Daily Archives: June 3, 2013
From Left to Right: Marie, Oreo, Giselle, Bear, Glory, Totoro, Lamby, and Pooh
I’ve done more with friends during the past week than I had in the past six months. Each day I’ve done something with special people, and it’s making me feel so great that I have to share!
“Hanging out” used to freak me out. I hated it. This was partially due to paranoia, and partially due to my introverted nature. For me, paranoia takes the form of thinking that my friends and family members hate me and wish that I were dead. I constantly felt like the awkward +1 and doubted whether anyone even wanted me there. I used to try as hard as I could not to use the bathroom while hanging out because I was terrified that when I left the room to pee, everyone would talk about how much they just wanted me to go home.
Since I’m not feeling paranoid right now, I can understand how ridiculous and unhealthy these thought patterns seem. Obviously my friends want to spend time with me like I want to spend time with them. They don’t want me to die, and they don’t want me to go home so they can have more fun. I’m sure I can be annoying just like everyone else can (especially when I’m manic and laughing like a hyena), but true friends overlook those things.
Actively fighting my paranoia has allowed me to spend more time with great people. I’ve been able to completely relax while hanging out, and staying busy means less time in bed feeling sorry for myself. As Sean Covey would say, win-win! Spending time with others is also helping me value myself more as an individual. I am starting to realize that I am someone that is (usually) enjoyable to be around. Note: This does not apply when I haven’t had enough sleep.
While it can be downright painful to step out of our comfort zones and face people instead of the TV, it’s absolutely necessary. Talking with others forces us to challenge the stories we’ve been telling ourself about why we’re not good enough or plain not worth it. Gaining comfort in social situations is a slow process, and I haven’t transformed into an extrovert. I still enjoy my alone time a lot, but leaving the house and talking with interesting people has been a rejuvenating experience. I still usually need a nap afterwards, but overall I feel much more positive. Everyone says that humans are social creatures and require interaction, and I’m finally understanding that I am not exception to this rule. I think even the most introverted among us can benefit from social interaction. It’s all about finding the right people with whom to share your time, and luckily, I’ve found them.
I don’t think I have been to the movies since the first Iron Man came out. I’m not sure if that’s exactly true, but it’s not far off. Sometimes I feel so out of touch, watching kids’ programming all the time.
So this past Friday night my husband and I decided it was time for movie night. We didn’t go to the movies, but borrowed one from my parents. Good enough for me! I have been really wanting to see Silver Linings Playbook starring Bradley Cooper and the girl from Hunger Games, Jennifer Lawrence (who I think is amazing and so pretty and pretty darn hilarious).
I. Loved. It. And so did my husband. It was so honest and real and accurate. I love how it wasn’t really “Hollywooded-up” or glamorized. It was real. It was authentic. It was so good. If you’re bipolar or love someone who is, you should watch it. If you don’t have bipolar disorder, or don’t know someone who is, you should also watch it.
I loved how it ended. So good. Don’t worry, I’m not going to spoil it for those who haven’t watched it.
I read an article about the creator of Silver Linings Playbook, David O. Russell, and learned he wanted to make the movie because he has a son who is bipolar. His son actually has a cameo in the movie, which I thought was a hilarious character. He plays the neighbor boy who comes to the front door of Bradley Cooper’s parents house (his father is played by Robert De Niro) and wants to film him because he’s bipolar for a school report on mental illness, and De Niro chases him down the street in his pajamas. Good stuff! My husband and I would have been cracking up at that, had the other parts in the movie at that point not been so intense.
I’m curious to hear other people’s perspectives and opinions on the movie, please tell me in comments. I already had some feedback on my Facebook page with a wide range of views! Check it out here.
Two thumbs up,
Imagine that your ears are tuned and listening constantly for the drop of a pin in silence that signals impending explosion.
Imagine your eyes scanning the room, straining to see behind your head as you walk, even half-open in rare moments of sleep, unable to close for fear of missing the approach of the evil that comes with the dark.
Imagine your skin so thin and so sensitive that even the still air rubs like a rasp. Clothes are agony. Underwear is torture. No, no, don’t touch me!
