White Snow

I am Bi-Polar… blah, blah, blah. I prefer the term Manic Depression as that is what my Grandfather called it. I feel safe, terming it so… blah , blah, blah.

OK. Let’s talk about the pills.

I have had these little diamond shaped devils for about a week now. I am truly afraid to take them. I filled the RX you see? I brought the little fuckers home but… I just don’t know. I am so afraid of these pills. They are a “mood stabilizer” with what my RN say’s “they carry a low side effect”.  Honestly my little blog, I just. Don’t. Know!

If I do not take them will my life end as I feel it is everyday, slow and terrorizing? If I take them will I end up with the fatal rash/liver failure that is a common black box warning with these white little devils?

I don’t even want to think about doctors.

I am just a fucking “thing” to them.  Do not get me wrong, I truly feel I may need this medication for the rest of my life, as my Grandfather did but I am scared. The doctors do not trust me and I DO NOT TRUST them. I do not affect their lives, not one of them will remember me. However, they affect me, judge me, control me and tell me what to do, always, forgetting about me. They control, forget and judge. I hate being controlled, forgotten and most of all, judged.

So… Do I take the pills and die? The thought of taking the pills makes me want to die. Do I take the pills and live? They will most likely help me live, though I doubt, not enough.

I must be reminded. I have to do this for my family and doctors.

Clean bill of heath for Catt. Try not to kill yourself. Eat up your pills like a good girl. Try not to vomit them up as usual and keep praying they will actually give you a medication that helps you survive.

Little white diamond shaped pills. They smell like bread crumbs. I take them out and feel them in my hand, I roll them around my palm. They are small and shift like snow flakes. They feel so nice and soft, falling around my fingers, the pills feel too numerous to count. In my palm I can control them. What will they taste like? These… white snow?

What will you do to me my littl’ uns? Will I fear more? Will I panic? Will I scream in pain? Will I rest and dream? Will I hide and die? Will I breathe and live? Will I…

Will I?

Eat the white snow when I am thirsty. I always ate the sweet, white snow in Reno while watching my father work his bow and arrow. I always did in Nevada, clean, white snow like spoons full of cream and cold water.

Should I? Should I dare eat this demon/dream? What will happen?

Break the silence as I hold fear for white snow diamond candy.

My People.

I have wanted to write this post for years. However , I have been afraid. I thank a new friend for encouraging me to write though I have not written for so long. How can I speak these words? They have become so dear to me and always held in silence. This tiny truth of mine.

I must admit, I am common Swedish, German, English trash. I must insult my blood by bleeding it into a river that I care not where it flows. I must admit. I denounce my blood. I hate it. I must confess. I am Lakota. I must confess, I choose my spirit, my blood line cannot own me. For my heart belongs to the people.

What are the “people”? They are my Nation. My family. My belief.

These are a people that hate me. Though I do not hate them. I follow them, though they do not know it. As a child in Nevada, as a teenager in Oregon… I have always followed the path. My Shaman could not teach me. She had another student and I had a demon. How can I express this? How can this be known? I follow a people that would slay me for my white flesh. That would cut my scalp from me in victory and never know that I had followed their spirits all the while.

These people have long past, they are dead now. Tis my ancestors that destroyed their Nation. Raped their women. Killed their children. If my spirit was so powerful as to invoke the God’s, I would beg for mercy. I would give my life to give to them what was taken. Stolen. Raped of my people.

Oh, Great Spirit,

whose voice I hear in the winds
and whose breath gives life to all the world, hear me.
I am small and weak.
I need your strength and wisdom.

Let me walk in beauty and make my eyes
ever behold the red and purple sunset.
Make my hands respect the things you have made
and my ears sharp to hear your voice.
Make me wise so that I may understand
the things you have taught my people.
Let me learn the lessons you have hidden
in every leaf and rock.

I seek strength, not to be superior to my brother,
but to fight my greatest enemy – myself.
Make me always ready to come to you
with clean hands and straight eyes,
so when life fades, as the fading sunset,
my spirit will come to you
without shame.

–Chief Yellow Lark, Lakota Tribe

Please forgive me Great Spirit as I wallow in my own resistance. Please breath into me the strength of your being. Please know that I know. The crow watches me. Watch over me my Father. Protect my spirit. Allow for your children to see past my flesh and into my being. So that I may walk with the people. For my Great Father, I so long to walk with the people.



My fish died. No, this is not a crying 4 year old. I am a crying 30 year old and my f**king fish died. I have been crying all day.

Yes, I know. I am 30 years old and my life has been blanketed in death for the last ten years but my fish, really, my fish?!

Maud’Dib was my kitchen fish buddy. He has been there with me through pasta sauce, chopping, jalapeno in the eye, kitchen sink over – flow, cats on the counter and some rather personal moments with my husband. Through the crying fits, tequila, grilled cheeses and ice cubes. He was my special little guy. Always happy to see me and always hoping the husband unit would give him some brine shrimp.

Now his little counter-top fish tank sits quiet with no light. His pretty little blue – black scales now lie underneath our great tree on the side of the house. I miss him. He was given to me by a dear friend that I miss very much. Now I will have to miss him too. My lovely Uncle did the dishes for me today so as I did not have to see his empty, cold tank. Needless to say, I have avoided the kitchen all day.

So now I curl up on the couch with my tequila and watch “chick – flicks” so that I may blubber further. I don’t want to look at his damn tank. I don’t want to know that I loved a stupid fish, whom was never stupid or “just” a fish to me. I miss my little guy.

Lets just hope that Kathy Bates can get me through this… or is it time for Thelma and Louise? I sure as hell hope not.

R.I.P. My dear Maud’Dib. You were feisty and always hungry. I actually loved you very much. No fish can fill your tank. You really were one of a kind. I will miss you. 🙁