Frosty's First Words

Considering the holiday season, I think it would be most appropriate to write a christmas themed blog.  Its not going to be particularly funny or deep but more of a vent for a pet peeve of mine.  Let me explain...

I went to a Christmas concert tonight and as you might expect the song ‘Frosty the Snowman’ was performed.  This song always brings me back to my childhood christmas memories, as I’m sure it does for most of us.  Apparently, however, there is something that differs between my memory of Frosty and most other peoples memories.   In my childhood years I always watched this particular christmas cartoon special about Frosty the Snowman and how he came to be.  Most people I talk to about this cartoon know which one I’m referring to.  However, there is one very special scene that only I seem to recall.  I think it comes at a crucial time in Frosty’s existence which should be remembered by us all, but for some reason 99% of people can not recall it and thus think I’m crazy.  Well, sometimes I am, yes, but about this I am certain. I will attach video proof to back me up.  

Try to recall the scene where the children take the black hat and place it on Frosty’s head.  It provided the final, magical element that was required to bring him to life after provided with the corn cob pipe, button nose and two eyes made out of coal.   Upon awakening Frosty speaks aloud a very particular phrase.  Do you recall what that is?  If not, please watch the clip, specifically the scene at ~3:30:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cd39Fnas8Ro 

Frosty shouts “Happy Birthday!” when he comes to life.   Sometimes it feels like I am the only person alive who remembers this.  Why?  I can only guess.  My main thought is that most people tend to associate this film with only modern christmas greetings, such as: Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Season’s Greetings and so forth.  Ironically, most people do not associate the phrase ‘Happy Birthday’ with Christmas cartoons or this most important Christian celebration with the birth of their saviour when expressed in cartoon fashion.  That’s something to think about. 

With all due respect, watch the youtube clip of the cartoon and see for yourself that Frosty shouts ‘Happy Birthday’ when he comes alive.  All my friends, family and clients can say I’m ridiculous but I’m not.  I pay attention to details that most others forget.  I wouldn’t bother blogging about this if only some people disagreed about this scene with me - but every single person has called me out on it. So I’m settling it now once and for all.  Perhaps (instead of calling me crazy) you need to think about why you forgot this scene and why its seems so ill-fitting.  I think, under the circumstances, those 2 words run deeper than most realize. Most people have lost perspective.  Yes, its just a children’s cartoon, and I’m not expecting great things from the average schoolchild after watching this cartoon. But I do think that more is to be expected of adults who’ve grown up in this environment and are expected to know the true meaning of Christmas. 

Regardless of what you remember Frosty’s first words to be, I hope that you can at least  take away some warm childhood memories of christmases past, and value the special time you have to celebrate with your family and friends at this moment.  

Merry Christmas, Happy New Near and Happy Birthday!!!

- BSW

The Justin Trudeau Hot Hot Hotline!!

Normally I abhor politics. I avoid it at all costs. But every once in awhile a politician captures my attention for some reason or other. And Justin Trudeau did just that this week when he called a certain tory a piece of shit during Question Period.  It was awesome! The best thing I heard all week.  

Question Period in the House of Commons has become so boring, so scripted, so politically correct, that it might as well not even take place at all. Just send out the scripted memo for those who even care to download because we all know what questions are going to be asked and what responses are going to be quoted.  

But once in awhile a politician who cares more about honesty and his/her constituents  snaps and parts from the approved script and instead speaks from the heart and the gut. 

Justin Trudeau called a conservative politician exactly what he was (and still is, I can only assume) - a piece of shit - and was completely justified in doing so - with both evidence and ethics on his side.  And I applaud him for it.  I wish more politicians had the balls that Justin Trudeau has.  It must be a genetically inherited trait.  

Isn’t it usually the men with the smallest balls who act out as the toughest bullies to justify their inferiority complex?  I’m in control, I have power, you must obey me, even though I have a teeny tiny penis, like most conservatives.  

The strength, courage and balls of Justin Trudeau have ignited a political fire within many women who’ve been left politically frigid in recent times. 

That’s why I’m proud to announce the “Trudeau Hot Hot Hotline”. This 1 800 number will absolutely meet all of your most deepest desired political needs.  Wether you’re a desperate housewife, a hot college co-ed or a disillusioned girlfriend, you’ll feel pure uncensored satisfaction after chatting with one of our Trudeau Hot Hot Hotline representatives.   What are you waiting for?  Call now!

Unsure for some reason? Its OK, we understand, you must be used to being disappointed constantly. So, you don’t have to take my word alone for it. Listen to some of our very very satisfied callers who’ve spoken to our Trudeau hot hot hotline representatives:

1. Desperate Housewife:

Allo? Please I need you now! Oui Madame! What can I do for you, mon cheri?  I’m all alone, no one is here to help me, the cries of the children are endless, I need a man who can give me what I need! What do you need? Tell me! I want to give it to you so bad!  I need more affordable daycare! Please! Give it to me NOW!!!!  Ohhh!!!!! please!....

2. A college co-ed:

Between sobs...is this the Trudeau hot hot hotline?.... sniff sniff.... yes it is, oh please darling I can’t bear to hear you cry. What can I do to comfort you in your hour of need? Well I’m only 18 yrs old... and I’m having trouble paying both my college tuition and rent.  I don’t know what I’m going to do at the end of the month! I’m afraid I might have to drop out of school - unless maybe you could help me arrange another way to pay off my student loan... I can be very flexible with the new terms.  It would be a shame to have your talents go to waste - you poor thing.  I’ll think of you, and your situation, every time I have to find motivation to keep fighting the good fight... 

3. Disappointed girlfriend:

Oh Justin, I used to think that the stiff, hard, rigid standards my MP always gave me, time and time and over and over again were enough to meet my needs. But lately I’m wishing that my Member could experiment a little.  I’d like my opinion to count sometimes too. Why can’t I be on top sometimes? There’s no communication, no passion, no desire.  Oh my dear - how much suffering have you endured? You poor soul!  Sometimes he gets so angry he won’t even let me talk to other people. Just his family members only. I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.  I have no voice!!!  No one can hear me cry - only you Justin! Please Justin - do you hear me?  Can you help me? I need to feel your strength inside me!  I need to know what else there is out there.  Help me see what else is out there!! Yes, yes, let me lift you up! I will rise to the challenge and meet your needs.  Join my liberal party and I’ll listen to your needs in whatever position you desire! You deserve it my dear! 

....................

Convinced yet? What more can be said?  The rest is up to you!  Why wait any longer? Pick up the phone and make the call you’ve been longing for.  Justin’s hot hot hotline reps are ready, willing and able to take care of you now!  Make the call!!  He's the man - the politician- you've been waiting for. He'll listen to your needs when you call.  

The Rock Star From Mars

Charlie Sheen has been an interesting person to follow. He’s a very talented actor who possesses a passion for his work and play.  However, he’s also made some very poor decisions, hurting myself and others in the process. He’s riding a roller coaster.  But the name of that beast of a roller coaster isn’t known for sure. Some people suggest he has bipolar disorder and his wild ups and downs do strongly support this claim. 

However, his acknowledged struggle with substance abuse could also be responsible for his erratic behaviour.  Until he recovers from his addictions and lives clean and sober, mental health professionals will not be able to accurately assess his mental health. 

