Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears
Days in lockdown: 275
Mental status: mental cycling
I confessed to my therapist at our last session I had begun cycling again and I was overly exhausted trying to keep my shit together. The relief of telling them that was palpable, and I slept easier that night than I had in a few weeks. I felt like it was a dirty secret I was holding in because I’m full of pride that to admit I was ill is a weakness.
Last Sunday, my brain climbed up irrational brain’s hill when I sat down to get paperwork together for my dad’s estate and I felt so fucking overwhelmed that I just left all the papers strewn about our dining room table. I did get some energy to search for estate law firms in Toronto and sent out correspondence to six of the firms I found. That was about all the energy I had. Then I fucked off and did something I can no longer remember but I do know it was not dealing with the stress of my father’s estate.
I find myself drained a lot these days and mentally empty. It’s a struggle to feel defenseless, helpless, and depleted while my logical brain tries to shimmy up the irrational part to pat its head and tell it stiff upper lip and carry on and all that tosh. My irrational brain tells the logical part to fuck off and kicks it back down its hill and then I go find something to do that won’t require any thought at all. Like watching Hallmark holiday movies.
That’s about all I can tolerate.
It is difficult to discern where this is coming from, other than the obvious breakdown of maybe the drugs not working? Or is it due to COVID? SAD? Hormones? Situational? My APRN made me promise to not hesitate to call to get an appointment if I am going through this such as my waiting it out over the constant cycling this summer until my appointment with him in September. He does not want me to be struggling. I don’t want to be here either.
In order to not spiral out of control, every move is calculated and slow, and routines are put in place to keep me in lock step. Laundry needs to be done, showers need to be taken, stuff needs to be picked up, dog walked and so on. Sure, TEH can take on some of this, and he already takes on a lot, but it goes back to where the logical part of my brain kicks the ass of my crazy to get up and do something, anything, and not lay about like some lazy mofo. No one would fault me for not doing these things if I wasn’t up to it. I should be so lucky, my logical brain says, that I am not as bad, it says, as others who cannot function. I can physically function so why am I not functioning? I’m not locked up, I’m not out of control, what is my fucking problem?
My logical side is a fucking asshole.
I told my therapist for years I felt like a braggart speaking about mental illness because I was mostly stable and in a good place. They said that I had every right to talk about my crazy even if I was not in the depths of despair. I couldn’t get over how there were others that were hurting and in crisis and my crisis was accidentally skipping a medicinal dose or sleeping in too late. I felt embarrassed to be in a good spot. I was fine so why should I talk about things when I was fine? We want people to not hurt or struggle or feel helpless. Being stable shows that it is possible to live a normal life.
Now I’m not fine and I feel like this is payback for all my supposed humility over the last few years. I tempted the crazy gods one too many times and now look at me. I’m a mental mess.
I remain undecided if I am going to call my APRN. Just like I would bargain with God when shit would hit the fan, and I’m a 90% believer God doesn’t exist, I bargain with my brain that if calms down after X time, I’ll just chock up to situational. But the bargaining keeps going on and on and I feel like a failure if I call my APRN.
I will call my APRN. Pride is a terrible thing.
Note: Checked and saw this was not going on for a few weeks but a few months. Time is too fucking fluid.
Topic shift.
I got an email from one of my Canadian cousins back in September that a PI had called them in regard to my dad’s estate as there are unclaimed funds sitting in Bank of Canada. The PI had found her through her mother’s obit. The PI is a fucking idiot because if you search for my dad’s name, I am the number one link. And lord knows I do not hide on the interwebs.
My cousin conferred with her brother on what my next step should be when they passed on the info about this PI and articles from Globe and Mail about unclaimed funds in Canadian banks are transferred to Bank of Canada for safe keeping for up to 100 years. They suggested I reach out to the PI for next steps which was fucking ludicrous as the only “proof” this man offered up was his LinkedIn profile and his shoddily built website.
I verified there were indeed funds in my father’s name at BoC. Quite a bit of funds. Between $70-80K CND just sitting there. Once converted to USD would pay off most of my student loans.
Because I had roughly 80 years to deal with this, I sat on this info for a few months before deciding to tackle it a few weeks ago. I went through my personal network of lawyers and friends of lawyers as my start and then went to research for estate law firms in Toronto.
I picked six firms and emailed them cursory information and started the interviewing process last week. Some of the firms were outrageously expensive ($1000/hr for a partner). One firm was very candid with me that this is a lot of money but for corporate estate firms, this was pittance. She was afraid I was going to lose not an unsubstantial chunk of cash paying for their services and my case is not so straight forward. First, we have to find out if the original executor of the estate, my dad’s lawyer, is still alive. He was retiring 20 years ago so maybe not is my guess. If he is alive, they would work with him to finish out the estate. If is dead, we’d have to see if his files were transferred to another firm. We may have to petition the court but that could be a problem because I don’t live in Ontario so I may need to have one of my cousins act in good faith for me. Then BofC is very forthright it could take up to a year before the funds could be disbursed so there would be a lot of waiting around.
It’s a lot of work. It’s overwhelming. It’s a hot mess just like my brain.
I will leave you in a bit better than you started with a recipe for the near perfect grilled cheese
Needs:
Non-stick skillet
Two slices of bread
Shredded cheese (I use a mix of cheddar, monterey jack, and fontina)
1 TBS Butter (roughly)
Tinfoil
Heat up non-stick skillet on medium heat
Melt butter
Lay down bottom piece of bread, add about ½ cup of the shredded cheese mix, top piece of bread.
Tent tinfoil over the skillet
Set timer for 2 – 4 minutes
When timer goes off, flip, tent and set timer again for 2 – 4 minutes
Eat with gooey cheese everywhere
Note: Salt and pepper if you desire. Use more butter if the pan gets too dry. Add more cheese if you want more cheese!
You can add ham or caramelized onions, or tomatoes to the sammich as well. All of which are equally delish.
As always, don't be an ass. Wear a damned mask.
lisa x
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Image depicting the black death in a book by French chronicler
and poet, Gilles Li Muisis (1272 - 1352). Artist unknown.