It's been about three years. I've just read my old entries and I'm glad there was nothing I would feel ashamed about. Maybe I can change that. It's not too late. To cut to the chase every single one of my three siblings no longer communicates with me. My daughter doesn't like me either. Does that indicate I'm some horrible category of a mentally ill person?

Some co-complaints: I am 99% sure I have a neurodegenerative hereditary disease (spinocerebellar ataxia SCA) that causes its sufferer to lose muscle control and eventually die from something like choking because you can't swallow adequately, or your sight degenerates. You develop incontinence where if you feel the slightest urge you've got to reach the bathroom before you make a terrible mess. When you walk, if you're not in a wheelchair yet, you look drunk or literally like a zombie. So no fun. Your speech becomes slurred, which makes you seem drunk even more.

For the "coupe de gras": It's a very rare condition (5 out of 100,000). Most doctors and even neurologists haven't heard of it. There is no treatment, no cure, and no way to halt its progression. My version is obviously hereditary as my older brother insisted on visiting last year and his condition was a total shock. This is helpful to talk about this. But I will continue in installments assuming hopefully, or not, someone besides me is interested. Cheerio.

When I am feeling lonely, which is much of the time, this web page "PsychForums," helps me a lot. It gets me out of my loneliness and makes me feel someone else's pain. And the responses are so caring and helpful. It is rough out there, so many way to get your heart and spirit broken. This site helps.

I was thinking last night how my HMO treats mental "illness" by having the department being this little area behind a locked door as far as possible from the entrance where essentially there is one young lady monitoring phone calls, I guess, although I haven't been able to get any messages to the Mental Health Department or my psychiatrist because the calls to Mental Health don't even physically go to the same city and the operator tells me there is no way she can take a message. What is up with that? I am sure that if my "mood disorder" were treated like the injury it is, by my own father coming into my dark bedroom and touching me sexually and my mother not protecting me for years in my childhood, if it were treated like I broke my leg in a car accident and it is not healing, I would see more respect and concern. What happened did physically effect my brain, I am certain.

You can't catch it people, like the flu.

It's what I have after drinking that wine last night. Tonight will be different. I will start to look after myself and let my medications work.

I am happy that I ordered an adult tricycle and it is coming on Thursday. I can't work a regular bike because I have balance issues. I am really looking forward to this trike. I used to be very physically active and loved to dance. Now I can hardly walk because of medication side effects and that I'm 65. I hope I can whiz down the street again. It really is a waste of being alive to be upset!

I was going to start noting here how many days without beer or wine because I know it interferes with my medication and it makes my side effects worse. Well, I started a painting last night so I poured a glass of wine. And then another and I am back on the sofa watching Boardwalk Empire with a wine glass in my hand and him fighting me about getting any more. A big humiliation, so it's back to counting. I woke up in the middle of the night all anxious and after laying there for awhile, I remembered the lorazepam to be taken for moments of anxiety with the blessings (prescription) of my psychiatrist. I made my way into the kitchen, not turning on the lights because I did not want to alarm my parrot. I could not find the bottle where I thought I remembered putting it. So I grabbed my cat, lay down on the sofa, and felt like I took an anti anxiety drug. Go kitty!