I’m reserving my judgment. I’m in no position to assess him. He’s just a guy I hear about on TV.   What do I really know about him in all honesty?  Yet, if what I’ve seen and heard about him is based on truth, my gut feeling is that he’s dealing with a co-morbidity of mental illness and substance abuse.  Its extremely common for many manic depressives to self-medicate. 

So why am I talking about Charlie Sheen tonight? 

Well, I’ve seen a lot of Charlie Sheen over the past few days.   The media has been building up a lot of hype over his characters death and replacement on ‘Two and a Half Men’. This had to be a sore-spot for him. He was one of the highest paid actors on TV, then in an instant he lost it all. Unemployed and unappreciated for acting out the truth as he saw it.  Bridges were burnt and names were called, never to be forgotten. 

In addition to the stress of the above event, he also made a show-stopping appearance on the Emmy awards, in front of the entire TV industry and common audience viewers alike, nearly the entire western world, dare I say.  That has to be an intense experience for someone, no matter what their status is.  

Finally, since events seem to naturally come in 3’s, he endured another assault - his Comedy Central Roast. I find these roasts to be intense, nasty and full of hits below the belt.  Many of his darkest moments were mocked publicly and I expect hard for him to discuss publicly.  But since each roaster ended with a hug it had to be taken in good humor, I’m sure...it must.  

      

Its not unusual for an actor to appear on TV for 3 big events in a row.  Its part of the business I expect.  However, I noticed something unusual about Charlie during this big week which concerns me.  Instead of the erratic, wild, unpredictable Charlie that people have become fascinated with (similar to how some enjoy watching a train wreck unfold in front of them), he was calm, cool and collected. He also appeared sincerely apologetic, resolved and wanting to make amends for his bad behaviour.  These are healthy actions in the grand scheme of things.  And probably necessary for him to heal his wounds. 

The thing that stands out to me is that these significant behavioural changes usually indicate a shift in thought process and a clearing of the conscious. At the Emmy’s he clearly wanted to end the dispute and any vindictiveness.  The following day, he watched his TV persona, Charlie Harper, brutally killed off, cursed through his eulogy, cremated and then replaced by another man.  Finally, that same evening he endured a brutal roasting of his life, both public and private moments, forcing him to re-live some of his darkest moments.  Incredibly, he did it all which such grace and acceptance. The beast was leashed, tamed and no longer had that wild look in his eyes.  This was a different Charlie standing before us.  

I have 2 conflicting explanations for this change - optimistic and pessimistic. 

Optimistically, it appears (to me) that he is no longer manic and seeking some professional help.  His public appearances, words spoken and well kept composure throughout this week felt like he wanted to turn over a new leaf and be a better person.  A transformation is happening and he wants to start fresh, both professionally and personally.  I really hope this is the case.  He needs to do this if he wants to re-establish his career, trust and respect from others. 

Pessimistically, I’m worried that he’s acting like someone who is seriously contemplating suicide.  The death of his TV persona, ironically being replaced by a suicidal character that same episode, is an intense experience to endure, which must of made him ponder his own mortality.  I can’t help but point out the foreshadowing I noticed as well.  Not just in the Two and a Half Men episode, but also during the roast when Seth McFarlane opened the show rather ominously, by comparing him with the late Amy Winehouse.  These events can practically convince someone struggling with depression, that its the right time to die.  All while hiding it behind a brave face. 

But what concerns me most, are the public apologies he made, the calm acceptance of his bad behaviour, and his making amendments to clear his conscious, that set off the warning bells for me.  If he is indeed bipolar, then his recent manic behaviour seems to have come to its conclusion. Most people would see this as a positive step, but sadly most suffering with bipolar disorder don’t simply shift to neutral.  Untreated, they frequently crash hard into depression.  Its incredibly devastating when you finally realize the mess you made of your life, the people you’ve hurt along the way.   If the depression goes unrecognized and untreated, complete despair can envelope you.  Suicide suddenly seems like a rational way to end the hell. It might be difficult for most people to understand, but once you decide that you’re going to kill yourself, a sense of relief finally overcomes you.  Its nice, a sign you made the right choice.  Nothing they say is going to bother you now.  Much like Charlie’s relaxed and accepting body language during the roast.  You say your good byes, make your apologies, and make peace with those you’ve hurt, e.g. his apology and well wishes at the Emmy’s.  The loose ends are tied up and now you can rest in peace. 

I know this vicious cycle, its behavioural pattern and its warning signs.  If I knew Charlie personally, I would be on his door step right now checking in on him, but I don’t, so I can’t.  Instead I find myself writing this blog for him.  It feels like the least I could do.

Anyway, I really really hope I’ve misinterpreted his actions this past week, but I can’t shake this unsettling feeling, obvious and eerie, that he’s headed for a bad place.  

I hope the rock star from Mars stays with us for a little while longer. 

Unexpected Adaptations

Working as an escort has affected many aspects of my life. Some of these I’ve anticipated and prepared for, but there are others that have taken me by surprise.  Going into this line of work I knew that I would have to make lots of excuses about my work schedule and social commitments, however, there were a couple small things that have actually induced unexpected behavioural adaptations I’ve noticed about myself that have come as a surprise.  While I still consider myself a normal young woman - one who frets over jeans shopping and visits with her family each holiday weekend - I’ve undeniably changed, albeit subtlety, in several ways. Same, same but different, as they say.  

I’m writing this blog mainly to sort out my thoughts on this issue (writing helps me think) but also to let you have a peak inside a mind that this just a little bit off the beaten track (if you care to look).  There’s more going on in my mind than nightmares.  

Specifically, I’ve noticed that two of the most mundane and routine occurrences in life have been significantly altered, so much that I’ve changed my normal reactions to them. They are:

1. Unexpected knocks on my door
2. Where I fall asleep at night

I see clients by appointment only.  Naturally I like to look my best when I entertain guests. However, once someone visits my incall location they know my address and suite number.  If they slip in the front door on the condo behind someone else there is nothing preventing them from ending up at my door in the future.  I can’t stand the thought of this. I’m always double checking the lock on my door, and if someone unexpectedly knocks on my door I never know what to expect and I experience both annoyance and anxiousness. Is it a rogue client? concierge? elections Canada? a friend?  Each person requires a different head space, outfit & make-up, level of apt tidiness, and so forth, you get the picture. 

Years ago if someone knocked on my door unexpectedly, or even early for that matter, it wasn’t a big deal to me, but after escorting for a couple years my reaction has changed to this simple ordinary part of life.  I now ask & expect everybody to let me know in advance when they’re coming by, and to call/text me when they’re on their way.  I don’t like to be surprised.  It really bothers me now more than ever.  This can be viewed from two viewpoints of course.  Its a positive trait that I always want to make a good impression, but maybe negative that I worry about trouble dropping by. 

The second behavioural modification I’ve noticed is that I rarely sleep in my bed anymore.  I almost always fall asleep on my couch/futon every night now that I’ve become a full time escort.  I think there are 3 reasons for this.

  

The main reason by far, is that since I use the bed for work I need it to be presentable.  The sheets always need to be clean, unwrinkled and tidy.  The duvet is unnecessary, thus tucked away, folded neatly under the bed, not on top where normal people keep theirs. After I’ve made my bed to my liking I don’t like ruining how it looks - the pillows fluffed, bed-sheets tucked taunt, free of drool stains and wrinkles; fresh, clean and inviting. So I’ve found myself night after night falling asleep on the couch cuddled with my fleece blanket, rather then enduring the hassle of making it all over again.

