Daily Archives: October 6, 2013

Depressed Ramblings

As exhausting as the very rapid rapid cycling was, I think I would trade it back in exchange for this constant depression. I am stuck in quicksand and there seems to be no way out.  I have contemplated suicide more than I would like to admit to, but each time the faces of my children popped to mind and I just couldn’t go through with it.  I am thankful for that, and yet I can’t see the point of me staying alive as is.  What good am I to anyone, much less children, if I am this withdrawn and caged in misery?  I’m sure I will know the answer to that once I feel better, but right now I don’t, and it makes the struggle to hang on all the more pointless to me.  What’s more, I only feel like a burden to my fiance.  I know he would care if I could explain how I am feeling, but there just aren’t any words for it.  There’s a barrier between me and everyone who knows me.  An airtight barrier that I can’t get around, under or over.  

I’ve reached that point where I don’t care that the house is a mess.  Last week I felt awful about it, but now I don’t even care if I die with it looking this messy.  I just don’t care.  Last week I also had no appetite, so I didn’t eat.  This week, I’m still not hungry, but I keep eating to distract myself from the depression: it isn’t working, but I continue to do it.  I think I purposely want to gain weight so I can hate myself even more.  

I don’t care if I survive. 

One thing I do care about, however, is all the things I am increasingly paranoid over.  I think everything is directed toward me, especially on Facebook.  That place is the devil.  I think people are intentionally ignoring me, or that I am annoying them, or that they absolutely hate me.  Or all of the above.  I even lashed out at one person because I feel like he was intentionally trying to hurt me…and I still feel that way, but I also feel like I should probably apologize.  But then I’m afraid he will not care about my apology, and that will just hurt even more.

I also am very sure the world is about to come to an end.  I can feel it in the air, and it’s thick and nasty…but I don’t really care about that much right now.  It would save me a lot of trouble if it did.  

I want to take a lot of pills and sleep for a long time.  When I wake up, this same feeling will hit me in the face as soon as my eyes open, so then I’ll want to take more pills and sleep even longer.  As it is, I can’t do that at all because I have a two year old to take care of.  And please know that he is not any sort of danger.  I am exhausted and depressed and apathetic, but I do still care for my son.  I may not be a jolly mom right now, but he’s not being neglected.  And if I had someone to look after him for me I would.  Or wouldn’t, because I don’t like imposing on anyone. I do still care about other people, just not about myself.

I told my fiance earlier today that I miss the food at the last mental hospital I was in.  I do.  I really liked their food.  I guess it’s sort of bad when a mental hospital produces more nostalgic thoughts of home than your actual home does. I can’t afford to go to that good food hospital anyway.  It would be off to the horrible state run hospital that feels more like a prison and the food is awful. And in case you think all I care about is the food, you’re right.  But in all honesty, the quality of food in a place often signifies the overall quality of everything else.  And good food is comforting. Whether you are hungry for it or not. 

In the Begining

‘Everything must have a beginning … and that beginning must be linked to something that went before.’
— Mary Shelley, introduction to Frankenstein, 1831

Recently a friend gave me a photograph of me in a group of cyclists on the day, in the summer of 2000, when I agreed to go on a sponsored bike ride in aid of the primary school my kids attended. We were a mixed bunch, experienced cyclists, a couple of Rabbis (seriously), and one or two of us who had not been on a bike since…..well a very long time. Dovid, one of my Rabbi’s sons, challenged me to go on the ride, found me a bike, and the rest is, well, history. So, that ride marks the beginning of my passion for cycling. The Afrikaans writer Andre Brink once wrote that he was born in  on a park bench in Paris reading about the Sharpeville Massacre in March 1960. In some sense something in me was born, too, the day I rode the 20 plus miles from Chichester to Hove with an unlikely assortment of people on a school fundraising event. Something emerged, the significance of which I could not know then, and which has undoubtedly kept me alive to this day.

Mary Shelley, who I quote from above, wrote a novel about the creation of a grotesque creature, variously referred to in the text as a monster, a fiend, and amazingly, by the monster himself as ‘the Adam of your labours’. The subtitle of the work is ‘The Modern Prometheus’, after the Geek god credited with creating Man out of clay and later stealing fire – a tool of progress and civilization. Prometheus creates Man and as punishment for the theft of fire suffers grotesque torture.

Less than a year after that first ride I was diagnosed with depression and so another beginning emerged. I see a strong connection between the start of my passion for cycling and when I first recognised that I had a mental health problem. I had discovered the key to my recovery before my health started to crumble; and although I would not recognise that for some time, I held Prometheus’ fire in my hands.

Prometheus

Titan! to whose immortal eyes

The sufferings of mortality,

Seen in their sad reality,

Were not as things that gods despise;

What was thy pity’s recompense?

A silent suffering, and intense;

The rock, the vulture, and the chain,

All that the proud can feel of pain,

The agony they do not show,

The suffocating sense of woe,

Which speaks but in its loneliness,

And then is jealous lest the sky

Should have a listener, nor will sigh

Until its voice is echoless.

Titan! to thee the strife was given

Between the suffering and the will,

Which torture where they cannot kill;

And the inexorable Heaven,

And the deaf tyranny of Fate,

The ruling principle of Hate,

Which for its pleasure doth create

The things it may annihilate,

Refus’d thee even the boon to die:

The wretched gift Eternity

Was thine—and thou hast borne it well.

All that the Thunderer wrung from thee

Was but the menace which flung back

On him the torments of thy rack;

The fate thou didst so well foresee,

But would not to appease him tell;

And in thy Silence was his Sentence,

And in his Soul a vain repentance,

And evil dread so ill dissembled,

That in his hand the lightnings trembled.

