Daily Archives: May 19, 2014

The Solution Is ACTION!

Posted on May 19, 2014 by | Leave a comment

If you’ve ever read my blog before you may know that I am on Long Term Disability (Private, not SSDI) due to this delicious disorder we call Bipolar. One of the hardest things for me is finding meaning and purpose in my days, when I have absolutely no structure and could conceivably spend the whole day stoned out of my mind watching Snapped on the idiot box. I actually have done that a couple of times, and the depression hangover is UNREAL!!! A couple of people have inspired me to do better, and I want to cyber-kiss them right now. The first is Oh Temp who published Alternatives To Self-Destructive Acts. This was SO INSPIRING to me and I immediately started to compile my own list in my head. The second person is my friend SlimShady who is also on Disability and told me he keeps a running to-do list and requires himself to accomplish at least four items off his list each day. I have started doing that and it REALLY helps.

One of the ways in which I am really self-destructive is that I procrastinate. Right off the bat that might not seem like it’s self-destructive but for me it is, because it’s a cycle, of putting off things, then beating myself up for not doing them, then I have all this baggage about whatever the thing is, and it builds up into a wayyyy bigger thing that it really is, and I just can’t get started, and the procrastination cycle perpetuates itself. I have been using Tapping very effectively to overcome some of my bad Procrastination habits and IT FEELS SO FUCKING GOOD!!!!! YEAH! I also will catch myself starting to think the procrastinating thoughts, because it’s such a long-standing habit, and I stop myself and say to myself, “Don’t think, just act!” This circumvents the whole mind-fucking system.

I am feeling great today because I was starting to fall into the procrastination/beating up on myself pool of shit, and somehow I Tapped my way out, and did what my “Healthy Self” wanted and needed to do. I am really happy about that. Hope you all had a great Monday. Peach Out!!


Filed under: Bipolar, Bipolar and Stuck, Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Happiness, Bipolar Procrastination, Psychology Shmyshmology Tagged: Bipolar, EFT, Hope, Mental Illness, Psychology, Reader, Tapping

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I’m trying…

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Hell Is For Children

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I was just reading something on Psych Central about another bipolar person who was diagnosed comparatively late in life, and being in something of a contemplative mood today, it occurred to me to wonder what her childhood was like. What little I remember of my own was blissful until I was five, at which time my sister Louise—who was the only one of our family that really nurtured me—was thrown out of the house essentially for loving the wrong boy, and I became the target of our mother’s wrath.

It’s been fifty years, but I’ve never forgotten watching Louise silently pack her things into her friend’s car, nor the feeling of being physically restrained by my mother to prevent me from running to her. “She doesn’t want to see you,” my mother said to me, setting in motion a cascade of such severe emotional problems that I developed night terrors and intrusive thoughts. Louise had literally been my caretaker for my entire life; who else would love me as she had? The feeling of being rejected by her was devastating, and it wasn’t until I learned the whole truth of that day, decades later, that the hole she’d left in my heart was filled.

Now I look back at my mother and realize that her passive-aggressiveness, her sudden rages, her drinking, her over-concern with appearances, and maybe even her lies were more than likely indicative of undiagnosed bipolar disorder. But of course, we didn’t have mental illness in our family—we were too “high class” to be plagued by something that was only whispered about in our house, and only when it involved some movie star.

I do remember being taken to a child psychiatrist once because of the night terrors, but never went back because, according to my mother, he said there was something wrong with me. Of course, nobody was diagnosing little kids with PTSD or manic depression back in those days, but the fact that my parents decided to ignore my psychiatric issues rather than risk being embarrassed doesn’t speak well of their priorities. I was NEVER first where they were concerned—no, my place in line was behind their friends, their club memberships, their social and financial ambitions.

But it was my mother’s inconsistency that made me crazy. I never knew from one day to the next what the prevailing mood was going to be. Sometimes she was very loving and playful; we’d go to the beach and laugh like hyenas when I got sand in my ice-cream cone, or when we nearly got run over by a bunch of hippies on bicycles. She also loved shopping and going out to lunch, and sometimes she’d take me with her for an entire day of “retail therapy” and buy me whatever I wanted.

Unfortunately, her dark side was on display more often than not, and she could be cruel when she was in a bad way. She’d scream at me for three hours sometimes for a minor infraction of the many rules she made up as she went along, or accuse me of deliberately doing things I “knew” would hurt or embarrass her. Naturally, I didn’t have the words to tell her that I never thought about her when I was up to no good—what kid does that?—and she would proceed to verbally abuse me until I couldn’t take it any longer and begged her to stop. Later on, she would deny the “conversation” even happened and tell me “That’s not true, you just remember everything wrong”.

So, I grew up believing I was irredeemably flawed and unable to trust my own impressions of the world or the people in it. I’ve carried that burden for five decades. Only now, after two years of therapy and medications, am I beginning to realize that NONE of this was my fault, and that it’s time to forgive myself for not being the child my mother wanted. She’s been gone for 25 years this summer…..and as clichéd as this may sound, I think it’s time to emerge from her shadow and learn to live in the light.

