Daily Archives: June 19, 2014

Post-Disability Interview

Well I was a good girl and I got on the Disability website and filled out their little questionnaire in order to save time with the in-person interview. Turns out though that the whole process farted in the middle due to a comma being entered in a dollar amount over a thousand dollars (I just cut and pasted a number from Excel). Apparently that was enough to derail the whole process, so while I thought I was done, I was nowhere near done with the disability application. So when I saw someone in person, she gave me the option of going home and completing the application, or doing it there with her, taking two hours. Ummm duh. I chose to go home and finish it, which I did (goodie points for me, I hate this kind of shit!).

Now to reward myself I’m going to go play my new favorite game on Lumosity, Route to Sprout. Never heard of it? Well I highly recommend it! I am using Lumosity to try to recover my ECT-addled brain back to its’ normal functioning. It’s both frustrating and fun. If you’re anal like me and keep track of your scores from Day One, you can see both your progress and where you’ve backpedaled (and wonder why). The brain is a wondrous and wacko thing. I think those neuroscientists at Lumosity could have a field day studying my brain. Ah well, another day in Paradise. Peaches!


Filed under: Bipolar, Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar ECT, Psychology Shmyshmology Tagged: Bipolar, Disability, Hope, Lumosity, Mental Illness, Psychology, Reader

Sum 41 – Still Waiting

So am I
Still Waiting
For this world
To STOP HATING.

I sing this song when i’m angry.
I’m angry


Filed under: Angry, Ranting, Videos

Mental Illness and Gun Violence

If you haven’t seen this article, I recommend you do so.

http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2014/06/myth-vs-fact-violence-mental-health-jeffrey-swanson

There’s a lot more to be said on the subject, but this is a good jumping-off point.


Mental Illness and Gun Violence

If you haven’t seen this article, I recommend you do so.

http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2014/06/myth-vs-fact-violence-mental-health-jeffrey-swanson

There’s a lot more to be said on the subject, but this is a good jumping-off point.


The International Bipolar Foundation Bracelet

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“The International Bipolar Foundation is to improve understanding and treatment of bipolar disorder through research; to promote care and support resources for individuals and caregivers; and to erase stigma through education.

Our hand-made beaded bracelet represent IBPF and their cause. Each bracelet is hand beaded onto an elastic band with a copper BEAD RELIEF tag. Each bracelet is $6.00 and 25% of your purchase goes to the International Bipolar Foundation.

Bracelets come in three sizes, 6, 7, 8 inches (S,M,L). Select your size!

- See more at:

http://beadrelief.com/shop/international-bipolar-bracelet.html#sthash.3CABIHtP.dpuf

http://beadrelief.com/shop/international-bipolar-bracelet.html


Rebecca Lombardo | It’s Not Your Journey

“In her first published work, Rebecca Lombardo collects her internationally followed blog into the pages of “It’s Not Your Journey”, named after her highly popular blog. “It’s Not Your Journey” is Rebecca’s year long chronicle of her struggles with Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Anxiety, Self-Injury, and recovery from a Suicide attempt. Rebecca shares her very real, raw feelings on these subjects, as well as addressing other issues that have contributed to her downward spiral and eventual climb out of her own pit of despair. Issues such as the loss of her mother to lung cancer, the death of her brother (incidentally, on Rebecca’s birthday), abandonment from friends and family members due to her hospitalization, and more.

Rebecca Lombardo, formerly Rebecca Rounds began writing as a child. In third grade, she told everyone that her dream was to be a writer. At the age of 19, she was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, but continued to write poetry into her 20’s, until her illness consumed so much of her time and energy, that she just lost the will to write.

She never gave up her dream to be a writer, but the despair she felt over not being able to find the words anymore was just too much for her to take, so she gave up writing for many, many years. Sporadically, she would begin a journal, blog, or even write a poem for her beloved husband, but it was never the same again.

In the summer of 2013, Rebecca faced one of the biggest struggles of her life. After losing both her mom to lung cancer in 2008, and her brother to an accident (on her birthday) in 2011, she felt as if she was drowning. Her physical health continued to deteriorate, and the migraines that were once just a nuisance became a constant, and would sometimes last 6-7 days at a time, and were cause for countless trips to the emergency room.

