only antihistamines but also
some antidepressant drugs (5, 6). However, the therapeutic
effects of these may be related to other mechanisms.
REFERENCES
1. Billings RF, Stein MB: Depression associated with ranitidine.
Am J Psychiatry 1986; 143:915-916
2. Price W, Coli L, Brandstetter RD, et at: Ranitidine-associated
hallucinations. Eur J Clin Pharmacol 1985; 29:375-376
3. Mani RB, Spellun JS, Frank JH, et at: H2 receptor blockers and
mental confusion (letter). Lancet 1984; 2:98
4. Silverstone PH: Ranitidine and confusion (letter). Lancet 1984;
1: 1071
S. Coupet J, Szuchs-Myers VA: Brain histamine H1 and H2
receptors and histamine sensitive adrenylate cyclase: effects of
antipsychotics and antidepressants. Eur J Pharmacot 1981; 74:
149-155
when it rains, my only solace floats away...
I am so upset, I can't even cry or scream...
Because I don't have a "pro-account" anymore, flickr has decided to "hide" all my photos, keeping only the last 200 on my site.
This means all my more powerful photos - my whole blue series, Insomniacs Elixir, all those photos about me, depression, and madness, the images that have helped so many, are now out of sight, out of reach...
And that was one of my only places where I was able to communicate with others - photography was my language.
Now flickr has cut out my tongue...
fuckers
Because I don't have a "pro-account" anymore, flickr has decided to "hide" all my photos, keeping only the last 200 on my site.
This means all my more powerful photos - my whole blue series, Insomniacs Elixir, all those photos about me, depression, and madness, the images that have helped so many, are now out of sight, out of reach...
And that was one of my only places where I was able to communicate with others - photography was my language.
Now flickr has cut out my tongue...
fuckers
so much water...
(unedited)
I know statistically that the body is 98% water, but sometimes I wonder if the leak in my being will ever be sealed up? My eyes and nose are showing signs of a slow and constant stream of H2O, and it seems as if it will never cease. The cardboard Puffs Boxes outnumber all the junk mail and store flyers that used to create an avalanche of printed matter in my recycling container. Grief replaces paper spam. How could it ever have gotten this bad?
It's not only the weeping, it's the sneezing. My allergies have hit me so hard that E can't tell if I'm blowing my nose because I'm crying or am having a hay fever attack. Sometimes they run into each other - the "mucus letting" out of my system. But oh so much water.
must remember to take in as much as I let out.
It's either the Zantac or the fact that my brain is overloading which has led me to beleive that I am losing my mind again. If I'm not spending the night achoooing in bunches of 4's, the mind is being pulled apart by imploding thoughts of death and any kind of worst case scenario you could ever imagine (and even then some I never thought were imaginable). It's been more than two weeks that I have not slept more than 2 hours straight a night - at night that is. When I don't sleep at night, I wake up, take a handful of ativan (but have now transfered to some ancient Chinese formula called Anmien Pien), lie down and try to follow my breath. By the time I've mastered counting past 10, the night has been replaced by the 7am buzz of E's alarm, the shower, the cats screaming to be fed. And by that time, my body and mind are so wrung out from the previous night's mental gymnastics that the 2nd wave is sleep is heavy and unsatisfying - my chest becomes an iron lung encased in bubble wrap. The world falls away while my eyes adjust the day into a self-imposed fake night.
Today I woke up at 3:oopm. The alarm came on at 8:30 - I had to go to my electrolady because my whiskers were getting longer than the cat's. After 30 minutes of current running into my chin and upper lip, I crawled back into bed, under my duvet and drifted.
This second round of sleep can be dreamless, which has its advantages, but at the same time, the waking up from this sleep seems unfinished. I always need more, or just another few seconds to clean up the dopey residue and punch into real life again; but it never works. And being in the state that I'm in - this cantankerous mind prickly heat, life becomes a struggle and fight. Like boxing with one glove against an octopus - each blow numbs the subsequent punch, but compounds and elongates the mental agony over a longer period of time.
I weep all the time now.
I think about death constantly.