I never realized that I’d changed my sleeping habits so drastically until the time I had a house guest stay at my condo for a few days.  Despite my insistence, she demanded that I sleep in my own bed. Ironically, she felt the couch would be uncomfortable for me. She didn’t want to inconvenience me.  It was easier not to argue the matter, so I slept soundly yet oddly in my own bed those 3 nights.  It felt so strange to have a full nights sleep in my own bed again. For several nights in a row no less.  Thinking about it then, I realized in the past year I’ve probably sleep a total of 2 weeks in my bed proper, and the rest of the year, 50 weeks, sleeping on the futon-couch.  It completely snuck up on me how I’d changed my sleeping habits.  The little things are always harder to notice.  Like gaining weight or growing out your hair. You need someone else to help you see what’s right in front of you.  

When I moved into my new condo I invested in a nice futon/couch. Its my most expensive piece of furniture and well worth it.  I wonder if Sealy or Serta make higher end mattresses for futons? I would definitely be interested in that!  I spend so much time on it.   I never realized these things when I bought it, but it makes sense to me now.  

Another reason I found myself sleeping on the couch/futon instead of my bed was due to the reaction of a guy I used to date.  He knew I was an escort and was OK with that.  He’d sleep with me, but he never wanted to sleep in the bed that I used for work.  Even if I laid fresh sheets down, still warm from the dryer, he had a mental barrier that could not be torn down.  Whenever he spent the night he insisted on sleeping on the futon.  I didn’t care either way which place I slept, but I was surprised that he cared so much (quite adamantly in fact).  His reaction, no, more accurately, the reasoning behind his reaction I discovered, was quite different from mine.  I didn’t sleep in my bed because of laziness (there’s some irony for you), simply put I just didn’t want to make it up again. While I viewed it as an inconvenience, he viewed the bed as tainted.  I find it odd he only felt that way about the master-bed, not its owner.  He respected me and never made me feel tainted for escorting (it was a nice relationship while it lasted).  I guess I don’t understand why the bed was a problem and not me - why was there a difference? Maybe when I see him sometime in the future I’ll ask him.  Its an odd thing to ask a person though when you think about it. Funny the things that go through ones head. I suppose painting and erasing some mental images are easier than others. I don’t know.   

When I watch the TV series ‘Secret Diary of a Call-Girl’ I find myself wondering if Hannah (aka Belle) really went to sleep each night in her big fluffy white bed like they showed on TV, or if the writers had invoked their creative license assuming it would it be more viewer friendly.  Her character more relatable to the average viewer.  Do most escorts sleep on their couches rather than their beds? Or was this just something I did?  No doubt I’m a little odd.  I don’t socialize with other escorts often so I’ve never had the chance to notice.  Maybe someone out there can fill me in. 

I don’t think I’ll sleep the rest of my life on a couch though. No need to worry about that. I expect that when I retire from escorting I’ll easily return to sleeping in my big brass bed again. Ideally queen sized (double is a little too small to share, but a king creates too much space between partners in my opinion, reducing cuddling time).  This is a temporary habit, a reflection of current lifestyle, an adaptation that is reversible.  There’s no doubt in my mind a time will come again (upon retirement I expect) when I’ll have a hard time crawling out of my bed, just like my high school days.  From what I recall of those, it was a very difficult habit to give up and one I think I could easily fall back into!  

I’m sure you’ve noticed at some point its much easier to get up from the couch in the morning than it is from the bed.  And that’s another reason I think I’ve gotten into the habit of sleeping on the couch - its much easier to jump up when the phone rings.  Yet another symptom of lifestyle. I’m sure other small business owners understand this.  I have no secretary to take those calls for me. 

We prep for the big things we can see coming, but really its the little things that are nearly impossible to anticipate, no matter how well we plan, that typically impact a persons life the most. I find it fascinating how these 2 simple aspects have impacted my life as much as they have.

  

Keeping it all in perspective, this must be happening to many other people, not just me, and not just escorts.  For anybody who takes their career seriously, it no doubt takes a toll on their life in some way or other.  Maybe they sleep less, find themselves constantly wired to their blackberry, stuck commuting 2hrs every day for their jobs.  All these take a toll. How we deal with these stressors in our lives is extremely important.  Personally, I’d rather sacrifice my bed and sleep on a couch every night than commute 2hrs to work in traffic.  I honestly don’t think I would handle that stress well, not at all. Honestly I feel safer with my clients than I do driving on the 401, believe me or not. Think about it, I only have one person to deal with, while on the 401 you have thousands of people you have to deal with.  I can turn away the intoxicated with ease, but commuters have practically no control over their environment.  Good luck out there guys!  Glad I’m already home, safe and sound. Come to think of it, I’m really lucky to have an awesome way to spend the rush hour in the big city. I get to lay in bed, wrapped in my comfy sheets, making sweet love in whatever position I like, while at that same time, thousands are trapped in the Gardnier gridlock.  Poor souls.  I wish I realized this was an option sooner.  Its one of the small things that make this work so great at times. 

I suppose the point I’m trying to make is that while we all have work place stress, each job has different kinds, and how we react and deal with them can be interesting.   

I’m sure I’ve mentioned previously the obvious workplace stressors that escorts deal with (e.g. law enforcement, disease, violence, theft) but most people are unaware of the little things that actually have the biggest impact overall.  Personally, I’m glad I’ve noticed these small things about myself.  I’d be concerned if any job I did changed my behaviour too much.  I consider these 2 examples more quirky than worrisome.   Where I sleep doesn’t really matter as long as I’m getting enough sleep, particularly since I have to deal with bipolar disorder which so often denies me of sleep. 

Awwww....yes, it feels nice to have these thoughts hashed out. They all seem a little clearer to me now.  I wonder if there are many other small things I have yet to notice.  And if they will be good or bad for me?

After all, don’t we often find ourselves saying its the little things that matter the most?  

A difficult subject for blogging: advice on sexual assault

I recently received an email from a person requesting advice on a difficult subject - that of sexual assault.  I experienced extremely mixed feelings about this email.  On one side, I felt good knowing that I have regular followers who respected my opinion, but on the other side, it was because a bad thing had happened and that person felt I would understand that they turned to me.  

Without going into details, a woman had been mugged and raped.  The woman confided this to a friend who had a hard time digesting the situation and how to react. The friend emailed me for advice on what to do.

I thought a lot about the email and finally responded with my advice.  I continued thinking about this even more because I felt that there are others out there who were probably in the same situation, hence something worth blogging about.  

I don’t have any medical, psychological or legal training. I can only offer my advice, as a woman.  In cases of sexual assault I’m not sure there are any answers that are wholly right or wrong, as its such a personal issue.  There are, however, a few things I think would help most sexual assault victims in general. 

Here’s the advice I offered:

• 1) Be compassionate, non-judgmental, discrete, and a friend when needed.  Don’t force her to do anything.  It has to be her decision if she goes to the police.

• 2) Encourage her to be checked out by a doctor.  The possibility of physical injury, pregnancy and STI/STD require attention.  Many injuries can be treated better if caught early.  The window for STI’s is 6 months.  There is a hassle free clinic in downtown Toronto at Church/Gerrard that would be sensitive to this situation.    