After trying to pick up the pieces of her life after her mother’s death, she moved forward with running her own pet sitting business, and attempting an online multi-level marketing business. Yet, she fell apart, and there was no way she was going to come back on her own this time. She attempted to take her own life, and was hospitalized against her will in a horrible, horrible place.

When she came out, in roughly July, her PTSD, anxiety, depression, and grief were overwhelming, and she decided to begin writing again. When the words began to flow easier and easier, she decided that she would be willing to turn it into a blog so that others could see her struggle and know that it’s a vicious cycle but it can be overcome. She hoped that in addition, it would help her get past all of these horrible experiences. As her writing went on, she would receive more and more feedback from total strangers, sometimes in other countries, that would thank her for telling her story. They were grateful that because of her, they were now able to get help.

Eventually, she reached out to a couple of websites that she was fond of, and was invited to be a contributing writer on each. One site is The International Bipolar Foundation, and the other is, Our Buddy System, a wonderful website that deals with depression, anxiety, and grief. When her work was finally becoming validated, she felt as if she may be able to turn her blog into a book, to try and help even more people.

At 41 years of age and happily married for nearly 13 years, Rebecca can finally say that she is on her way to reaching her dream. Not only does she hope to help people that are struggling with depression, she hopes to help them realize that you are never too old to find your voice, and make your dream happen.

Rebecca lives in a suburb in Michigan with her husband, Joseph and 5 cats. 4 of which were rescued. Her father lives a short distance away, and is going to be turning 85 this year. She has 3 brothers and 1 sister as well as several nieces and nephews.

She continues to work on her pet sitting business, and hopes to continue to find the words to keep writing her blog, so that she can help as many people as possible.”

http://selfpublishersshowcase.com/rebecca-lombardo/

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Knowledge I’ve Gained Due to Having Bipolar

There are an amazing number of “experts” out there It seems that those who believe they know most about your condition are the most ignorant. Arguing is not worth the effort. I suggest gently teaching them as needed. Ignore if necessary. There are other ways of dealing with them, but they’re likely to get you […]

The post Knowledge I’ve Gained Due to Having Bipolar appeared first on Insights From A Bipolar Bear.

When clueless…plant seeds and let ‘em grow

Abandonment issues were the furthest thing from my mind.

Until the ever so helpful drive thru shrink planted borderline in my head…

WHAM. I had this epic nightmare last night that Becca packed up in the dead of night, returned to England, and wouldn’t speak to me anymore.

Not once since she got here did I seriously entertain the notion..But some professional plants the seed in my mind..And out pops a fucking tree.

I am about fed up with this whole psychiatric psychology thing. It isn’t helping me, it’s just giving me new neuroses to layer with the old ones. I am not stupid, I am not in denial. I have had 41 years to cultivate my self awareness and an endless stream of people to illuminate my every flaw, real or perceived. So when I say borderline is a bullshit diagnosis, it simply is. I’ve read until my brain bleeds and while facets mirror each others, it simply does not apply to me on a whole.

But now that the seed has been planted, it’s only a matter of time before my brilliant mania decides, “fuck this, it’s my personality and pills won’t fix it, so I’m not going to take them anymore.” Then I will be right back on that roller coaster where some genius gives me the idea that nothing is truly wrong with me except I am a bad person so I think I can fix it myself and go off meds and then I am just fucked again because it never helps or changes a goddamn thing.

Yeah, thanks for this, professionals. We come to you seeking help for our confusion and you don’t have a clue but rather than admit that, you make it worse. Stellar. I’m told great doctors take the time to figure it out. Well, my insurance only covers ass trash doctors so I am screwed. I have only had one great doctor my whole life and she got the fuck out of this armpit town after serving her two years. That’s what all of them serve here, two years max and they’re gone. More instability to help with my instability.

And what pisses me off the most is, because everything is a goddamn drive thru in the psych treatment world, is I get saddled with all these labels where everything is some “perceived” slight that I fear when in fact, I don’t fear anything but what’s happened over and over again.

Fear of abandonment? Um…The donor walked out on me and the kid with a phone call. Isn’t that epitome of abandonment? Why wouldn’t it be a legit fear?

Oh, wait, it’s not, when I’m not in a depression. Manic, I want to be abandoned because I am too high to be bothered with commitment and such. Then the mood tanks and I become sad scared weepy needy girl.

I get mad when labeled with something that’s not true. You want to call me a selfish bitch, that’s fine because it’s true on some level. You want to criticize me for being foul mouthed, rude, sarcastic, macabre.that’s true too.

