Daily Archives: July 28, 2013

Rick Warren

A dear friend sent me an article this morning talking about Pastor Rick Warren returning to his church since his son, Matthew, committed suicide in April. Several things in the article stand out to me. Undoubtedly, it’s devastating what happened but I’m so proud of the Warrens. Proud might not be the right word, or sentiment. More like, I greatly admire them.

Saddleback Church

First, according to the article, Warren wants to fight the stigma of mental illness and said; “In any other organ of your body breaks down there’s no stigma,” said Warren. “But if your brain doesn’t work, why are you ashamed of that?” He went on to say (AND I LOVE THIS) that his church will offer support groups to people suffering from mental illness. That is amazing, and so necessary. So often we want and need the church to be there for those with mental illness and so often it’s the least supportive place. Not because Jesus doesn’t support us, because he certainly does…but because the church is full of people. People who don’t GET IT sometimes.

The following blurb is something I wrote back in April when I first heard about the suicide of Matthew Warren;

“When I read about the well-known pastor and author Rick Warren’s 27 year old son, Matthew, who struggled with mental illness since childhood, took his own life I was devastated and I immediately started crying. I don’t personally know the man, nor did I know his son. But I know the feelings of wanting to trade anything to rid yourself of the terrible highs, lows and destructive behavior. It made me so sad, that “we” lost one. We lost a precious brother in our bipolar fight and it really sucks. I can’t imagine what his family is going through. What his mother feels right now. As a mother myself, I hate to think how she must feel. I can’t help feeling sad for her, and for the loss of this young man, who was described as a compassionate and great, gentle and loving guy. Outsiders likely look in and think “what a shame” (and it is) but as a person who has had suicidal thoughts myself in years past and several times contemplated driving my car into a ditch or straight into a wall on many occasions, I understand. It’s not necessarily that you want to die, it’s these uncontrollable urges from a chemical imbalance in your brain and an overwhelming desire to not feel the pain anymore. It’s disheartening and flat depressing.”

It still sucks and it’s still depressing. As I’ve said, I’m incredibly beyond PROUD of the Warrens and full of admiration for them. Clearly I struggle to find the words for it. I can’t imagine what it would be like for them to experience the death of their child, and the manner of death is just awful for them to grieve, process and understand.  I hope the Warrens know they’re loved, supported and appreciated and although all of us wish his son’s life didn’t have to end this way, we are all grateful for their response to it and for helping us fight the fight against stigma!  Much love to the Warrens!

For the full article click here.

To Follow Rick Warren on Twitter, click here.

Sincerely,

Mrs Bipolarity

2 job, no offer..

So, those two jobs that I had in the works last week… well they are gone.

One job didn’t hire me because I had two moving violations in too close of time frame for them.

The other… the other… I didn’t pass my drug test.

I feel horrible, but then again I feel like there is nothing I can do. Smoking weed helps me relieve all my ailments from this disease. 

Is that a cope out? 

Well FUCK if it is and FUCK if its not. I use it, and will continue to use it until I get seen by a doctor. When I have insurance in Sept.

So where am I now? I had a nice miracle happen to me yesterday. I went to this local coffee shop yesterday morning. My good friend Nicholas works there and they just so happened to be losing two people. Nicholas told his manager I need a job and I think I might be HIRED! Its only 7.25, but it will probably be more than 40 hours around a while, but I DON’T CARE! i need this.

I am still stressed out of my ass, but I don’t think for me that will ever go away..

I’m just glad to be getting out of this house, out of my mind, and back into the world. Hopefully this time it will be different.


A Comedy of Errors

I realized yesterday morning that I had missed taking my antidepressant on Friday morning — whups! That might explain some of my irritability, or it might have just been coincidence. One thing I did note with some bemusement was that it was much easier to spit out words in that annoyed state than in a placid state, ha ha. I don’t feel like I’m missing anything, per se, but it’s easier to write when there’s something to complain about. *shakes cane metaphorically*

Looks good, right?

Looks good, right?

I also had some knitting drama this week. I’d gotten 50 rows up the back of cardigan #2 in the pattern y’all have already seen… and somehow, I’d gained a stitch somewhere. So I sighed, and picked back a row. There was still the extra stitch, so I started picking out the next row. That didn’t go very well, so I got annoyed enough to rip out a few rows in whole with the intent to pick up the stitches and carefully piece it back together. Except that didn’t work either — each stitch was running back four rows, and I just gave up and frogged it. Frogging, for those of y’all not in the knitting no, is to basically unwind the entire thing and start again. And I did. And I caught up to where I was before last night, so that’s exciting. I might actually finish this section in the next day or two!

Whups.

Whups.