The difference between then and now is that instead of once feeling as if life was too heavy, too painful to continue (I will post my video of my breakdown story soon...) I now feel as if life were too short, too scary and too complicated to muddle through. A relentless snowstorm. A white out - the kind I remember as a child when driving up north to ski country. Mom would have to put the car in neutral and hope to find a passing car to follow. Their headlights the only thing between us and getting lost into a pelting veil of white stones.
Yes, I can hear everybody who means well saying: "life is what you make it, life is too short, live every day to the fullest" but when every day seems to become shorter, sliding by inconspicuously, all I can do is panic and desperately try to plan tomorrow without knowing where my head will be.
How very ironic that my little film about my breakdown - the little oeuvre that won so many awards, poised me on the doorstep of so many opportunities (and so many that I was too chicken to accept) has resurfaced again. I wonder in what kind of shape I will be in when I see on the big screen next month.
It's all to real - it's all so fresh.
That fear, the dread, the and madness never really go away, and just like a passing acquaintance, they just become a little less important in your life, until you meet them again.
I can cbt this shit up the wazoo, and have been too, but when the mind is poisoned and turned against itself, only a cataclysmic event will settle the chaos - for the better or for worse.
How odd and ironic that I've developed a fear of my camera. Have not touched it in months.
"try to channel your moods into your pictures" e said the other night.
"I'm afraid of what kind of demons will be let lose. Once they are set free, they rarely go back quietly, if at all..."
so much water, so much fear and pain in this little body of mine.
It's squeezing the life out of me.
I know statistically that the body is 98% water, but sometimes I wonder if the leak in my being will ever be sealed up? My eyes and nose are showing signs of a slow and constant stream of H2O, and it seems as if it will never cease. The cardboard Puffs Boxes outnumber all the junk mail and store flyers that used to create an avalanche of printed matter in my recycling container. Grief replaces paper spam. How could it ever have gotten this bad?
It's not only the weeping, it's the sneezing. My allergies have hit me so hard that E can't tell if I'm blowing my nose because I'm crying or am having a hay fever attack. Sometimes they run into each other - the "mucus letting" out of my system. But oh so much water.
must remember to take in as much as I let out.
It's either the Zantac or the fact that my brain is overloading which has led me to beleive that I am losing my mind again. If I'm not spending the night achoooing in bunches of 4's, the mind is being pulled apart by imploding thoughts of death and any kind of worst case scenario you could ever imagine (and even then some I never thought were imaginable). It's been more than two weeks that I have not slept more than 2 hours straight a night - at night that is. When I don't sleep at night, I wake up, take a handful of ativan (but have now transfered to some ancient Chinese formula called Anmien Pien), lie down and try to follow my breath. By the time I've mastered counting past 10, the night has been replaced by the 7am buzz of E's alarm, the shower, the cats screaming to be fed. And by that time, my body and mind are so wrung out from the previous night's mental gymnastics that the 2nd wave is sleep is heavy and unsatisfying - my chest becomes an iron lung encased in bubble wrap. The world falls away while my eyes adjust the day into a self-imposed fake night.
Today I woke up at 3:oopm. The alarm came on at 8:30 - I had to go to my electrolady because my whiskers were getting longer than the cat's. After 30 minutes of current running into my chin and upper lip, I crawled back into bed, under my duvet and drifted.
This second round of sleep can be dreamless, which has its advantages, but at the same time, the waking up from this sleep seems unfinished. I always need more, or just another few seconds to clean up the dopey residue and punch into real life again; but it never works. And being in the state that I'm in - this cantankerous mind prickly heat, life becomes a struggle and fight. Like boxing with one glove against an octopus - each blow numbs the subsequent punch, but compounds and elongates the mental agony over a longer period of time.
I weep all the time now.
I think about death constantly.
The difference between then and now is that instead of once feeling as if life was too heavy, too painful to continue (I will post my video of my breakdown story soon...) I now feel as if life were too short, too scary and too complicated to muddle through. A relentless snowstorm. A white out - the kind I remember as a child when driving up north to ski country. Mom would have to put the car in neutral and hope to find a passing car to follow. Their headlights the only thing between us and getting lost into a pelting veil of white stones.