But don’t tell me because I don’t fit some textbook guideline that I am some other thing entirely. My fears are based in reality so they’re not so much neuroses. My paranoia is based in reality. You fear what has happened to traumatize you. That’s logical.

Just sick of it all.

Then I tell her about the focus issues and she says oh that’s the depression and anxiety.

I mention Focalin and get interrogated about drinking and drug issues. It’s non stimulant, ffs. And it never did anything but make me able to start something and finish it, ya know, at the time, not six months down the road. I slept normally, I wasn’t manic, and life was better.

But if it makes life better, it must be a bad thing because only someone with a serious disorder would dare acknowledge their life is anything but hunky dory. If you’re not satisfied with “meh” then you’re obviously lacking in character and can’t be made happy.

My kingdom for competent mental health care professions.

Or is that like government intelligence? Oxymoron.

Well, the moron part is right by my estimation.

Ass trash.

 


Happy International Sushi Day/Night


What a bratty little cat I have! Waking me up around 3:30am, crawling around on the top of my hair and pillow, licking it, and purring. I managed to push her off a few times, but she came back, and did it again about 45 minutes later. That time, I thought I had her settled sitting next to me and purring. Wrong! Once again, she was in my hair, and had got on my last nerve. I had to get out of bed and look for her. She disappeared in the bedroom. So I went to the other room and called to her. She doesn't always come, but this time she did. Sucker! I threw off the damn hoodies that were hanging on the top of the bedroom door, and shut it. Message delivered.

I had another one of those "end of the world" dreams that I have a habit of doing, but this time was really different. I was lost for a while, walking down the street, which I knew was one of few of "the rich". I was headed toward some shelter of sorts that had been made by me and two other strangers: 1 dude, 1 chick. That was our little home, a squat.

There were no street signs, and the houses looked like the typical houses in a better neighborhood near here. From a distance though, you could see great chunks of streets risen, as if hit by a serious earthquake, smoke, fires, homes and buildings destroyed.

We, the remaining 3, I thought, were supposed to go out alone and gather supplies and bring them back to share. So we all snuck out and went our separate ways.

I ended up sneaking into a house that had what I thought were some surviving kittens, and no people. I was wrong. I was "caught" with the kitten while picking up cat toys by a young Japanese woman.

She said "Oh you must be the cleaning lady." I put the cat down and agreed, continuing to pick up whatever I could find that was on the floor. She told me that I didn't speak Japanese, of course, and that I was doing a good job. Then she said "Ok, when you're finished, I will pay you." Her parents came home at that time and she spoke to them and pointed at me. The three of them looked at me and walked away.

I thought WTF? of course, and realized I was in what was left of what was Japan, of all places.

I did a half-assed cleaning job, and snuck into the kitchen, but couldn't read any of the labels on the food. So I looked in the fridge and grabbed what looked edible. I had a black canvas bag on me for this purpose, and I started to leave.

"Hey, wait!" the young woman yelled at me. I froze. "I have to pay you. Here," she said, and handed me $22 american dollars. I bowed and said "Ok, thank you," and slipped out the front door.

I walked quickly down the street, but things didn't look quite the same. It seemed like I was walking forever, zig-zagging here and there, then finally admitting to myself that I'm lost. I sat down on the ground, next to a building. Fuck knows what kind of business it was. I couldn't read the sign. I pulled the money out of my black trench coat pocket and stared at it, thinking WTF am I going to do with $22? I'm fucking lost!

Bizarre. Never had a dream about being in a country that I haven't been to, but maybe this is just another new "end of the world" dream scenario that I'll end up repeating, like the others. Hopefully I won't be living it as the fucking cleaning lady!

Well, I'm back on my feet aka the treadmill since being sick, and like the idea of going easy today. While I was on the treadmill watching Supernatural, an alert came up on the tv for the game for Spain v Chile. I had to wonder when that was set, because I didn't see the spouse fucking around with the remote this morning.

I was up at 6, because I forgot to turn my alarm on, so I thought I better hurry with the coffee, so I made it, in spite of not feeling 100% (thanks cold and cat!). My spouse got a call from his boss asking about him. He said he texted him around 3am and said he wasn't coming in (due to his back and his leg). He told me his boss said, "Oh, that was you?" Sounds like the stupid fuck he described to me.