• 3) Encourage her to talk to a professionally trained therapist or psychologist.  It should help with emotional healing and there is assured confidentially in medical situations.  OHIP covers this type of medical treatment.                                                          

• 4) Check her credit report for identity theft.  If she lost any personal info in the assault her financial status could be victimized too.  She may want to consider changing the locks on her doors if keys & ID were stolen.  

Those are my 4 recommendations; my opinion on how to handle this difficult situation.   

I’ve always been disgusted by sexual assault.  As a prostitute, I know that sex is practically always available to men - there is no need to force sex on another person.  

I hope everybody stays safe out there. And I hope you all can enjoy the beauty of sex without having it tainted by the bad. 

Sleep

Perhaps I’m cycling upwards again.  Its 5am, I’ve drank a bottle of chardonnay and taken 1.5mg clonazepam (3 pills) and I’m still not tired. Coupled with the nightmare I had when I finally did fall asleep last night, these are warning signs of a trip down manic road.  Let’s keep an eye on this situation and see what happens. On the bright side,  maybe I’ll get some good blogging in again, instead of the pathetic 3 posts of last month.   I was kinda bummed out in July.  I didn’t really want to get into it without giving away some personal info, but things are a little different for me now, in a good way I think.  Stay tuned my friends, lets see where the road takes me. 

In the meantime, I'll play my fav lullaby by Samuel L Jackson and hope I'll go the f**k to sleep. 

Last nights nightmare

I had another nightmare last night.  It was very slum dog millionaire-ish.  Here goes...

I was traveling with a friend who betrayed me.  We had to stop to ask for directions but the guy I was with had set me up (unbeknownst to me at the time, until afterwards when it was far far too late).  We stopped into a  house where he said he thought could give us help pointing us in the right direction.   When we got inside and sat down on the couch I knew something wasn’t right.  It smelled stale inside, like the doors and windows had not been opened for a long long time. I didn’t like the smell inside, it smelled of fear, deceit, trouble.  The furniture was old and raggedy.  Like it had been through the Salvation Army thrift store a couple times round.  There was a middle age man and woman in the living room that had a strange look about them. They looked tired, strained and had fine lines deep through their faces, built in firm over some hard years.  They looked tired, uncomfortable but resolved. 

I didn’t like any of it. What the hell was my friend thinking bringing me here?! I tried to excuse myself but the woman hauled out a large butcher knife from under her seat and told me to sit back down and shut up.  The next thing I knew her male partner produced a syringe with some strange foul yellowish-greenish colored liquid inside it.  A large syringe about 10-cc I’d guess. He moved quickly and methodically, like he had planned it out precisely in his mind and executed this maneuver many times before.  Before I could get off the couch he plunged the needle deep into my arm, up near the shoulder, the same place where we got our grade school booster shots.  It was like I watched it all happen in slow motion. A train wreck you couldn’t turn away from but was helpless to prevent.  I watched him depress the plunger into my arm almost in disbelief, it all happened in slow motion it seemed. I felt the bite of the needle, a face-slap of reality, sting of betrayal, all in the 30 seconds that passed before I blacked out.  

I don’t know how long I was unconscious.  It could have been hours or maybe even days.  Although I lost my sense of time, I had not lost my sense of feeling, my sensation of pain, both physical and emotional.  I’m not sure which was greater.  The severity of the fear was matched by the pain that racked my body when I attempted to move.  I decided to stay still for the moment, laying down as I was, and instead to just open my eyes to gather information on my situation. Where was I?  I was still in the dingy living room.  There were soiled towels laying on the dull grey carpet but otherwise nothing was different, expect it was mercifully empty at least.  I was relieved to be alone.  I shifted my eyes down the length of my body next.  What shape was I in? What was done to me? Why did I hurt so much, so tremendously? 

My clothes were still on me, but they felt different. LIke when someone else dresses you, it feels different.  My clothes were removed I realized.  Attempting to move again I felt agonizing pain in my belly and my hands.  I lifted my hands and looked at them.  They were mutilated.  Instead of my normally slender well manicured fingers I saw a vision of digits that had been selectively cut away.  I still had all 10 fingers but half of them had sections removed. 5 of them were stumps that had half the bones removed or cut away.  They were horrific, mutilated and too painful to move.  I didn’t understand the point of the procedure.  Why do this to my fingers? My hands?  This was just sadistic, finger bones were not valuable.  Where they crazy or cruel or both?  I’d never be able to play the piano or type again. And for what reason? I didn’t understand why. 

Besides the pain from my disfigured hands there was one more source of physical pain in my body which racked through my core whenever I tried to get up.  I forced my mangled hands to raise my shirt to look at my stomach.  I knew what had happened without a doubt.  They had removed my right kidney also.  My left side was ok, they were at least sympathetic enough to leave me one I needed to live with.  They didn’t harvest all my organs at least.  But then why did they do something so cruel and seemingly pointless and profitless to my hands??  I understood them stealing my kidney in a sick greedy sense.  I could deal with that and accept that, as shitty as it was.  But I couldn’t reconcile what had been done to my fingers.  

As much pain as I was in I had to get up and get out of there.  I had felt pain like this before.  I had an appendectomy several years ago and I remember waking up in the recovery room after the anesthesia had worn off. I was post-op and had no pain relief.  The severity of that pain had burned a place in my mind and I’ll never forget it.  It was this same pain and I needed to get up and walk out of there without being able to scream at the anesthesiologist this time.  This time I was on my own and I was getting the hell out of there no matter how much it hurt.  I left that evil place and all I can remember was walking out into the night towards a better place. 

Do you need a ride baby?

I’ll never forget the first time someone thought I was a prostitute.  I was only 16 yrs old.  I think I’d like to write about it now. So here goes. 

Some years ago, when I was only 16 (like I said), I was part of a volunteer committee for a charity group.  Every few months we’d have fundraisers for our charity.  In this particular instance, we had a DJ donate his time, as well as, a charitable hall owner donate space for the evening.  The night was a success and we had a great evening of fun, music and dance that raised money for our charity.  All was going well - it was a good night thus far.  

As a volunteer I was part of the clean up crew.  So I stayed late after the event.  Up until just right after this everything was fine. However, as the evening grew late all my friends’ rides came, and then went. They all got their safe ride home as I watched.   My father told me he would pick me up after the event (at 10pm) just like every other girl friend of mine.  But 10pm came and went.  The last of my friends offered me a ride home, but I told them it was OK, my dad was on his way. I was sure.  He said he would be there. 

The hall proprietor came out to lock the door and ask me if I was OK.  I said yes, my dad was on his way.  Now remember, this was before the time when we all had cell phones so instant communication wasn’t an option.  The hall owner offered to let me use the house phone (e.g. landline), because he was worried. I saw the concern on his face, so to settle his mind, I did, but the phone rang off the wall back at home.  Dad obviously had to be on his way to get me.  After much re-assurance, he went on his way home. 

I sat there on the steps of the hall, downtown on a Friday night, waiting for my dad to come get me.  10:30pm came and went. It was now 11pm.   I should probably add some perspective here for good measure.  The owner of the hall, who often donated in kind, was also located in the bad part of downtown, where the colourful characters came out at night.  Including the ladies of the night. Thus, it wasn’t long until the action picked up.  

