Why I Hate Facebook

Don't get me wrong. I love Facebook: it's just the charming inconsistencies that drive me to my meds, and that spot where I used to hide the bottle.

And how are you this morning? I actually slept well last night, I'll tell you why. Vapid is taking us a vacation at the ocean. She is Gone Until Tomorrow.

Then I get up, try to place my blog site as the last 'place of employment' on my updated Facebook timeline, and get bupkus. Don't try to look up that word, if your native tongue is not English. I'm sure it's in some dictionary somewhere, but I'm on a roll this morning and can't be bothered to look it up. I don't even know if I spelled it right. But that's how it was pronounced in my family, and that's how I'm spelling it.

I will define it for you: Nada, zilch, nothing. It is the only double positive in English that means a negative. Used in a sentence, "I looked for Lord Voldemort all day, and didn't get bupkus." From the Latin root: Butt Kiss. I know, I know, it can be confusing. It's on the same level as, "I didn't get squat." Which states that you actually got something, but means that you got bupkus. Nothing.

That's what I didn't get from Facebook this morning. And let me tell you, waking up and "not getting bupkus" is like reading yet another medication bottle that says it may cause lack of sexual desire. Well, of course it might. Drug designers don't want us to have fun, do they?

That is the constant battle for people like me: It can't effect our desire to eat so that we LOSE weight, just the opposite. To be plain, we can be physically attractive and have sex and be spinning tops out in the world, or we can conform and take our meds. Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, which would YOU choose? Let's be honest here. This isn't a test. You wanted to know why so many people are on disability? They choose exactly as you would choose if you had to face that choice.

So the dance is this: we, the mentally disabled, periodically don't take our meds, or play with doses, or are constantly searching for another one, and we get bupkus. Even I, who is a stickler for taking her meds, plays with this option (see yesterday's post.) The hard core medications for psychiatric illness in the 1950's were LSD and Lithium. No kidding. Guess which one the medical establishment chose to endorse?

And they call us paranoid.