Well, tomorrow I should be feeling "normal"ish and ready to see what life feels like without that poison in my system, and without that terrible cold. Interesting... I'm going to try to make an attempt to go outside, but am probably already jinxing myself by making a plan, however loose. We'll see.

I’m bipolar…wait,I’m borderline…wait…no one fucking knows

Shrink appointment. I drop my guard and tell her I am feeling better but not optimal…

BAM! She throws out, “You have borderline tendencies because you can’t see shades of gray.”

I see EVERYTHING in shades of gray, by my estimation. I have written poems about it, ffs. I know who I am, but I worry about how I am perceived, thus shades of gray…I see me as fairly decent, others see me as difficult, thus a shade of gray impasse.

Seriously…this goes beyond denial of my flaws. This is genuine confusion because I have been in treatment and therapy for 20 plus years and just this last 12 months is the first I have EVER heard “borderline” in conjuction with myself.

I lived all these hears as “not otherwise specified” or”potentially schizotypal.” EVERY goddamn shrink and counselor has some different diagnosis.

If it’s my PERSONALITY then why am I taking all these side effect laden drugs? Drugs won’t fix what is inherently wrong with ME. So if that’s the issue, TELL me so I can work on it and not take this godawful toxin everyday.

I admit to having facets from a multitude of disorders thus the NOT OTHERWISE SPECIFICED diagnosis. I could live with it because it made sense.

Now I’m being told that was wrong and this is more likely the culprit.

WHAT

THE

FUCK.

Bipolar and borderline mimick each other so closely. The main difference seem to be a history of abuse (I do not qualify) and the speed of mood swings. I rapid cycle (thus being diagnosed as CYCLOTHYMIC). It’s like every doctor disregards the prior doctor and counselor’s input and just makes up their own. This is fine if you have a vast disagreement with the diagnosis. But if you’re simply not sure because you’ve never had a case like this one…

Ass trash.

I have had days where I was at a funeral and bouncing off the walls with mania.

I have had days where everything was perfect but I was in tears.

Just because my cycles are fast doesn’t mean it’s something else entirely. Besides, if any of these “professionals” did more than a 5 minute drive thru with me, they’d see my “disorders’ for the most part are learned from experiencing the worst life has to order. It’s not just me saying “Oh people are mean, I’m weird.” I didn’t think a damn thing was wrong with me, or others, until experiencing it daily for years and years.

Yes, I am ranting, and yes, I probably do sound borderline.

What I really am, is confused. I may be a mix of borderline and bipolar and I can live with that…But do NOT tell me I am making up the manic episodes just because they don’t adhere to your textbook definitions. I live it, I know it. When I am manic, NOTHING touches me, I am ten feet tall and bulletproof. My own mother could disown me and I’d still be on top of the world.

Fear of abandonment, my ass.

That would be consistent. I’ve had relationships crumble when I was manic and I was…untouchable.

So call me what you will but make it accurate. The only aspect of borderline that remotely fits is the rapid cycling. I can’t help if my moods don’t adhere to strict book guidelines. The fact that they aren’t directly tied to outside stressors tell me all I need to know. There are days when everything is good and the mood still crashes. There is NO stressor, it just happens.

Will the professionals ever see this as fact? No, and how could they, when they spend 5 minutes with me? Bex has been with me every day for a month, we’ve yet to have a fight, and the only accommodation either of us has made is to simply let the other be when the mood shifts.

From everything I’ve read and been told, borderlines can’t live peacefully with ANYONE.

It ultimately doesn’t matter what label they slap on me.

I’m dysfunctional, period, and I get that. Rather than getting any credit for seeking help and making an effort, I just get saddled with more labels to confuse me and make me…confused. At this point, I am once again thinking, “If it’s my personality, it’s no wonder the meds don’t work so why am I even bothering?”

If the professionals want to know why people go off their meds…maybe they should look within their own community. You confuse people who care barely gather enough thought to walk and chew gum at the same time, it’s going to happen.

What disorder do I have since this whole episode made me pissed off rather than depressed and weepy? Because ya know, feeling emotions of any sort, MUST be a disorder.

I just want to know, beyond doubt, what is wrong with me. Since the professionals can’t agree…

I think I am going to diagnose myself with “I just don’t give a fuck anymore” disorder and be done with it.

About as legitimate as all their other fucking labels.