The first car stopped for me at 11pm.  “Hey, do you need a ride?” he rolled down his window and asked me.  “No, I’m OK.” I replied.  Confused, he asked if I was sure then he moved on, slightly perplexed.  Several more cars slowed down, glanced me over, asked if I needed a lift before being uncharacteristically declined by a woman such as myself.  It was only after the second invitation that I realize what was going on.  All these men thought I was hooking.  I was 16. I was waiting for my dad who forgot about me and left me vulnerable to these predators. 

I always found it funny when I heard about those fathers who threatened to pull out shotguns on any guy who threatened to lay a dishonorable hand on their daughter.  Did those really exist?  My father never did anything like that. I thought that father was a creation of primetime comedy television.  My father - the real life father - was the type of man who didn’t really care that his daughter was left alone waiting for a ride home in the bad part of downtown on a Friday night while he lazily slept on the couch.  Lost in the land of nod. Dreaming sweet dreams of sugar plums dancing in his head.   

Alas, 2 hrs late he awoke, realized he needed to pick me up and finally did so.  Luckily, no one too aggressive approached me that night.   It was the first time I truly realized how less my father cared about my well-being than any of my other girl-friends fathers did for them.  I felt really shitty all of a sudden. 

Suddenly I felt confused, scared, sad, alone, frightened and disappointed. Please continue to add whatever word is appropriate here _______.

My dad didn’t give a fuck about leaving me alone in the bad part of downtown on Friday night while strange men preyed on me.  This was my first experience with prostitution.  I was 16.  Of course I was not really for sale until several years later, but it was quite the awakening experience.  I wish my father cared more about me.  Maybe I would’ve turned out different. But there’s no point asking what if questions.  They’ll only drive us crazy. 

I often wonder how much this experience affected my life. If this didn't happen would I have thought as much about prostitution as I did?  Would things have been different if my dad wasn't a lazy ass?  Argh - these are what if questions.  I told myself I'm not allowed to ask these questions.  No good will come of them.  

That’s a Nice Blog

I’ve always thought the word nice to be complimentary, a good word.  If something or someone was described as being nice it was taken to be a good thing.  I call myself a nice person all the time, as do others.  I lumped it together with words like - good, kind, considerate, pleasing, enjoy or sweet.  You get what I mean, hopefully. 

But today a friend of mine pointed out the actual meaning of the word, and it really surprised me to hear the definition.  Apparently its not such a complimentary adjective after all.  

Webster’s Dictionary (11th ed.) defines nice as:

1. foolish, wanton, silly, simple
2. fastidious, discriminating
3. pleasing, agreeable
4. choosy, finicky, particular, persnickety

So when someone calls you nice it might actually be a thinly veiled insult.  Depending on how you consider words like silly and simple, of course.  Its not necessarily bad to be silly and simple.  I suppose its more to do with the tone really.  But its something most of us haven’t considered before. 

“You’re so nice.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?!”

Geez, when did nice become an insult?? 

I don’t care, I still think I’m a nice person.  

I’ll be taking it as a compliment. 

But I’m not sure what to think of the people who live in the town of Nice, France, now!  

Did they name the town themselves? Or was it named by perhaps a smug bunch up in Paris?  Hhhhmmmm.... makes you wonder. 

What Stresses Me Out

We all face stress in our lives. Its inevitable.  The only thing that varies is the type and amount of stress that we each face.  Me, the BSW, I have found that I face 3 different types of stress, each with their own components.  

2/3 factors I can not change - bipolar and scorpio, but the 3rd factor - escort work - is by choice. With that said, I think no matter what our choice of job is, it will always have some kind of stress.  Its just that each job stress is different I expect.  Some will be more stressful than others.  

Lets start with what I consider the easiest stress for me to deal with:

1. Being a scorpio.  My stress usually comes from dealing with intensity.  I am passionate, suspicious, jealous, hardworking and loyal. These bring with them their own stress. But I can deal with that. 

2. The stress of escort work is the second largest source of stress in my life.  I have to worry about: 

1. abuse from clients - e.g. physical, sexual, theft
2. law enforcement (e.g. my incall operation)
3. STI 
4. injury preventing me from working (e.g. if I broke my leg I'd find it harder to make money)
5. the typical problems of running a small business (cost of ads, overheads, competition, etc.)
6. family/friends finding out 

Of the 6 stressors I have from my escort work, the latter is the biggest source of stress by far.  I hate lying so much, yet I find I have to lie to the ones I love the most in order to protect them from this secret.  My biggest fear in life is not being arrested or catching an STD, I would rather suffer one of those burdens then to ever have my parents find out about my escorting.  Its not that I would be embarrassed, but they would never understand why I do this.  They can’t see prostitution from both sides of the issue, they only see it as a bad thing.  Thus they would feel that they failed, that I was a victim, and they would be devastated as a consequence. They'd rack their brains over where they went wrong? They’d lie awake every night, in tears.  I couldn't bear that.  But why can't I make my own choice as an adult either? Its an awful situation. 

  

I’ve thought about this a lot.  And I have come up with an excellent excuse if they ever did find out about this.  I know you’d love to hear, but I’m not comfortable disclosing my safe bailout plan online.  I will tell you this much.  I have a legit small business that is my cover job, and I have a second legit excuse to cover what might appear to be prostitution.  I’ll leave it at that.  But I have a 2 step plan, well thought out and already in place to cover my ass just in case I’m ever outed.  Let’s just hope it never comes to that. 

Not to sound too scary, but if BSW was ever outed by someone, and she knew who it was, god help them.  I have the same view of honour, integrity and trust as the mob does.  But that’s probably a scorpio trait too.  Loyalty and honour is gold.  Betrayal is unforgivable.  A good escort would never out her clients. And a good escort should also be protected.  All those who’ve met me will agree, I am truly a kind person.  But you’ll all just have to settle with the anonymity or have fun guessing. 

3. While lying to family is damn near the biggest stressor in my life, I have to admit that the stress my bipolar disorder causes just narrowly beats it out.  

If I could change one thing in my life it would be being bipolar.   

I do not have the time or energy to state every reason why this trumps all, but I’ll give you the 2 main reasons I think explain the significance of my particular case of BD. 

1. Ignorance
2. Side effects of medications

The average person does not understand bipolar disorder.  Because of their ignorance they often believe that those suffering with bipolar disorder are ill all of their life; constantly delusional or psychotic, unable to control themselves, unable to reason, and are thus dangers to themselves and/or others.  This is simply not true.  While all of these factors are of concern to people with bipolar disorder, most people blow them our of proportion in terms of frequency and severity.  I have experienced this first hand, and it feels horrible. Its a huge reason I hide my mental health issues and of course this is very stressful for me. 

Secondly, the medications for the treatment of bipolar disorder all have awful side-effects. I have tried to treat my disorder with several mainstream medications (e.g. lithium, lamotrigine, seroquel, abilify) and all medications have had side effects that have seriously affected the quality of my life. I won’t re-state those side-effects here, I’ve mention this in a previous blog.  

So many people have said just take my medicine and I’ll be OK, but when the side-effects are often worse than the disease, its not such an easy decision.  Most people don’t understand this. 

To sum this blog up:

Ignorance and medical side-effects are 2 of the biggest stresses in my life.  Followed closely by lying to family and friends about my ‘real’ work.   

