Monthly Archives: July 2014

I’m Insane…

Lyrics from an old Ratt song I’ve always related to:

“i’m off my rocker, fell out of a tree, been standing on shaking ground, there’s no helping me…I’m insane…”

And that is how I feel today. Not like tinfoil hat “save me from the aliens” insane but…Definitely in the realm of insanity.

I am suspicious and paranoid and jumpy. My mood is low, my motivation nil. I can’t wait to go crawl into my bedroom later. I need space. My kid has been on auto fire Uzi all day and I have been irritable and spazzing out because I can’t take the noise. I am not a pleasant person today. I don’t even like me. Then again, I rarely do.

Perhaps it’s time for a brain reboot. Perhaps the mood and paranoid anxiety will subside later. My entire existence is maybe and perhaps, hoping for the best, rarely getting it.

How I wish to wave a magic wand and simply have my brain chemical fire properly instead of willy nilly. Better than winning a lottery would be never having to feel this way again.

On the plus side, we’ve been watching Torchwood and shock, shock, shock, Bex is somewhat liking it after three years of mocking my every mention.

Cripes, my nose is itching. I really don’t want to see or talk to anyone. Damn my mother for instilling these asinine superstitions.

More Ratt:
“Lock me up in a padded room, chain me to the floor, I’m headed for the bottom bed and I’m ready enough for more.”

Today I am insane. Tomorrow…Who knows.

So much ass trash.


Life and stuff in general

I had my second Risperdal Consta shot and chose to have it in my arm. I was given the option “arm or bum?”. I’m never saying “arm” again, ouch, not the needle itself, but afterwards, my arm throbbed for a good hour. When I had the first shot (bum) the shot didn’t hurt at all, could hardly feel it, and there was a bit of an ache while I walked out and to my car, pretty much pain free, but damn, arm hurts.

It’s helping a lot.

I’m working on a book about ECT with my experiences in it. I’ll post a link when its published. I’m in editing mode.

Constantly Questioning ~ New Question About The Idea Of Being “Disabled”

This is another question that came to mind this morning (too much coffee mixed with Adderall 🙂 ) How much of a person’s disability are either mental disorders or developmental disorders, and how much of it is because society has told a person that they are “disabled”? This weekend I had the privilege of meeting […]

Born to be Alive

The paragraph below is from a post I wrote in June, 2008: 4 years ago when I got sober I rarely went to bars and clubs. Finally one night Maurice and I went dancing (I love to dance). During our dancing the 1979 hit came on called “Born to be Alive” by Patrick Hernandez. We […]

The post Born to be Alive appeared first on Insights From A Bipolar Bear.

Mental Chaos Respite

Today has not been so bad. Got up. Made scrambled eggs and sausage gravy. Which is a huuuge thing for me because I’ve been trying to do it for 30 years and just today got it truly right. See, my parents never allowed for fuck ups and learning. You either did it right the first time or you were mocked relentlessly after. I think years and years of having my mistakes, which I saw as good efforts, put down and told “You can’t do it, you’re just not good at it…” I gave up trying because if the people who love me have no faith in me, why should I have faith in myself?
But this is my second attempt at gravy in two weeks and twice, I have succeeded because I gave myself permission to fuck up. I made an honest effort. And without the stress of being told I will fail, I succeeded.
Maybe some people have amazing families who are loving and supportive. I don’t. My family, well, kind of sucks. Just today my dad was yapping about how he has $2500 in his wallet in case he punches his neighbor over their feud and needs bail money. But he constantly puts me down for living in a trailer park, for being on disability, for, well, everything. Rather than help us out, he sits and judges. I don’t expect help, mind you, but if my way of life is so unsatisfactory to him and so subpar for his granddaughter, then telling me you can afford bail money but my kid needing shoes is too expensive for you to help with.
Family is a synonym for ass trash for me.

But…aside from him bringing me down, I did okay today. bex took a nap because she maxed out at her 6 hours of steady consciousnes (ha ha, wench) and I vacuumed and did dishes and took out trash and cooked supper. Functionality is good. I wasn’t feeling it when I woke up, but I’m not really a daywalker. By the time i ran out of cigarettes, I was highly motivated to venture into the petri dish. Bex, who hadn’t been out in days, acted like she was being tortured with rats gnawing at her flesh. Yeah, sunlight and 90 degree heat are uncomfortable, but not likely fatal for an hour outing.

Now we are coasting on cake vodka shops, chasing with our choice of rita drinks, and shortly, I will make sausage gravy to put over her fried taters. Yummy late night snack.And I have not been beckoned to the shop so I may actually rest well tonight with nothing looming overhead for tomorrow.

Or it could go the other way, my brain is a traitor that way.
For now…I’m good. Not great but good. And that’s good enough for me.

Even if my loving parents spend all their time telling me nothing I do is good enough. It’s been that way since I hatched out of my egg shell, why should anything change now.

I don’t think either of them understand the concept of “nurturing”.

No wonder I don’t have a whole lot of that in my skillset. I do try, though. And I will keep trying. I am finding that allowing them to convince me I can’t do something may be what has held me back a lot of my life.