 

 


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Wouldn’t it be Loverly – My Fair Lady

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Wouldn’t it be LOVERLY to be feeling better with no mental pains and anguish?!!

Let’s sing this song until its true…


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B-Day

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After three months and 12 years waiting…Becca arrives tonight. I have sweat blood and tears all this time because I am just that socially awkward and off my nut.

Amazingly…I got it all done. It ain’t perfect but it’s passable and I can live with that.

Unfortunately, I am still stressing for I’ve had two attacks of my burning nervous stomach aches in the last 3 days. They started when I was 18 and they get so bad I have to lay on a hard floor and just wait it out. I saw various doctors and went through a series of embarrassing icky tests…And they all concurred there was nothing physically wrong with me. I am neurotic and internalize stress so it affects me physically. How awesome is that? (SARCASM)

What if she hates me? What if we clash? What if she is so grossed out by my low standards of house keeping she flees in the night? What if…It’s not exclusive to her, I am this way with most people. Once bitten, twice shy. I’ve had too many people bail out on me when things got rough in spite of my staunch warnings from word go that I am off kilter and difficult. Frankly, I view it more as a statement about them than me. WUSSIES.

(Ha, spell check doesn’t indicate wussies as a misspelling, what will Webster’s add next?)

Social anxiety aside…The worst part is going to be driving to a large unfamiliar place. I couldn’t find my own ass with a map. I am map stupid. Maps for Dummies would be like reading Proust for me. I printed out my directions, to and from, since I get all turned around. I will double Xanax up. Driving in unfamiliar places freaks me the fuck out. I start panicking in heavy traffic with no clue where I am going, in a car that randomly loses power and all but dies in the road…Panicpalooza. And it’s been that way for a long time. The only reason I managed to drive in California was that it was on a straight stretch I’d walked two dozen times so I knew where I was going.The state capitol is about 40 miles for here and I can find Toys R Us, the Mall, and a head shop selling hippie and stoner gear. Other than that…I don’t go unless I have a ride and my favorite store ever, Big Lots, is there. Panic must be pretty bad to keep a woman from her favorite discount store.

I am babbling.

My TV dinner is done. I should eat because I am feeling a little nauseous. Oh, I keep meaning to mention…Since stopping the lithium after 8 months without a tear even when one of my cats died or vanished…I have squeezed out a few tears in the last few weeks. They may claim it’s not a side effect but that’s all the proof I need. Plus, I no longer feel like I have bugs crawling all over me. Psych meds are wicked vicious with the fucked up side effects and if ain’t listed in the pharma company propaganda, doctors don’t believe you. First time for everything, although I doubt it’s a first. I bet a lot of people get tired of being dismissed by shrinks and just stop mentioning how many weird things they have going on with a certain med.

Tummy ache is dying down. Noms time. Goddamn LOL cats have assimilated me. I can haz cheezburger?


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Stigma Fighters Guest Post

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Recently I was given the honor of being asked to submit a guest post to Sarah Feder’s excellent blog Old School/New School Mom. Sarah’s blog runs a series called Stigma Fighters which features real life stories about people living with mental illness. You can view my submission here: Bradley S. From her blogs bio, Sarah […]

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Effexor: day 4

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Still riding out the early stage/effects of the new med in my ‘scrip-cocktail. I promise to post again when it doesn’t take multiple tries to complete a normal thought.  Also when I won’t accidentally repost them fifty times. My pupils are still huge, though – is that a good thing? Shaky zombie bleary fuzzy-headed bad sleep […]

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Slowly, Slowly Onwards

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I’m at home today. That’s often the case, especially at this rather late stage of pregnancy. We’re in the last month, woo! A few more days, and I’ll be absolutely and fully cleared for home birth, which is a relief. It has been wonderful how supportive and understanding everyone has been — the midwives, my psychiatrist, the psychiatrist at gyno wing, etc. Everyone understands that this isn’t some sort of crunchy earth mother thing for me — home birth is absolutely about my mental health. It was the first time, years before I got my bipolar diagnosis as well. I just knew that three things are very big anxiety triggers for me, and to be avoided at all costs.

Those are:

  • Noise
  • Lights
  • People

Now, as an exercise — what are hospitals full of? Yeaaaah. While I accept that if something goes wrong, I will have to go to the hospital, everyone is pretty understanding that overnighting is to be avoided at all costs. While I’m going back on my meds the very second the childling is born, the last thing I need after the stress of birthing is to be on a strange ward, alone but for the newborn… and upwards of 11 other ladies and their newborns. But everything looks pretty good — childling is tiny and sprawled like a starfish (one of the midwives extended her arms to full and flailed, which meant I got to introduce her to the fact yes, I refer to this child as a starfish), and childling is spinning like a top (gah), the head is pointed downwards and everyone is feeling pretty positive about things going my way. So yanno, fingers crossed that kiddo continues to cooperate for my mental health and ease of shtuffs. :D