IMHO, as the BSW, I think its easier to be a prostitute than to be bipolar.  

What I've learned about marriage - working as an escort

Contrary to my current lifestyle, I do believe in monogamy and happy marriages.  I can’t say if I want to marry eventually or not, but I am leaving that option open.  Although I’ve never been married, I’ve gotten to know a lot of married people and learned a hell of a lot about their problems. Yet, if both partners want to make it work, I think they can make their fairy tale come true. It definitely takes hard work, patience and communication - which takes effort, but is not unreasonable or impossible. Honestly, from what I’ve seen in life so far, I’m amazed and saddened that so many people don’t make the effort to make their marriage work.  Do vows mean nothing? 

I believe the 3 biggest problems for a marriage are: 

1. lack of communication 
2. lack of effort 
3. assumptions made and left unspoken  

Why am I writing about this? Or even noticed this?  

Its because my job, my role in society, exists primarily because of these things.  A large number of my clients are men who are not fully satisfied in their relationships.  I truly believe men would not cheat (as much) if wives did more to please husbands sexually.  Yes, I wrote the right. The topic of this blog is how unfair it is for wives to withhold (reasonable) sex from their husbands. 

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying she has to turn into a porn star, anal freak, or nympho - there is a line that must be respected.  However, using that same reasoning, she has to keep up her end of the matrimonial bargain (assuming she is healthy and capable of course).  I feel its wrong to ask a man to commit to you (one woman), and you alone, for ever and ever, ‘til death do you part, and then reduce/stop sexual activity over time or start using it as a weapon. Its not fair.    

This is where the issues of communication and assumptions come up.  Rarely do couples discuss their sexual expectations of each other before they wed.  They just assume - and this is a killer assumption.  Before couples get married they really need to discuss what they expect of each other - in an extremely blunt nature - if they are going to know how compatible they are in the long term and in different situations.   It’ll save a lot of heartache down the road.   But most people are not realistic or pragmatic enough to do this.  Its the same reason most people end up obese, diabetic and/or buried in debt.  But that’s another blog, I just couldn’t resist the jab, its a topic that really irks me.  I digress...

My clients are not newly wed men.  My typical client is 35-65 years old, and his partner has basically lost interest in fucking him.  She’s no longer holding up her end of an unspoken and assumed task in their relationship, and, as a result of this he’s come to me.  While I would never wish ill on a relationship, its the reason my role exists and it pays my bills.  It is what it is. 

Just for fun, as we all want to hear about a sex scandal, here are some examples of what my clients ask me to help them with.  All anonymous.  

A fantasy of one of my clients is to simply drink a beer while getting a BJ.  While his wife still performs the basics for him, she feels insulted by the beer drinking aspect and refuses to fulfill this fantasy for him.  I think this is absolutely ridiculous because it is so simple to oblige.  However, she refuses anything that is not ‘vanilla’ and thus he comes to me.  Thanks hon, I guess.  What can I say?  I only know one side of the story obviously. 

Another client of mine starting coming to see me when his wife stopped having sex with him after the birth of their child.  He waited until she was recovered, of course, but its been 2 yrs since she had sex with him.  She just shut down, no explanation offered.  I don’t think its fair for a married man to be denied ‘reasonable requests’ for sexual satisfaction from his healthy wife.   Her frigidity drove him to me. 

Here’s one more situation which is a little more complicated. I’ve always said that if the wife is healthy and capable of performing then its unfair of her to deny a reasonable request of sex from her husband.  It gets complicated when she’s sick.  If she’s too ill to perform, and you swore a vow to stick with her in times of sickness and health, then her husband isn’t being unfairly treated by his wife and its not really fair to cheat on her.  But, as we’ve all learned by now, there are many avenues for sexual satisfaction.  If her pussy is out of commission, can she still use her mouth, breasts and hands?  Is providing oral still an option? 

One client of mine is in a committed relationship, but his wife has a health issue ‘below the belt’ which prevents her from having sexual intercourse.  She has rejected all sexual activity, even oral, which she is quite capable of.  Of course, I don’t know all the dynamics of their relationship, and never met her, but I just don’t think its fair to demand monogamy from a man when she refuses BJs and even HJs.  Sure, its complicated, but come on, that’s just plain selfish.  (I sincerely hope her health improves in the future.  I might sound mean right now, but I wish her no ill. I believe in karma and )

Wether its marriage by wedding or common law, a husband and wife are a team, are partners.  They help each other, consider each others needs and do what they can for each other.  Otherwise, its not a respectful equal relationship and is doomed to fail.  The  sexual expectations should be discussed (because that’s going to be different for each couple).  Compare it to a work contract - would you take a job without knowing your duties, hours and salary? Of course not.  Marriage is even more important than a job, but most wed blindly and vaguely. 

If I ever get married, I realize that there is a minimum level of sexual activity I fairly need to live up to, for the entirety of the marriage.  If I expect monogamy, to be the only woman in his life that he can be intimate with, then I have to provide for his needs.   

Wives who unreasonably deny their husbands are cruel bitches.  Its blunt but true.  Don’t marry a man if you can’t deal with this. Let me be clear, sexual assault is never ever justified, and someone should never force sex on another person.  That’s unacceptable.  But if you marry someone be fair to them.  That’s all I’m saying.  That’s the point of this blog. 

I wish I could say what exactly ‘fair’ and ‘reasonable requests for sex - both in terms of frequency and fantasy’ are but those are relative terms.  They will range greatly due to cultural/religious/personal beliefs. Hence, why I stress the need to be discussed by both partners before committing.  

Most prostitutes are not bad people.  We’re misjudged.  I’m an incredibly kind and compassionate person.  I let my clients come to me, they instigate and initiate when they are ready. I am not a home-wrecker, their problems existed long before they ever met me. 

I’m not just a sexual release, I’m also a therapist, a confidant and an actress.  I’m a safe and discrete source for them to satisfy their unmet needs in a supportive, compassionate environment.   Its astounding how much guilt and shame people feel about their sexual fantasies.  I experienced this feeling as catholic guilt before I learned to love and accept myself.  While not all of my clients need such compassion, many of them do. 

There are a few finals points I wanted to make before I can wrap up this entry.  As an escort I’ve learned that one of the main reasons marriages fail is because wives do not keep up their end of the bargain. I wish this was discussed more openly and honestly, without judgement.  I’d like to discuss this with women, I’ve heard their husbands thoughts. I doubt that many women will read my blog though.  

This is only one marital issue. Since I’ve been throwing around the word ‘fair’ this whole blog, I feel compelled to make this brief but necessary endnote. I am not blaming women for all failed marriages.  There are many women who happily and regularly fuck their husbands but have not secured wedded bliss.  Men are not without blame.  On the other side of the coin, husbands can erode their marriages overtime if they become lazy, unsupportive and unhealthy (placing unfair and completely preventable burdens on their family such as diabetes, obesity, heart disease, etc.).  This too is unfair behavior by a partner.  But I’m saving this for another blog.  

I’m not attacking men or women here. Or the institution of marriage.  Or the necessity of prostitutes in society. I’m neutral on this topic. Seriously.  I’m just sharing some of the things I’ve noticed from my unique perspective.  Take it for what it is... the thoughts of a bipolar scorpio woman.   

Maybe it will help us be better partners.  

Maybe it will help people understand a certain role of prostitution.     

