A mostly rhetorical question regarding the sanctity of marriage

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(b) Marriage is inherently a unique relationship between a man and a woman. As a matter of public policy, this state [Alabama] has a special interest in encouraging, supporting, and protecting this unique relationship in order to promote, among other goals, the stability and welfare of society and its children. A marriage contracted between individuals of the same sex is invalid in this state.
(c) Marriage is a sacred covenant, solemnized between a man and a woman
, which, when the legal capacity and consent of both parties is present, establishes their relationship as husband and wife, and which is recognized by the state as a civil contract.

The Alabama Sanctity of Marriage Amendment (2006)

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“Suppose a man marries a woman, has sexual relations with her, and then rejects her, accusing her of impropriety and defaming her reputation by saying, “I married this woman but when I had sexual relations with her I discovered she was not a virgin!” Then the father and mother of the young woman must produce the evidence of virginity for the elders of the city at the gate.
“The young woman’s father must say to the elders, “I gave my daughter to this man and he has rejected her.
Moreover, he has raised accusations of impropriety by saying, ‘I discovered your daughter was not a virgin,’ but this is the evidence of my daughter’s virginity!” The cloth must then be spread out before the city’s elders.
The elders of that city must then seize the man and punish him.
They will fine him one hundred shekels of silver and give them to the young woman’s father, for the man who made the accusation ruined the reputation of an Israelite virgin. She will then become his wife and he may never divorce her as long as he lives.
But if the accusation is true and the young woman was not a virgin, the men of her city must bring the young woman to the door of her father’s house and stone her to death… In this way you will purge evil from among you.

Christian Old Testament / Jewish Torah: Deuteronomy 22:13-21

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My question: If marriage is so sacred, why is divorce legal?

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...thanks.

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Posted in crazy people with no pants, Health, Mental Health, Salted Truths | Tagged , | 4 Comments

Little Victor finally turns two

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My son turned two years old today. It was about time.

It’s a strange thing. We had the family birthday party yesterday at his mom’s new home, all four of his grandparents were there, his brother, and great-grandmother (step), plus some of his mom’s friends. It was a great opportunity for everybody to see how far his development has come.

Everyone was impressed when he used a napkin to wipe cake residue from his mouth. At one point he walked into the living room, picked up a small paper plate, and proceeded to pile crackers and dip on it. Then he sat down in his little chair and munched away.

For most of the people watching, possibly including myself, it was akin to watching a monkey completing a Sudoku.

Or watching someone become a little human being.

Victor can spend long moments staring out windows, hands clasped behind his back, watching the world and appearing to write epic poetry to himself.

He also loves to dance.

And he can spend fifteen minutes at a time running around my apartment, dodging furniture, carrying random objects from one area to another area and stacking them on other random objects, laughing the whole time.

Laughing and smiling take up large parts of his day. One of his most favourite things is watching lights turn on and off. When I’m carrying him he’s always reaching out for light switches. When I bring him close enough he’ll flick the switch, then turn his head really fast, as if he wants to see the actual process of the light being activated. But he’s always just a touch slow.

Eventually, I believe, he’ll be quicker than light.

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A few weeks ago he discovered the righteous power of “no”, which has become one of his favourite words. So now, when I reach for his bottle, he hides it behind his back, his forehead gets all furrowed, and he says “no-no no-no” until my arm goes away. Basically he has decided he’s had enough with this ‘people taking his stuff’ crap.

Which, over the past few months, has led to some confrontations with his older brother. Basically the only time Victor ever really freaks out is when the two of them are in the back seat of the car, and his older brother starts teasing him with his own toys.

I keep trying to explain to Victor’s older brother that, eventually, Victor will be much larger. But my girlfriend’s oldest son is only six-years old, and apparently they don’t teach kids in grade one about genetics.

But, back seat politics aside, they do love each other.