Alert, always alert, and jump at the least sound. Don’t close that door. No, don’t open it. Move my chair, I want to be able to see that door. No, I don’t want that window at my back. Close those drapes.
Who cooked this food? I don’t want it, then.
My bags are packed. I can leave at any moment. My taxi money is set aside. The driver’s number is in my phone. No, not any driver. Only this one. I know him.
The bags inside my brain are always packed. I can leave at any moment. Any time and anytime, if my eyes see me something, if my ears hear me something, if my skin crawls at the feel of the air. Or if the air in my lungs chokes danger, I can be gone in the blink of an eye.
I am always on the move, never in one place for more than a moment or two, maybe less if you think about it. There is no place to rest: I must stay alert, on guard, watch out: someone may approach, may get too close, may brush my skin and leave raw places and burns that turn into scars, scars that hold pain, scars that pile on top of scars. Don’t touch me.
Tough? You said I must be tough, then. No. The opposite. The longer I travel, the more I am lost. My bags are packed. I can go at a moment’s notice.
I am accidentally spoonless today. I saw something that surprised and shocked me to such a degree that I was kind of concerned I’d go off the deep end (one of my dearest friends interacting with someone who was horrible to me in school, but said friend had no reason to know this before I left her a note explaining things). But I convinced myself to unstink for once, and I guess I feel calmer after having a bath. I’m sure my kid’ll let me know much much she appreciates me not smelling, ha ha. And said friend acknowledged my upset, so I’m feeling much happier that she is thusly informed. She certainly does not owe me anything in this regard!
I don’t have any spoons left though, which is kind of frustrating. I’d hoped to do some laundry-folding today, and maybe some writing as well. Instead, I’m just sort of sitting here maintaining homeostasis (I once loudly declared the need to do such while on LSD as a kid, and the phrase continues to delight me for some reason). I’m happy after a fashion — while the shock might’ve wiped out my reserves for the day, I’m still standing strong without the need for topping up my meds. I didn’t break down sobbing and throwing things — logic managed to prevail, which is awesome. I didn’t expect that I’d be able to manage it because I started the day already feeling completely wiped out.
Anyways, hopefully I’ll perk up a bit. Maybe some music will help? We’ll see. I’ll opt for more caffeine at this exact moment though.
I hope everyone is having a good day.
“Others imply that they know what it is like to be depressed because they have gone through a divorce, lost a job, or broken up with someone. But these experiences carry with them feelings. Depression, instead, is flat, hollow, and unendurable. It is also tiresome. People cannot abide being around you when you are depressed. They might think that they ought to, and they might even try, but you know and they know that you are tedious beyond belief: you are irritable and paranoid and humorless and lifeless and critical and demanding and no reassurance is ever enough. You’re frightened, and you’re frightening, and you’re “not at all like yourself but will be soon,” but you know you won’t.”
― Kay Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness
I’m redesigning the blog so it may be down for a day or two. Hopefully I’ll be able to stay in action with no down time.
I told the reproductive endocrinologist about the heart palpitations and he waved them off. My Psych Nurse didn’t; she ordered …
On an ordinary workday last week, strident sirens pierced our routine and for a few jarring minutes reminded all of us, throughout the country, of the dangers that lurk ominously beneath our run-of-the-mill existence.
The civil defense exercise simulated massive rocket barrages on packed urban centers with an eye to practice responses to missile onslaughts from Iran, Syria, Lebanon and Gaza – in every corner of Israel and at all hours of the day and night.