Maybe it will briefly entertain you.

Dare I wish all of the above.  

Thanks for reading.    

The Chicken or the Egg?

What came first - the chicken or the egg?

Its a question we’ve pondered for ages.  Many consider it unanswerable due to its cyclical nature.   Well consider yourself lucky, as I am now going to share with you one of the secrets of the universe. Ready?

The egg came before the chicken.  

There is a very logical explanation for this - Evolution. Let me explain. For those of you who paid attention in science class or watch discovery channel, you probably already knew this but just never put two and two together. Let me connect the dots. 

  

To answer this riddle all one has to do is look at the evolutionary development of both eggs and birds.

Animals use eggs to reproduce - worms, fish, birds, humans (woman release eggs each month as I’m sure you’re well aware) - its a very long list of diverse creatures. Eggs have been around for a long long long time because animals use eggs to sexually reproduce.  Its one of natures greatest inventions. 

The riddle of the chicken and the egg can now be easily determined by simply looking up when chickens (birds in general) appeared on the evolutionary time scale. 

Here is a very simplified version of animal evolution (in chronological order naturally):

worms - insects - fish - amphibians - reptiles - birds - mammals

By the time birds showed up, eggs were already being used by many other animals for millions of years. Thus, the egg came before the chicken.  This is a wonderful example of how science can be useful in your life. Tell your children so they can show up their science teacher.  You’ll be a hit at parties. 

I’m still working on the Caramilk secret.  When I figure it out I’ll let you know. 

Writing Spurts

I wish I could write more consistently, but writing always seems to come to me in spurts.   Sometimes its related directly to my mood.  I tend to write more when swinging towards mania than when I do depression that’s for sure. But there are times when I just lack inspiration, motivation or the time.  

I’m going to try to post a little something once a week at least. It would be a good thing for me to have a small goal. Maybe I’ve put too much pressure on myself to make each blog something deep or introspective or significant. I don’t know. 

There are many things I know I want to write about but just not getting to it.  I'm like the horse in that old saying - you can lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink.  Don't worry, I'll get thirsty again soon my friends.  

Smeagol's Walk

The walk of shame. We've all done it at some point in our lives.  Like a rite of passage for the modern youth.  You've been there before, and no doubt, will be there again. As will I.   Despite its given nomenclature, you should not be completely shamed by this particular walk - be it home or heaven forbid to work. It signifies that you're a fun person, likable or useful or something of the sort.  There is admiration to be recognized and valued in those who make the most out of life.  Carpe diem!!

Now most sensible people will either go to bed or to work after enduring their walk of shame. Lesson learned.  However, there are those like myself who don't know when to quit.  Instead of "going the fuck to sleep" as Samuel suggests, will take another certain walk of shame.  Although it doesn't feel quite right to call it that, as it really deserves its own title, its on a whole other level, truly a different walk down the same old road.

What's a fitting title for the walk of... oh I don't know... how do you say.... "damn, do I seriously have to walk to the LCBO at 3pm, no wait, shit, now its 4pm Saturday afternoon and I'm still in my pyjamas and even if I change and do something with my hair there is no way to hide the truth that I'm still half drunk and is it really always the same cashier there every time I go?? for fucks sake really...." kinda feeling?

That is not the same walk of shame. What name should be given to this particular hellish voyage of necessity?  Right now all I can think of is Smeagol's walk.  Must get my precious...

Labyrinth

This is the scene from Labyrinth where Sarah (Jennifer Connelly) defeats Jareth, the Evil Goblin King  (David Bowie) with the words "You have no power over me".   Jareth is the closest thing I can think of that personifies my bipolar sandman.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FmgmXgoBZFo&feature=related

Amygdala - its all your fault!!

I’ve been struggling with writers block for the last two weeks.  I know exactly what I want to write but every night I am dissatisfied with my results and refuse to post the tripe I’ve written. Its either boring or rambling or unfocussed or some combination thereof. I am very irritated lately. But tonight I think I can do it. I’m going to post something goddman it. This foolishness has gone on long enough.  I hope this blog turns out well.  Don't lose faith in me. 

.....................................

I think I’ve finally figured out why I’ve been having so many nightmares, and what it all boils down to.  It all comes down to my Amygdala.  Let me explain, because it took a fair bit of digging around for me to figure it out, but I am somewhat satisfied with the conclusions I’ve drawn.  I should start from the beginning which would be my most recent nightmares.

I’ve had 2 more terrifying nightmares since my last blog that I will share with you. 

In the first one, I dreamt a man (a dark unrecognizable formidable figure) was trying (very hard) to drown me.  We were in the ocean and he had his hands closed around my throat and he held me firmly underwater beneath him.  I struggled but he was incredibly strong and it soon became clear that fighting him was futile.   The only chance I had was to fake death. I stopped struggling, went limp and fought the burning in my lungs with all my might. It worked. He released his grip from my throat and I began to float away from him.  I drifted through the ocean with my life. I remember enjoying the drifting feeling very much. I drifted for the rest of that dream. 

In the second dream I was camping somewhere out in nature, I’m not sure where exactly but a jungle type of environment comes to mind. It was nighttime and I was asleep between 2 other people in a tent when the attack happened.  This time it was not a man, but a tiger.  The animal tore through the tent and very specifically attacked the 2 people sleeping on either side of me, but did not harm me in any way.  I watched frozen in horror as the tiger tore the flesh from their stomachs in long strips, exposing their bright red innards. A disemboweling, twice. There was no doubt the tiger wanted them both dead but me alive. I don’t know why.  I wish there was more of a conclusion to that dream.  I don't even know who the 2 murdered people were to me. Its all so confusing. 

While these nightmares were still incredibly vivid, filled with murderous rage and negative emotions, I’ve not been incapacitated by them the following day (like I had been previously with the dream about Kristen).  So thats a bright note in the darkness. 

I’m fed up with trying to make sense of these dreams using those online dream dictionaries.  All I can get is the logic behind a certain symbol but the specific actions and behaviors ongoing are too complex to explain.  For your amusement - a tiger is apparently a symbol of female power and sexuality.  I can understand why I might dream about a tiger, I’m a very intense and sexual woman. But no dream dictionary is able to explain why the tiger killed my tent mates by disemboweling them before my own eyes. That’s messed up.  Fuck the dream dictionaries.  I’m way beyond those.   I've accepted that. 

Answers often come when you’re not looking for them at all.  And this is what happened to me when I was settling down for the evening one night last week. I often watch PBS or A&E when I’m trying to wind down before bed. Their shows are a bit like reading a book - interesting but not edge of your seat thrilling. I used to download whole seasons of certain TV series, but I could never just watch one episode at night. I’ll have to watch the whole damn season that night, forfeiting sleep completely.  I’m like Gizmo from the Gremlins, don’t feed me after midnight or things can get out of hand... I’m digressing, please excuse me.

That night I’m settling in to watch NOVA on PBS, and its all about dreams!  
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kqQrbF2RFQc&feature=related FYI you can watch this NOVA Dream episode on youtube over 6 clips)
I’m not sure I believe in coincidences, I think most things are meant to happen, call it fate if you want.  Whatever. But this is just want I needed.  A credible and scientific approach to dreaming.  The show discussed many different aspects of dreams (did you know that our pet cats and dogs dream too? - very cool stuff) but the most important thing I took away from the show was which parts of the brain were responsible for dreaming: the hippocampus and amygdala.  In a nutshell, the hippocampus is responsible for retrieving events that we experienced while awake and incorporates them into our dreams.  The amygdala is responsible for dealing with our emotions, both awake and asleep.  Our brain places significant emphasis on the emotional aspect of our dreams. 