A few weeks ago Victor also started saying “hello” whenever the phone rang. Now he’s doing it when he really wants our attention, and he’s specific about it as well — “hello… momma” and “hello… daa-daa”.

So, two years ago, the water broke, and my girlfriend got to ride in an ambulance, and we both spent the weekend in the maternity ward of the Ottawa General Hospital, and Victor was born on 12 / 12 / 09, at 9:48pm. He cried a little, his eyes were open and active, and he kept sticking his tongue out, like he was tasting the air.

I cut his cord (with surgical scissors I later stole), he weighed 6lbs 9ozs, and because he was (slightly) premature he spent his first six hours of life in intensive care. I sat with him for two or three hours while he slept in the plastic box, all wrapped up in a tea towel sized blanket, and explained to him how awesome he was going to be.

And I was right.

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...thanks.

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Posted in Bipolar, Bipolar Disease, Bipolar Disorder, crazy people with no pants, Health, Little Victor, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, Mental Health | Tagged , | 11 Comments

My son moves in with me and my editors think I’m the shizat

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I have a new roommate. My girlfriend has some new duties at work, which means extra late nights, so my (our) son is now with me three to five nights a week in addition to the five days he has already been spending here.

My girlfriend and I still don’t live together, so up until now she’s been dropping him off at my place at 5am, then she drives to work. He has been staying with me for two nights a week for a few months now, we kind of started that to give my girlfriend a break — she has a newly six-year old son as well as a full time job lifting stuff.

But mostly I started the two-night-a-week thing so I could ease my way into full time parenting because, at some point, my girlfriend and I will be living together — either I’ll be well enough to get off disability, or the disability people will change the rules so the disabled can finally live with their families without having their income cut in half.

Even though it might be another few years yet, I’m betting it’ll be the former.

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My fifth column will be published next week. The editors of the paper — it’s a 40-50 page weekly, tabloid style owned by MetroLand Media — have been tinkled pink about them all so far. I’ve spent some time reading the other papers in the city, and most of the other columnists are writing about their personal aggravations.

“Today I woke up, had a coffee and hit the same pothole on the way to work, I hate my husband’s cooking.” I’m paraphrasing all of them. So far mine have been very different. I’ve written about bullying; the relationship between me, my grandfather, and hockey; the stupidity of Steve Jobs and pseudo-science; something else and the latest one.

I’m not bragging… much, it’s just that mine are different.

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Despite it being 2am and my son is crying because his bottle is warming up, and not in his hand, it has been a very peaceful couple of weeks*.

Which is a nice change from the bizarre chaos I’ve been living in since last February. I suddenly have a job I very much enjoy, albeit one that takes up about eight hours of my week and pays me not very much at all, and I have my son with me pretty much 24-hours a day, almost seven days a week.

My burn has turned into a scar, my bills are mostly paid, I’m pretty confident I’ll have enough money to last until my next cheque arrives, and my blood sugar numbers are awesome. And I get new glasses this week. It’ll be nice to see stuff again.

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*…of course I could be delusional from lack of sleep, but as long as I don’t get a full nights sleep ever again I’ll never know the difference.

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...thanks.

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Posted in Bipolar, crazy people with no pants, CSG, Health, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, Mental Health, Poverty | Tagged , | 16 Comments

Now virus free and twice as fast… that’s what she said

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It has been a strange couple of weeks. After five years of almost constant use I forgot how to exist without my computer, so when it went away I felt confused and lost. Really.

I had a couple of viruses I couldn’t kill, and after uninstalling a printer there was an annoying Windows pop-up asking for a CD-ROM that I’ve never owned and, just for laughs, my Internet browsers and Windows Explorer mistook my photos for viruses.

So I carried my hard drive to a local computer repair shop some friends recommended. The guy behind the counter told me the job would take “two to four hours”. Ten business days later it’s back on my desk where it’s supposed to be.