This is the reality we live with in our tiny country, the size of the state of Delaware and home to half of the world's 14 million Jews. Although ethnic Jews make up less than .01% of the world population and have a .2% share in world religions (as compared to 2.1 billion Christians and 1.5 billion Muslims), somehow we end up in the news virtually daily, either for praise or censure. Our tiny country, the ONLY Jewish country in the world (although it also welcomes people of ALL religions), produces a constant flow of innovations in every area of science and technology, as well as the fine and performing arts. We are surrounded by 23 nations whose official religion is Islam, in which people of other religions are either not tolerated at all (such as the Baha'i, who fled to Israel from Iran, and the Sikhs who have been decimated in what was once their native country in Pakistan). We serve as the United States' unofficial military base in the Middle East. We are the ONLY democracy in the Middle East. Apartheid? If we were an apartheid nation, would we have Arab political parties and Arab members of Parliament, and full access to any and all parts of Israel for ALL of her citizens regardless of ethnicity? What about checkpoints, you say? Hear this: when I go to the bank, the bus station, the supermarket, the drug store, the mall--virtually any public building or gathering place--I must go through a checkpoint in order to enter. I am a white Anglo-Israeli, and I get searched just like everybody else. This is because some of the worst bombings during the Intifadas were carried out by females, who now have their names proudly displayed on street signs and have girls' schools named after them, and the days of their "martyrdom" are celebrated as holidays.
Well, it was a full cyclothymic week. Ran the entire gamut of moods in six days. Steady, lifting, UP, UP, slipping, sliding, SPLAT, inching up, level, irritable, angry, down, SPLAT…
And after a three hour nap…
I am coming back up again.
Prior to the nap, thanks to getting my curse, and my daughter’s irritating pathological lying little friend Damiana, I was drained. I had cramps today, so of course, like sharks in the water, the kids sensed it would be an excellent time to test me and sass me. NOT wise, little ones. I packed a bite today. More snark and growl than true meanness, but still, it made me feel shitty. And yet, how could I not be pissy when I feel like absolutely crap and all they do is poke the bear? Plus, I have run the mood gauntlet today, never reaching a manic or even happy or content high, but going from ok, to not okay, to really not okay, to GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME BEFORE I EAT YOUR SOUL! Good times. NOT.
But the nap recharged me and I leapt up and moved furniture to clean the carpet behind the couch. I am not sure why this felt so crucial but it did and I am learning not to argue with my gut. Just like that Damiana. I kept asking myself if I was vilifying her because I am just a bitch. But today she came in and told me my kid wanted a drink, grabbed the cup, and I watched out the window when she went outside and took a sip herself, then handed it to my kid, who didn’t want it. Damiana proceeded to drink it herself. My kid didn’t want a drink, she did. And considering by that point, I’d already given her about five dollars worth of food and drinks, I was kind of irked. I knew that kid was a liar. Still, she is just a kid. A kid with poor manners who left in a snit tonight when I told her she needed to help Spook clean up the mess they’d made.
Earlier, I was sitting here, turning over the prospect of having to return to the shop and it just really made me livid. I get my equilibrium back, well sort of, it’s on the edge of a cliff but steady…now I have to go back to that place and it will make everything teeter and fall off the damn cliff. I think tomorrow I will plead cramps. Men usually don’t pry if you plead female stuff. Wussies. Of course, the silent ones are better than the ones who make jokes or actually treat a woman like she should go live in a cave for a few days. I know some real princes.
Gah, what is wrong with me? I am stronger than this.
But I can’t seem to get past this stumbling block. I know the obvious solution is to just remove myself from the vortex of suck that is R and his obsession with busted shit. But if I do, then what? No one will hire me. Not that any jobs are available, not for someone with my history. At least with the shop, I am doing something. Besides, he said it was okay if I just want to come in a couple of days a week. Hopefully he will have the shop ape to amuse him. Because in my current state, he won’t want me around anyway. I am not pleasant during curse week. But then, if a man was in pain and being held hostage by nasty hormones, it would be a different story. Women are bitches, men are just men.
blah. Now my kid has wakened. I will probably be up til 2 am.
But it’s okay. My mood is better, I am calmer. And that demon spawn is not here. I can handle my own spawn. Well, sometimes, when she doesn’t have my in the closet crying “Mommy’s not here!” I’ve actually never done that, but the urge is huge sometimes.
Time to board the cyclothymia train all over again. Who knows, maybe I will cycle upward. I could do with a nice hypo manic spell again. I could live in hypomania forever.
Stupid bipolar two though, nooo, gotta be depressed more than up.
Can’t even have a fun mental disorder.