That and a brain that randomly tells me the world is out to get me and I should PANIC PANIC PANIC RETREAT HIDE AND PROTECT MYSELF FROM ATTACK.

Ass trashery.


Jack Heffron on Writing as “Hope”

“Writing is an act of hope. It is a means of carving order from chaos, of challenging beliefs and assumptions, of facing the world with eyes and heart wide open..."

Healing with humour-Weapons of math destruction

Laura P. Schulman, MD, MA:

Thanks to Kat for the reblog on her site. On my mobile, can’t link to her blog…:( but this is sooooo funny for us geeks!

Originally posted on Multi-Me:

At New York’s Kennedy airport today, an individual later discovered to be a public school teacher was arrested trying to board a flight while in possession of a ruler, a protractor, a setsquare, a slide rule, and a calculator.

At a morning press conference, the Attorney general said he believes the man is a member of the notorious al-gebra movement. He is being charged by the FBI with carrying weapons of math instruction.

“Al-gebra is a fearsome cult,” the Attorney general said. “They desire average solutions by means and extremes, and sometimes go off on tangents in a search of absolute value. They use secret code names like “x” and “y” and refer to themselves as “unknowns”, but we have determined they belong to a common denominator of the axis of medieval with coordinates in every country.

“As the Greek philanderer Isosceles used to say, there are 3 sides to…

View original 176 more words


What A Difference A Year Makes

I’m sorry if you thought I’d dropped off the face of the earth, Constant Reader, but I’ve been “off the grid” since Friday. Our cable/Internet was out because of a snapped line, and so we’ve been living in the Stone Age for the past couple of days. What a relief to be back online!

What I was writing about at the time of the interruption was the fact that it had been exactly one year since my dear husband, Will, was diagnosed with cancer.

What a difference a year makes. Three hundred and sixty-five days ago, the doctors told us there was basically no hope. That he had, at best, six months to a year with aggressive therapy, and three to six months without. That they were so sorry, and if there was anything they could do for us, they would.

I fully expected to be a widow within a few weeks. He looked so awful and felt even worse, and at one point we called in hospice because he needed a nurse who wasn’t his wife. Then hope came in the form of an urgent call from his oncologist, who told me that if Will had to get pancreatic cancer, he’d gotten the right kind. They had medicine for that which wouldn’t cure him, but could lengthen his life by months or even years by stopping the growth of the tumors and maybe even shrinking them a little.

He’s been on the drugs for nine months now, and not only have the tumors shrunk, he feels better now than he did for some time prior to his diagnosis. He does everything he wants to, rests when he feels the need, and generally enjoys his life. He is no longer grumpy and sour like he was before we knew he was sick; now he realizes that each day is a gift and refuses to be negative. He often meanders through the house whistling or humming…..and he is cheery when he comes to wake me up and bring me coffee in the morning, just like he used to be.

Best of all, we’ve discovered each other all over again, and it’s almost like being newlyweds…..only with the wisdom of people who have been together a very long time and know one another thoroughly. Falling in love again at this age and stage of life is amazing! We can make a trip to the grocery store fun. We act silly and laugh like idiots at each other’s dumb little jokes. And we reminisce about our early life together, raising the kids, making do and doing without, even the times when things weren’t so good between us.

Of course, with time comes a blurring of the edges and the memories of those times don’t seem as awful as they once were. That’s OK. We don’t mind.

Though the shadow of cancer still looms over us, we have both chosen to live in the moment and cherish each day together. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed to anyone; what good is being afraid all the time?

As someone much wiser than I once said, a life lived in fear is a life half lived. Will refuses to do that. Here’s to life!   


Writings from Bipolar Bandit’s Father Part 1

dad and me I am so very proud of my wife (Bipolar Bandit’s mother) and all she does to keep our family together. I am also proud of the host of this site, my daughter aka Bipolar Bandit.

Michelle (Bipolar Bandit)  is awesome beyond compare. She struggled with more things early in her life than most people see in a lifetime yet she stayed the course, got an education, contributed to society as a teacher and now has a new calling as the host of this site.

As Michelle’s dad,  I know first hand how difficult it is to be a family member and the difficulties that go along with being a parent, spouse, or sibling of someone with a mental illness. Through all the difficulties and with her Mom’s unfailing guidance, I kept reminding myself that this was not the real Michelle. It was her illness and my job was to stay with her and to fight the battles alongside her no matter what it took.

Over the years, we have shared our inner most thoughts about almost everything and I have endured many sleepless night and challenges I never expected. I will never stop loving her and will do my best to support her in the future.

In the end, I know the world would be a much sadder place without Michelle and all those of you who suffer with mental illness. So, whether you have a mental illness or you are in a family who has a mentally ill member (1 in 4 families), please stay the course and be there to support each other no matter what.


Jail break: the ogre’s skulking back!

 (pic from Bhutanobserver.bt – thanks!!) Okay, so as I sit here on a glorious sunny Sunday (haha that’s sort of onomatopoeiac), why then do I feel so tense inside. I’m away with my family, taking a much needed break and … Continue reading