In the five years I’ve had this computer I forgot how to watch television. Instead of having it on in the background while surfing the Web, listening to the TV as though it were a radio, for two weeks I had to sit on the couch with the remote and watch ten programs at once five seconds at a time.

Normally anytime I hear something interesting on TV — it happens — I could immediately Google it. Suddenly I was back to the stone age and using some kind of ink leaving device and the backs of old envelopes, hoping I could find them later on if my computer ever came back.

At the moment I’m writing this and listening to Willem Defoe and William Peterson in “To Live And Die In LA”. Everything feels right.

At one point, maybe on Day Three, I realized I haven’t played my PS3 in months. So GTA4 got me through a few hours. I think, mostly, I just walked around my apartment waiting for something to happen.

Something I did discover is looking after my son for 12-14 hours every day is a lot different without a computer around. More walks, more buggy rides, more playing with the Big Yellow Ball.

The repairs took so long because they had to reinstall Windows and backing up my files took two days. I have a lot of files — among other things: 3,000 photos and 8,000 mp3’s. Give or take. Nearly five years of basically constant use apparently left my Windows XP OS with a lot of broken panes.

The computer people also had a few other machines to work on. This is what they told me when I called them every day. I would have called them every hour, but my son and I were playing catch with the Big Yellow Ball.

It took me about a day to rebuild the directories and folders they moved. For a long, long time I thought I had lost every artist from Rev. Gary Davis to ZZ Top. But, thank God, the computer people had just divided my music folder into two.

I lost a lot of programs with the Windows installation, my Microsoft Office software is gone. I gave the disks to someone years ago, so now I have to use WordPerfect… which isn’t too much of a sacrifice I guess.

Getting the little things back to normal has been the most frustrating process. Like, somehow I’ve lost the “Hibernate” option when I’m turning off the computer. So now I have to use “Standby”. I guess that’s not a huge sacrifice either.

They also added a bunch of RAM. And now my computer is clear of viruses, it has been thoroughly cleaned on the inside, and it’s faster than light.

So, $180 later, I have my computer back on my desk and I’ll be eating soup for the rest of the month.

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...thanks.

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Posted in crazy people with no pants, Grand Theft Auto, Health, Lithium, Little Victor, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, Technology | 10 Comments

The good news is my new scar looks like a Star Trek body mod

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My Lithium intake has been cut nearly in half for a week now and the uncontrollable tremors have mostly gone away. My hands still shake occasionally, mostly when I’m holding something, like my camera or a tube of toothpaste. But even that’s rare.

The third-degree self-inflicted burn seems to be healing alright. The part that doesn’t have skin or muscle tissue is getting smaller. It started out about the size of a $2 Canadian coin, with a couple of quarters extending out from the side and bottom.

It’s roughly the size of a slightly warped dime now, and my wrist looks I’ve had a skin graft from a Cardassian (Star Trek reference).

Of course I’m no doctor, so the dark-green, yellowish material in the middle of the scar ring could be anything from gangrene to the caramel they put in the Caramilk bar.

Joking. I’m doing my best to take this whole situation seriously. My psychiatrist noted during our last appointment that whenever I described burning myself to him, I was laughing like I was telling a drinking story from college.

He believes the laughing is me covering up a bunch of things, but mostly that there are underlying anger issues in my life, and he’s right. And they came out extremely violently a few weeks ago, when I was in the middle of a gigantic Lithium overdose.

Or maybe the overdose killed the whatever was guarding the anger door.

The result was one episode when I punched myself as hard as I could in the head four times, another when I punched a playground slide, and then an episode where, in the space of roughly fifteen minutes, I stabbed my forearm thirty-three times with a diabetic testing needle, and finally burned myself with a red hot butter knife… four times in the same spot, five seconds each.

There was a lot of anger involved in that. And maybe it’s all real and ancient and unresolved and lurking. But without the overdose, there would have been no violence.