Yes, I can hear everybody who means well saying: "life is what you make it, life is too short, live every day to the fullest" but when every day seems to become shorter, sliding by inconspicuously, all I can do is panic and desperately try to plan tomorrow without knowing where my head will be.
How very ironic that my little film about my breakdown - the little oeuvre that won so many awards, poised me on the doorstep of so many opportunities (and so many that I was too chicken to accept) has resurfaced again. I wonder in what kind of shape I will be in when I see on the big screen next month.
It's all to real - it's all so fresh.
That fear, the dread, the and madness never really go away, and just like a passing acquaintance, they just become a little less important in your life, until you meet them again.
I can cbt this shit up the wazoo, and have been too, but when the mind is poisoned and turned against itself, only a cataclysmic event will settle the chaos - for the better or for worse.
How odd and ironic that I've developed a fear of my camera. Have not touched it in months.
"try to channel your moods into your pictures" e said the other night.
"I'm afraid of what kind of demons will be let lose. Once they are set free, they rarely go back quietly, if at all..."
so much water, so much fear and pain in this little body of mine.
It's squeezing the life out of me.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
our father, who art in heaven...
So if there is a God, why do bad things happen to good people?
(* to get the full effect - turn up the volume as loud as you can. It's a really old transfer and the sound is horrible...)
How many times have I heard that?
My aunt starts chemo tomorrow. The doctors are not sure that at her state - how aggressive the cancer has become, that it will even be worth it, but she really has nothing to lose at this point. Death is waiting to knock on her door...
This is a film I made eons ago called Pater Noster (our father in Latin) - an autobiography of sorts: my questions about God, the Catholic church, and how greed, power and the monopoly of the twisted hierarchy has turned a religion into something even God would be disappointed with.
My mom and I wrote the sermon. Pretty powerful stuff wouldn't you say? lol
It all stemmed from a question I asked her many moons ago:
Why do you only go to church when you need something and use prayer as a stepping stone to ask for it? And why do you need to go to church? If God is everywhere and in our hearts, can't you be in touch with him on your own time in your own way? do you consider yourself a part time catholic? Do you think of yourself as a hypocrite?
The rape scene was a reference to the Mt. Cashell incidents where those priests raped those poor inocent children in the name of God - because they had the power of God to scare the shit out of them...
Just thinking about it makes me sick.
So I let the film speak to you in any way it can. It's supposed to be open to interpretation. Oddly enough, I never realized how many different ways, all the hidden symbols that I employed so subconsciously came through the film. Even now, I'm still discovering things about it.
So if there is a God, why do bad things happen to good people?
(* to get the full effect - turn up the volume as loud as you can. It's a really old transfer and the sound is horrible...)
How many times have I heard that?
My aunt starts chemo tomorrow. The doctors are not sure that at her state - how aggressive the cancer has become, that it will even be worth it, but she really has nothing to lose at this point. Death is waiting to knock on her door...
This is a film I made eons ago called Pater Noster (our father in Latin) - an autobiography of sorts: my questions about God, the Catholic church, and how greed, power and the monopoly of the twisted hierarchy has turned a religion into something even God would be disappointed with.
My mom and I wrote the sermon. Pretty powerful stuff wouldn't you say? lol
It all stemmed from a question I asked her many moons ago:
Why do you only go to church when you need something and use prayer as a stepping stone to ask for it? And why do you need to go to church? If God is everywhere and in our hearts, can't you be in touch with him on your own time in your own way? do you consider yourself a part time catholic? Do you think of yourself as a hypocrite?
The rape scene was a reference to the Mt. Cashell incidents where those priests raped those poor inocent children in the name of God - because they had the power of God to scare the shit out of them...
Just thinking about it makes me sick.
So I let the film speak to you in any way it can. It's supposed to be open to interpretation. Oddly enough, I never realized how many different ways, all the hidden symbols that I employed so subconsciously came through the film. Even now, I'm still discovering things about it.
So if there is a God, why do bad things happen to good people?
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