When the narrator said the word ‘amygdala’ I felt like he had just sucker punched me in the guts, knocking the wind right out of me. I literally dropped my tube of lip-balm I was applying to my lips and my jaw nearly fell to the floor after it. I’m not joking. (I still need to find that lip-balm under the futon now that I think of it.).  The realization that the amygdala is responsible for emotional dreaming was my missing link.  Most normal people have probably never heard of this abstract part of the brain, but I’ve learned about it because people diagnosed with bipolar disorder have a messed up amygdala. It may actually hold the key to the disease. So naturally I was all ears when I heard it controlled dreams too. 

I’m going to try to keep the terminology simple here but there are a few things I need to explain in order to link the amygdala with bipolar disorder, emotions and nightmares, so stay with me. 

Early brain researchers had a couple nicknames for the amygdala and I think its fitting to share them with you - the brains seat of emotion, as well as, the brains seat of fear. Needless to explain much further, its the part of the brain that controls our emotional responses and our reaction to fear.  An excellent example of how important this really is, is exemplified in the Fight or Flight Response.  When humans experience a dangerous stressor its your amygdala that decides if you stay and fight or if you run away.  Inside your amygdala the neurotransmitters that deal with stress (e.g. norepinephrine, ephedrine - sound familiar??) are released and used in your body. Basically, it gets your adrenaline pumping. 

This little almond shaped part of our brain (FYI amygdale is greek for almond) does a lot of work it seems - it’s responsible for dealing with emotion, fear, stress, dreams and so forth.  So its logical to assume that if the amygdala is damaged in someway so too would be that persons reaction to emotion, fear, stress, dreams.   

Well this is most likely what happens in people with bipolar disorder. Doctors have actually scanned the brains of those with BD and observed amygdalas that are for some reason misshapen, enlarged and/or overactive. Not the nice little almonds they should be.  There is no explanation for this. Even if its cause or effect.

You may or may not remember in one of my blogs back in June I touched on the 5 neurotransmitters that play a significant role in bipolar disorder (dopamine, serotonin, GABA, ephedrine and norepinephrine).  What I didn’t discuss back then was how they were controlled by the amygdala. It seemed like too much info at the time. But now its very important to acknowledge. 

This blog isn’t meant to be all about science, but a little bit of science is necessary here to explain all this craziness. 

Yes, my madness is explainable.  There is a real physical and chemical problem in my brain that causes me to think and behave this way.  

ooohhhhhh.....if I knew then what I know now many things would be different......

------------------------------------------

To sum up the important points: 

• the amygdala is the part of the brain that is responsible for nightmares, as well as our reactions both emotional and stressful.  
• people diagnosed with bipolar disorder have an abnormal amygdala
• people diagnosed with bipolar disorder have abnormal responses to stress and difficulty coping with emotions; they also commonly have vivid nightmares
• Here’s the frustrating catch. Brain researchers haven’t yet proven that an abnormal amygdala actually causes bipolar disorder. All they can say for sure is that these symptoms are probably rooted in the amygdala b/c thats the kind of stuff the amygdala is responsible for. But they haven’t isolated the direct casual link. Its really difficult to experiment on the human brain.  Ethics and all.  A few brain image scans isn’t enough, its still circumstantial evidence (which we all know is not enough to convict). Of course there’s animal testing but can a rat or chimp even have bipolar disorder? How would you know when a rat is manic? A rat's not going on a shopping spree or claim to be God.  Could he? lol. Perhaps my mood disorder truly separates mankind from the rest of the animals. A cruel twist for humanity!!

I’m thinking of donating my brain to science when I die so pathologists can have a good look at my brain and my amygdala. I’ll have to find a spot somewhere on the organ donor card for that specific detail.  

Hey, donating your brain is all the rage these days.  All the hockey players who ever suffered a concussion are doing it. 

Puts a whole new spin on the saying ‘Let me pick your brain’.  

Damn, that just made me think of that dinner scene from Silence of the Lambs. 

Moving on....

   

It actually makes soooooooo much sense to me now. This seat of fear and emotion in the brain, which is also responsible for dreams/nightmares just happens to be misshapen and overactive in people with bipolar disorder. If we’re having a mood swing, and our neurotransmitters are out of whack, how does the amygdala deal with sorting out these disordered emotions?  Well messed up/scary/fearful/emotional nightmares seem like a possible way the brain might be trying to sort out these emotions and thoughts.  My nightmares might not be logical because my neurotransmitters are out of whack.  I’ve been trying to find meaning in nonsense. I need to stop acting like a 5yr old who can’t handle the scary movie they snuck into.  Time to toughen up kid.  

Even though I know that I’ll probably have these intense nightmares for the rest of my life, and there will still be times I’ll wake up gripped in terror, I don’t feel so bad about it anymore.  One of the worst things about dealing with bipolar disorder was not understanding it.  Honestly, when I was finally diagnosed I was relieved because I finally had an answer for what was going on with me.  Of course I wasn’t happy to be mentally ill, but at long last I knew what I was fighting, and thats half the battle.  This is the same feeling I have put towards these nightmares.  Understanding their cause (at least in some part) actually takes away some of their power over me.  

This reminds me of a scene from one of my favorite childhood movies - Labyrinth. When Jennifer Connolly faces David Bowie (the Goblin King) and defeats him with the words “you have no power over me”. Very fitting. 

Too bad its not quite so simple as that. 

This has been a big deal for me.  I’ve never told anyone about my monsters, these terrible nightmares until now - never family, friends or doctors. They were always internalized. The first time I ever described one was the bipolar sandman blog I wrote last month. I’m not sure why I hid them away.  Maybe I was afraid of how they would be interpreted by others - I wasn’t abused as a child or witness to a gruesome act but maybe someone would be convinced I was repressing something. I did not want to deal with that. Maybe I was afraid of a doctor telling me I needed a change in lifestyle - nightmares about sexuality, men, death caused by escorting? I’m not quitting my job over a few nightmares. Maybe the best reason is simply because I just wanted to forget about them.  

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There is one more aspect of the bipolar sandman that I feel I should discuss. Then I’m done. Finito. It may actually be useful to other people dealing with BD and actually concludes this blog with a worthy end note. Here goes.  Researchers at the Psychiatry Dept. of the University of Alberta found that those diagnosed specifically with BD can use their dreams (both frequency and content of) as a predictor for mood swings (see Beauchemin & Hays, 1995, for more details).  

The researchers found that: 

- Their BD subjects dreamed least often when depressed.  

- Had dreams that were routine/mundane/uneventful when in a neutral mood state. 

- Experienced dreams that were bizarre, improbable and often featured death or bodily injury when shifting to manic states.  

How interesting. 

I took a long winding road getting here. But the view is magnificant and well worth the effort.  Now that I have a better understanding of how the bipolar sandman is created from within my abnormal amygdala I’m not so scared of him anymore.  Maybe I can also add him as a tool in my mental health first aid kit. I now have a flare - an advance alarm possibly.  To quote Metallica one more time - its all within my hands.