But there was an overdose, and whatever the Lithium — which was at twice the safe concentration in my blood for at least six weeks — did to my brain, at some point it began to make sense for those acts to happen.

In a lot of ways I’ve spent a lot of time over the past week trying to justify what happened to some of the people around me. Like my psychiatrist.

I still haven’t told my family, including my girlfriend, about the night I stabbed and burned myself. Because I don’t think they’ll understand. I’ve told them both about the overdose, and my theory as to how it happened, but their eyes glazed over and I felt like, inside their heads, they were thinking “there goes Gabriel again with his little pills”.

I’m probably wrong, but if I’m going to tell someone I punched myself in the head as hard as I can, then a week later I gave myself a third-degree burn while I bounced my knee and laughed out loud and thought it was all wickedly cool, I need than to have the context down first.

Most of the context being: it’s not my fucking fault. Nothing that happened during the six weeks my brain was saturated in salt was my fucking fault. Burning a giant hole into my arm made absolute sense while I was doing it, I really was laughing while it was happening.

After it was done I put the knife into the sink and went back to surfing the Internet. But doing that on a Lithium overdose is like someone putting an hallucinogenic into your morning coffee for six weeks. Eventually you’ll do something that feels comfortable and maybe necessary, but to everyone else you’re just fucking a thistle bush.

Which would definitely not be your fault, your responsibility or really needs any more justification than “yeah, my roommate’s a dick”.

So, I’m just having a hard time visualizing telling my mother the third-degree burn on my wrist is self-inflicted due to a salt overdose.

My main problem in all of this, at least one that has popped up again, is my unwillingness to see a doctor when a problem first presents itself.

This is something that goes back decades, but also as recent as last February when I broke my foot and waited almost five weeks before going to the ER for x-rays.

I walked, for more than a month, on a broken foot because it never occurred to me to get a ride to the ER. That’s a special type of dedication.

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I started writing this post almost ten days ago. After I reread the part about never seeing a doctor I realized I actually hadn’t seen a doctor regarding the (possibly) third-degree burn on my wrist.

The only person I had talked to about caring for it was the local pharmacist.

So, on October 24, my girlfriend dropped me off at the local hospital. Seven hours later, a doctor told me the scab looked healthy, there was no infection and to expect everything to be fine in another week to ten days.

And, a week later, the scar is virginal pink, and there’s just a touch of a scab left. The scar’s not as intense as I thought it’d be, I think I might be a little disappointed.

Also, in the past week, the shakes are completely gone — give or take. I had an eye exam a few days ago and one of the machines told the nurse I was vibrating. I’m basically back to the fine tremors I had before this whole mess.

I’m still slurring my speech, I’m having a hard time climbing stairs, and I’m still a little foggy, but ninety percent of the crap I went through during the extended overdose has gone away.

I am definitely having problems with my diabetes numbers. During the overdose my numbers spiked up to an average of mid-teens in the morning to high-twenties in the evening. Once we lowered the Lithium dose the numbers dropped back down to six in the morning and mid-teens in the evenings.

But for five days now the numbers are way up. The ER doctor said it could be because of the burn, apparently wounds will spike a diabetics numbers.

But my wound is pink now. I don’t know. There always seems to be something.

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...thanks.

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Posted in Bipolar, Bipolar Disease, Bipolar Disorder, crazy people with no pants, Diabetes, Health, Lithium, Lithium Overdose, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, Mental Health | Tagged , | 7 Comments

How insulin led to a Lithium overdose and a self inflicted third-degree burn

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This is probably where the trigger warning should go. Most of this post is about inflicting some serious damage onto myself. There’s a quick guide to Lithium overdose at the bottom.

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This post is about more than the acts themselves, it’s about trying to figure out how it made sense to stab my forearm repeatedly with a diabetic testing needle, then to take a red-hot butter knife and burn a trench into my wrist.