I also noticed another little error that I cannot be assed to go back and correct. I’m not exactly sure what I did, but there’s a couple garter-y stitches amongst the knit. It doesn’t seem to be doing any real harm though, so it just gets to be one of those ‘Look, it’s handmade!’ artifacts. I almost did it again later, but I caught it after two or three stitches into the row and managed to easily correct it. And, of course, I’m counting even more obsessively than I was before, because I will go out of my mind if I have to re-redo this section! I’m most of the way done with it (as I was before), and I don’t want to end up resenting the poor piece, ESPECIALLY as I know I can do it. *chuckles*

Past that, I’m tired, and I think the weather is starting to catch up with me… which is ironic, ’cause it’s starting to turn back to being nicer. Maybe it’s a pollen-based assault? Beats me. This year has thus far been significantly less brutal in that regard, but then, we’ve only had ‘nice’ weather for the last couple of weeks especially. Ah well.

I hope that everyone is having a good weekend.

<3

The post A Comedy of Errors appeared first on The Scarlet B.

Remeron Ate My Saturday

After the last week of very little sleep, I needed to intervene and break out the heavy sleep artillery. Remeron. Just half of one of these tiny pills holds the ability to render me completely somnolent and in an all encompassing brain fog for hours. I loathe the hangover…but not quite as much as I loathe collapsing with exhaustion. Lesser of two evils I suppose.

The Upside: Sleep. Glorious, lulled into a deep slumber, sleep through my Tarantino style dreams kind of sleep.

The Downside: I’m so fucking tired, hungover and emotionally flat.

Despite some elements that should have made today fantastic, I just sort of went through the motions in a half present fashion, all the while longing for a very long nap. I smiled, laughed, charmed and engaged in all the places I should, with people I genuinely enjoy, in one of my favorite places and even those elements weren’t enough to pull me fully into the present.

My Compass

Last week I made a return trip to the New Forest, which I  last visited only a few weeks ago. You can read about that trip here: http://puncturerepairkit.wordpress.com/2013/06/30/off-road/

This time my long-suffering spouse came with me and we spent a couple of days enjoying the idyllic surroundings together on our bikes. This time I took my mountain bike and  hauled her bike out of the shed, blew the cobwebs off the handlebars, oiled the chain, checked the brakes and then wondered how we last put the bike rack on the back of the car. We’d done it before, but not for a long time; not since she drove us to Dover at the start of the cycling holiday I went on with our son last summer in Belgium. Eventually we managed to get the rack and the bikes onto the back of the car and were ready to go. Well, almost. The GPS decided that this was as good a time as any to refuse to cooperate. My long – suffering spouse calmly printed out directions to our hotel before we set off for the place we had – not so long ago – bought the gadgetry upon which we had come to rely so heavily upon. There we discovered that it was indeed in need of more love and attention than the staff could offer there and then. We rolled out of the car park content on relying on the print out of the route, no sooner had we done so than the bikes, together with the bike rack, slid off the back of the car.

It was at this point that I began to well and truly lose my bearings, and started thinking that we were not going to be going on this trip after all.

Luckliy, I came to my senses and asked someone who would know what we were doing wrong. The guy from the shop came out from behind the counter and came and had a look, told us what we were doing wrong. We set the bike rack and the bikes once more onto the back of the car – much more securely this time - and set off.

I spent the next couple of hours looking at the wing mirror transfixed on the wheel I could see jutting out from behind the back of the car. Not a very relaxing activity, let me tell you. Suffice to say, we arrived safely at our hotel and shortly afterwards set off to drive into the forest to start cycling.

Our trip had started with a problem with our navigation system. And as for me, my mental navigation system (never very reliable at the best of times) flickered briefly into life as we drove in the general direction of the forest, and then shut down completely. Tarmac, not gravel paths, appeared everywhere I looked. Peering at the cycle routes map I had taken on my recent trip they yielded nothing but lots of lines in a confusing array of different colours and designs.

Then my long – suffering spouse suggested we set off in one direction and, lo and behold, a gravel path leading into the forest appeared.

We didn’t cover miles and miles, nor were the distances we did cover recorded anywhere (no computer on my mountain bike, remember.) But she guided us along the forest paths, through gates and across cattle grids. She was my compass.

I forgot the times I have craved solitude, the wish to be…away. I frowned at the times I have been short with her, wanting to avoid the pressure I might feel at the simplest, most reasonable of her requests. And I struggled to remember what I had been feeling like only a few short weeks before when my doctors cut my hours at work by 66% because I was fast approaching meltdown.

But still, I could not find my way.

She showed me how to stop halfway up a hill and, slightly out of breath, listen to the sounds of the forest. She named the different kinds of trees, patted donkeys and horses, and once, with sudden joy, pointed out a rabbit as it crouched by the side of the path; all of which I would have failed to notice had I been on my own, being too busy…cycling.

The Waking

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.

I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?

I hear my being dance from ear to ear.

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?

God bless the Ground!   I shall walk softly there,

And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?

The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do

To you and me; so take the lively air,

And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.

What falls away is always. And is near.

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

I learn by going where I have to go.

Theodore Roethke (1908 – 1963)