Thy Godlike crime was to be kind,

To render with thy precepts less

The sum of human wretchedness,

And strengthen Man with his own mind;

But baffled as thou wert from high,

Still in thy patient energy,

In the endurance, and repulse

Of thine impenetrable Spirit,

Which Earth and Heaven could not convulse,

A mighty lesson we inherit:

Thou art a symbol and a sign

To Mortals of their fate and force;

Like thee, Man is in part divine,

A troubled stream from a pure source;

And Man in portions can foresee

His own funereal destiny;

His wretchedness, and his resistance,

And his sad unallied existence:

To which his Spirit may oppose

Itself—and equal to all woes,

And a firm will, and a deep sense,

Which even in torture can descry

Its own concenter’d recompense,

Triumphant where it dares defy,

And making Death a Victory.

Lord Byron (1788 – 1824)


Only 5 books on Bipolar?

Went to my local library today and looked up Bipolar… only 5 books on the shelf on subject of bipolar.

5?
Really?

There was a shit load of other mental illnesses and disorders books, but not to sound like a doushe,… REALLY?? Although you can go into any bookstore and find about 15+ books, guides, biographies, hell even graphic novels about Bipolar (all prices 10 bucks and climbing), but the “free” material is not accessible?

Something not right here…


Piecemeal

*huff huff wheeze*

*flump!*

I’m here, honest! My brain insisted that I had to finish the last sleeve of the current cardigan before I posted, and lo, I just did. Of course, the second I pull up WordPress, my kiddo wanted something, ha ha. But that only stalled me a minute, so.

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With a bit to spare!

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Pretty pretty pieces.

So yes, pieces all laid out in the vague shape they belong — huttah! There’s still the collar to knit, as well as the button band. But the main bits are done, and as the pattern said — I have leftover gray. I was dubious as to whether or not that was actually going to work out, hence wanting to jam on through and finish both sleeves.

But yeah, there’s still a lot of work to do on it. Hopefully I’ll have it done to show off next week. If not, I should at least have a hat. My little girl’s best friend’s birthday party is next weekend, so I figured I’d knit her a nice winter hat. I’m slightly irked ’cause I couldn’t find a red in the requisite thickness locally, so I had to to a possibly dangerous thing — I set up a Deramores account. At least I caught the start of the aran (worsted) sale, and only bought myself four skeins. Two are top-ups of the colours used for this cardigan; I figure I should make a matching hat for my kiddo. The other are two reds in aran, which I may or may not use for her friend’s hat. We’ll see how patiently I can wait, ha ha. I’ve got a nice variegated blue and a cream already, and those would look lovely together. I’d prefer to do a blue and red one though, so… we’ll see!

<3

The post Piecemeal appeared first on The Scarlet B.

I have issues, but not today

So I finally found some time yesterday to just do my thing with my man and then this morning he and I both woke up at like 4:30 am so we went for a drive and have just been lovey dovey all morning. We rarely get to do that since his work schedule is so chaotic right now. But it did my heart good. It did my soul good. Anyhow….happy Sunday to all.

OMG!!

I was watching “The Metal Show” on VH1, and now they are doing the 80′s thing. The 80′s do not …

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Tell it as it is?


Sometimes I think having Bipolar makes me too honest.Being open and honest is a good thing right? I've always believed it's the best policy to tell it as it is and not hide the truth. Lately I can't help worrying that by writing this blog I've maybe opened up too much. I've left myself feeling like the whole world knows my business and maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. It's not really about what other people think of me, although I'd be lying if I said I wasn't bothered . It's about how I view myself. There I go again . Being selfish.  I don't mean to be. I've
 done it countless times before...said what I think and then wished I'd been quiet. It's always worse when I'm hypomanic. I just can't help myself. Sometimes I say stuff just for effect or to see what people will do. It gives me a thrill seeing people's reactions . Sometimes I say inappropriate things. It just pops out before I know it! Sometimes I just blurt out whatever I'm thinking. I'd never say anything deliberately to hurt someone but I know I probably have. Opening my mouth at the wrong time only really happens at the extremes of my moods. I'm sure I'm generally quite tactful and sensible. When I was a child I was painfully shy, lol, something most people who know me now would never believe. I wouldn't say a thing. I remember being told off for being too shy. I think things changed when I hit adolescence. I suddenly found a voice. I remember being told off for shouting and screaming and being stroppy. Typical teenager.
There are times when being a bit high has been to my advantage. I was the Union rep at work for 12 years. I thought nothing of arguing my point to a room full of managers. I can't imagine doing that now. Whenever we had staff meetings and something needed to be said, they always looked to me to bring it up.There are times when being high has got me into trouble, like the time I called a colleague a lying bitch at the top of my voice in the middle of the Reception area. There have been times where I've thought something was so hilarious at the time yet felt excruciatingly embarrassed afterwards, like the time when my GP asked if I had an increased sex drive ( one of the signs of hypomania ) and I replied " why, do you want a f**k?". I find it hard to imagine that that was me. The more hyped up I am the more likely I am to say the wrong thing.
When I'm depressed I tend to do the opposite. I'd rather not talk to people at all face to face. I do get over emotional though and tend to write messages or emails. I feel compelled to share my thoughts. I just pour it all out and press send before I've really thought it through. I mean every word I say but I probably wouldn't normally say it. I've written pages and pages to people, going on and on about my feelings. I read it back at a later date and just wish the ground would swallow me up.
I guess we all do it but I guess having bipolar magnifies it all. Sometimes I know I'm doing it and it gives me a real buzz to just let it all out. Other times I have no idea and it's a real shock to be told to shut up or be taken to one side and be told I'm not acting appropriately.
I've been worrying about the content of my blogs but I doubt I'll stop writing them.