In my opinion the insulin I’ve been taking for a few months reacted badly with the Lithium I’ve been taking for almost a decade, causing an overdose and weeks long downward spiral that left me at my desk with a red-hot knife.

The manic depression had been under control for years, two weeks after starting the insulin my numbers had dropped from the mid-20’s, to normal in the morning and the mid-teens in the evenings.

The years of excessive thirst, a major symptom of diabetes, seemed like it was gone immediately. I went from 4L of diet pop everyday, to less than a small can. My milk intake dropped from 4L / day, to 2L. I was also drinking roughly half the amount of water I had been every day.

So instead of drinking two or more pitchers of water over lunch at a restaurant, I was down to two glasses.

As my numbers came down, I was drinking less.

Unfortunately, without water, people taking Lithium can and do go “toxic”. I take a very high dose of Lithium every day, so this is something I know. But I haven’t been monitoring my Lithium levels, maybe not for four or five months.

In mid-September I started noticing two things I believed were unrelated, but turned out to be from the same source.

The first was my blood sugar began to crawl back upwards. The second was I began to shake more often, and a little more violently than normal. I’ve always had the “Lithium shakes”, basically a fine tremor to my hands. But they’ve never been more than an annoyance.

But starting in mid-September the shakes got into a whole new level. Most of the photos I was taking, sometimes over 100 in a day, were being turned into a blurry nonsense

Photography is very important to me. I have very few outlets to rid myself of the frustrations and stress I pick up over a day, week or month. My camera is my yoga and a sensory deprivation tank.

There really is nothing else in my life capable of lifting the weights off.

For three weeks, not only did I have no outlet to relieve the stress building up from my relationship with my girlfriend, and dealing with a rising blood sugar, and from not being able to control my computer mouse, I also had the added stress of not being able to take a decent picture.

Every fucked up photo was another failure. And the shaking got worse everyday. Until it wasn’t shaking anymore, it was jumping and jerking and even bouncing.

I was stabbing my throat with my toothbrush, losing half a glass of pop just by raising the glass. I was waking up in the middle of the night with my arms flailing around above me, or with my fingers furiously slapping each other.

It was also getting harder to stay awake. I was sleeping five or six hours while my son was here. I wasn’t walking anymore, I was staggering. I wasn’t blacking out, but I’d start walking to the fridge and end up lost in the bathroom.

And the frustration of it all kept building. By the end of September my blood sugar numbers were mostly back to the extreme highs of my pre-insulin recovery.

I’ve spoken to my diabetic nurse, and I’ve spoken to my psychiatrist (both before the physical damage), and from what they’ve told me, and what I’ve put together, I believe what has happened to me is a combination of the insulin working, and not keeping a close watch on the Lithium levels.

My blood sugar levels have been rising steadily for more than a month because the insulin succeeded in getting rid of the excessive thirst;

Because my fluid intake dropped by 80% (ish) my Lithium levels became toxic;

Continued toxicity became a recurring overdose;

A Lithium overdose is marked by an inability to concentrate, it becomes harder to stay awake, it made me clumsy, uncoordinated, as well as weak, lethargic and extremely irritable — I was losing my ability to reason through problems;

All of which meant it was very difficult to focus long enough on trying to eat a diabetic-friendly diet. Which means higher numbers.

So, in my opinion, the insulin and the Lithium were driving each other into the dark side of their side effects.

All of it led up to an incident in a local park. My girlfriend and I took our kids so they could play, and so I could grab some photographs of them playing. There would have been some beautiful shots, but everything came out a mess. My hands were jerking in a counter unison, my camera almost flew out of my hands. I almost threw it on purpose.

Eventually I had to sit down because I was ready to cry.

Finally, after trying more than sixty times to photograph a dazed honey bee resting on my hand, only to have every shot come out blurred, I punched a slide. But I felt like I should try to tear the park to pieces, and burn it.

