My pdoc upped my Geodon. No more mania. That's not what I am concerned about. I have grown very fond of my mania. I regret that it isn't there anymore for me to play with. It's the depression that concerns me. I go so low that it feels I can't crawl out of it.

My therapist asked if I was suicidal. I told him I was too in love with myself to ever commit such an act. He found that amusing. I also know I could never do that because I could never live with the fact that I destroyed my children's lives. Not that I would have to live with it, because I'd be dead, but if there is an afterlife I would be in deep shit now wouldn't I?

I went to see George Michael the other night. Love. That. Man. He makes me wish I had a dick so I could sleep with him.