Now, I did find out from the midwife-psychiatrist that, in her opinion, I didn’t need to come off the Seroquel. The Zoloft probably (she rated it more likely to have negative effects), but not so much the Seroquel. I sigh at this point — what’s done is done, and there’s only a month to get by without it now. Perhaps I pushed myself too hard to come off, or perhaps I felt the midwives themselves were not sure about their ability to monitor effectively based on what they could bring to the home birth. Mind, I believe a woman should do what she sees best for her health while pregnant, and after — there is no shame in taking your meds and not breastfeeding, for example. If I had been diagnosed before Lilbit’s birth, it would have been a non-choice, as it is this time. I’m going to do a lot better for my children being back on my meds instead of ‘doing it right’. After all, the most recent studies show that breastfeeding isn’t substantially better than bottle-feeding based on comparisons within families; there is a degree of inherent classism in ‘breast is best’ that ignores the fact that most mothers who are able to breastfeed have jobs that enable them to pump, or can afford to stay home, etc. Of *course* there is going to be a ‘better’ result in situations where a parent is able to spend more time with their child, and that’s going to come whether or not there’s a boob in the equation. But eh, the mommy wars… this is an area of existence that I made a conscious decision to avoid. I am all for treating women as if their agency is valid at all times, and I try to leave it at that.

Anyhoos, as I keep forgetting that I was working on this (I’m accompanied by a sicky-bic Lilbit today; she seems to be doing pretty well), I should probably wrap it up. I continue to be tired, sore, and counting down the days until I can get back on my meds. I’m still holding up fairly well mood-wise, especially considering the pain and discomfort factors (and it’s ridicul-hot here right now, especially at night). Mind, I expect things to go a bit to the depressive side of things once the kiddo is born… but we’ll see. I’d rather try to be optimistic that getting back on my meds will catch things before they get too far gone!

 

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Why, why, why, scumbag brain????

Posted on May 19, 2014 by | Leave a comment

8:41 pm. Bex will be here by this time tomorrow night. I don’t have things like I wanted them. I have just shut down.

Scumbag brain is back with its paranoia and anxiety. My kid went to sleep earlier than normal. Ya think, well the kid is tired, she ran around all day yesterday at the downtown festival, the played all day with her friends today. Normal.

Not with me, noooo, that would be logical and logic has no place in nutsky kookooland. I’ve been poking that child with a stick since she was an infant. Not literally, but neurotically checking on her when she is aslee. Feeling under nose to make sure she is breathing. Looking to make sure her chest is moving with each breath. Sometimes finding her skin too cool and going into meltdown panic mode.

As I did tonight. Deviation from the norm. Mommy freak out because the voices in my head that I don’t actually have are telling me something is off. God, I wish I heard voices, then this shit would make sense. What on earth causes this shit to emerge at night yet rarely during the day? And why does it paralyze me to the point where I can’t think straight or focus or work in a logical fashion? I am going to regret it later, so why isn’t fear of that trumping the bucket of crazy I have going on at the moment?

This brings back mega depression. Because not feeling in your right mind is depressing. It’s one thing to be sad or nervous. It’s just freaky when you feel like your “spidey sense” is kicking up dust and all your nerve endings are on red alert like you’re in danger. It’s brought on a stomach ache from hell and all I wanna do is curl up in bed and half ass the shit  I gotta do at the last minute. I’ve been judged my whole life, by family, by friends,by myself. I should be used to it. I always fall short no matter how well I do. 12 years of internet friendship is a long time for it to go to hell because she finds my standards of living disgusting. Yes, I am OCD about it. It’s bitten me on the ass every time I’ve relaxed and assumed people would just accept me for me and be glad I’m not their housekeeper.

Fuck. This is not the mind frame I wanna be in. Earlier, I was so excited, so ecstatic. Now…I am dejected. It has nothing to do with Becca’s visit though. This is me, at war, with my own scumbag brain. I just wish I could get my shit together or go stark raving mad and live out my days in a straight jacket on a lock down ward. This middle of the road shit where everyone assumes you’re physically able therefore nothing is wrong with you sucks. There is something wrong with me. This is not normal thought. And while there’s always been a smidge of it there…

It was never this bad or like this before I had my kid. It’s like something in that process scrambled the eggs that act as a brain some more and now I’ve got a whole new element to my Disneyland of mental disorders. And I can’t even say I hear voices because I don’t. I’m too sane to be crazy, too crazy to be sane.

It’s absolute ass trash.

I’m sorry if everything sucks when you get here, Becca. I tried so hard but Brian won again.


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DIY Cold Brew Coffee Drink Recipe!!

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I was experimenting in the kitchen with my Trader Joe’s Cold Brew Coffee Concentrate and found this super simple recipe to be delicious, so I’m sharing it with you!

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all you need is the Trader Joe’s Cold Brew Coffee Concentrate, some soy milk and splenda. I used a 1:2 ratio as the concentrate is pretty intense. I combined 110 ml of the coffee concentrate and 220 ml of soy milk. I tried a little and it was good, but decided to add two packets of splenda. I imagine if you used the vanilla flavor soy milk you may be able to skip the splenda, unless you like your cold coffee sweeter! It was ridiculously fast and easy and tastes delicious! I’ll be sure to incorporate this into my summer refreshment menu!

Filed under: Crafty, gluten free Tagged: coffee, DIY, kitchen

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