There was also an incident soon after where, out of complete frustration, I lost control and punched myself in the head four times, each one harder than the previous. I had been walking in circles in my apartment for what felt like an entire day, trying to remember what I had wanted to do. The first punch was almost like trying to kick start an engine. The rest were just about punishing myself.

The punches had everything to do with having lost almost total control over my life.

I could barely walk up my staircase. I was lurching around the room. My blood sugar numbers, which had been a rare victory in my life, were back to pre-insulin numbers. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t remember, and my girlfriend was smothering me.

So, early in the morning on October 9, my computer stalled again, something was too loud, there was another sound from the toilet, the fridge was loud, I couldn’t control my mouse, there were eight other sounds to notice, and it made a lot of sense to start banging on my computer desk, screaming “fuck you, fuck off, leave me the fuck alone”.

And that’s when I grabbed a thick but shallow needle, and jammed it into my left wrist thirty-three times.

In the days leading up to my “Stabby Day” I had been thinking about how, when I was in my early-20’s, I’d press lit cigarettes into my arm.

And that’s how it occurred to me to press a red-hot butter knife into my lower forearm. I was just so calm by that point. While the knife was heating up in the stove element, I actually spent time laughing at the stupid shit on Gawker.com. I was also laughing at how little blood there had been from the stabbing.

Ten minutes after turning the stove on I saw the smoke, so I picked up the knife, went back to my desk, laid out my left forearm, held the knife on an angle, and dropped it onto my arm.

The sound freaked me out, so I pulled the knife back, but almost immediately dropped it back. I counted to at least five, then took it off, readjusted it a little, then dropped it again, and then a third and final time.

It’s a third-degree burn, about the size of a Canadian $2 coin, with a $.25 tail. I went almost three days without putting anything on it except Polysporin, which expired in 2008. The indent is deeper on one end than the other.

On the third day I showed it to someone wearing a white coat, and they said to let it breathe for half a day, and cover it the rest with gauze.

Everything seems to be healing well.

I’ve had a Lithium test, I’ll get the results this Friday. I’ve also tried very hard to start eating three meals every day, and not close to bedtime.

I’m drinking a bit more, but not much. But for the past three days my numbers have come down slightly.

I have been doing something that could, in the medium term, be even more stupid than burning my wrist… I’ve cut back the Lithium from 2100mgs/day to 1500/day. Lithium is the reason why I’m alive, it’s the foundation of my recovery from manic depression. But, in addition to everything else for the past few weeks, I’ve also constantly tasted salt.

Of the last 100 photos I’ve taken, most have been in focus.

The shaking is down by 70% from a few days ago, and I don’t taste salt, but that could be entirely meaningless. The plan is to be in an Emergency Room if the healing gets weird. Maybe I’ll get to take photos of a skin graft.

I can almost remember having reasons to be proud.

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A Simple Guide To The Symptoms Of A Moderate Lithium Overdose

unsteady and clumsy motion
inability to coordinate fine motor activities
inability to perform rapid alternating movements
involuntary left-right eye movements
lethargy
weakness
irritability
edema
increasing restlessness
stupor
incontinence
slow and painful involuntary, sustained, spasmodic muscle contractions
sudden, involuntary, uncontrollable jerking of a muscle or group of muscles.
increased deep tendon reflexes
small, local, involuntary muscle contraction
blackouts
confusion

It might seem as though several of the symptoms overlap, or are basically the same thing, like “lethargy” and “stupor”, or “reflexes” and “muscle contraction”. But “lethargy” has to do with energy, and “stupor” simply means too exhausted to function.

Each one of the symptoms involving muscle spasms, for example, attacks different parts of my nervous system. So I’m not being attacked by one or two, but all of the symptoms at the same time.

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...thanks.

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Posted in Bipolar, Bipolar Disease, Bipolar Disorder, Clinical Depression, crazy people with no pants, Diabetes, Health, Lithium, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, Mental Health | Tagged , | 14 Comments