Daily Archives: August 20, 2014

A Ray Of Hope?

I told you I wasn’t quite ready to give up: I have a job interview Friday.

It’s not in nursing, thankfully; the more I think about it, the better I understand that I really, really CAN’T be a nurse again, as tempting as it is to go for the kinds of jobs I’ve had in the past. I long for the familiar because I’m scared to try something new, but familiarity is poisonous to me in this area of life…..I could do the same damn thing ten times over, and the results would be the same <bangs head repeatedly against wall>.

This particular job is a temporary position, but the ad says it could work into permanent. It doesn’t matter right now; a job is a job. This one is for a company that provides services to troubled children and teenagers; it consists of coordinating admissions and services for the kids and their families when they have to enter a psychiatric residential care facility, maintaining records and other duties as assigned. I think the hiring manager is interested in me because of my nursing background, not that I’d be working in any such capacity but because I have years of experience in working with different agencies to get people the services and care they need.

I’m trying not to get too excited about all this. Even if I get the job, there is NO guarantee that I can do it; I’m still prone to anxiety and too easily overstimulated, and there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot I can do about that except to keep taking my meds and going to therapy. But I also don’t want to let what I can’t do stop me from doing what I can do, and I’m open to trying something new. This opportunity sounds like a good one, and as long as it doesn’t involve working irregular hours or nights, I think I’d be OK.

I’m just not sure about how good I’d be with kids in crisis. I don’t “do” kids—the vast majority of my work experience is with older adults—but then, I think what’s really needed here is a knowledge of community resources, and some understanding of mental illness. Coordinating resources isn’t too tough when you know the locals, and as for knowing a thing or two about MI…..well, I certainly don’t have a problem there.

After months of putting in job applications and getting no interviews—not even rejection letters—it’s good to see a ray of hope. Already I feel my self-esteem rising cautiously, not so swiftly or so high that I’m going to fly in there Friday afternoon like a tropical bird and dazzle ‘em with my brilliant colors, but enough that I should be able to pull off a decent performance. Again, I could wish for a short burst of hypomania just so I could go in there and blow my own horn loudly enough to be noticed and remembered well; but I think I’m better off staying right where I am on the mood spectrum.

Wish me luck!




What’s My Diagnosis?

When I sat down to write this article I intended it to be about missing my animal friends. I haven’t seen them in a very long time. My cat, my dog and my donkey all went away years ago. None of us were all that close. In fact, I never touched them. The closest I’d […]

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Twisting, turning, through the never

Every time I go from flying high mood wise to crashing down into the gutter with no preamble or trigger…It makes me think of that line from the Metallica song. Twisting, turning, through the never. Never stable. Never solid. Twist, turn, never ever.

It’s so fucking frustrating. I was uber functional today as far as going to the shop. I came home and cooked chicken noodles. Then while spook slept and Bex stayed with her, I delivered a bowl of noodles to my mom as well as R. He asked me to do a few more things around the shop because, well, he is owed and I am overdosing on functionality while it’s here and it’s high. Because at any time it can go away and I can slip back down the rabbit hole like last fall and winter. The doctor says not to worry about it, but ffs, it’s happened every latter season for 30 years. Doesn’t that establish a pattern that entitles me to be wary, if not downright frightened?
Geesh. No happy medium all around, ever.

When I was spewing sunshine for the shrink last week and she brought up borderline again, I agreed maybe I have a few traits in my personal relationships with men. And to an extent it’s true but also, I am a totally different person from mood to mood and that’s bipolar.
I think the biggest issue in all my relationships isn’t so much me being wonky in the head but my quid pro quo mentality. I am very much tit for tat and I make no real apologies. I spent too many years being stepped on and used and at some point, I just said enough. You want something from me, it’s gotta be reciprocal. Keep it quid pro quo, we won’t have issues. This is why Becca and I mesh. We don’t need to “Keep score” of who does how much of this or that. Because we both try to give equally and it works.
With other people, not so much. In borderline fashion, I DO feel taken advantage of but revenge isn’t really a factor. I just withdraw, give little, and avoid when I can. You can only have so many feet wiped on you over the years before you realize your own needs aren’t being met and this person isn’t ever going to give more than they take. So you limit what they can take from you. It’s less selfish and more self preservation.

And tonight gave me a perfect example of this entire thing. R called at 8:40, told me to go ahead and come in tomorrow even though when I left today he said he didn’t need me for anything…fine…then he prattles on about this broken thing, that broken thing, his preggo daughter, blah blah blah. So I assume we’re doing quid pro quo chatting and start to tell him about something going on with me…And he abruptly cuts me off and says, “Can we discuss this tomorrow?”
So I listened to him talk about himself for ten minutes but he let me talk ninety seconds then basically puts me on hold. And the ugly truth is, he will be sober in the morning and not remember a thing and be too focused on work for me to even bring it up.
This is not pessimism. This is experience with a diagnosed narcissist.
And goddamn, it stings. That’s not me being hypersensitive. That’s me wanting to receive what I give and damn it, there’s nothing wrong with that. I’m tired of jumping through hoops for him only to be brushed aside like I am nothing because he’s way too busy and important to hear my problems. I am sick of the well meaning person bit. It doesn’t matter what you meant, it matters how your behavior makes someone else feel.
I’m sick to death of having to apologize because my bipolar mood swings and irrational anxiety disorder inconveniences others while I am expected to accept the scraps they toss my way and be happy about it because at least they speak to me.
Do I sound bitter?
I hope so, because I fucking am. Not just bitter, but also pissed off and disgusted. This is how every relationship in my life, sans Becca, goes. I apologize for something that’s not my fault while everyone else gets to do whatever they want and because they “mean well” I am to accept it.
So much bullshit.
And maybe if my mood hadn’t crashed into the dark hemisphere I wouldn’t feel so damned vindictive but it is what it is. Expecting a modicum of give and take isn’t a personality disorder or selfishness. It’s common fucking sense.
If that gets me labeled borderline, so be it. Not like I really give a fuck anymore.
I’m never good enough for others anyway and I’m tired of breaking my spine trying.

Yeah, when I go on a tirade, I go all out. But I am tired of feeling taken advantage of, like I am subhuman. Maybe it’s my perception but my perception is all I have. And if I talk to someone and tell them this and they can’t show an ounce of effort to correct it…I embrace my bitterness and hump its leg. They expect me to “control” my moods and anxieties, so is it really so unreasonable to expect them to reciprocate on the venting of feelings and goings on?
Yeah, I’m sure someone will tell me I am wrong and demanding and a spoiled brat.
I can live with that. Because I don’t believe in my gut or heart that I am in the wrong.

And when the mood lifts, I’m not likely to feel bad, either. This indignation isn’t mood disorder or personality disorder. This is called common sense.
That’s my story and I am sticking to it.
I think.
Twisting, turning, through the never.

“Muddle, Muddle, Soil and Scrubble”

shocked will

“By the ticking of my gums! Yon convicted speaks in tongues!”

This reads like Shakespeare to me.  Just an example of how my brain is functioning these days.

It’s a comprehensive mixed bag, this version of my life.  Enormous gifts and luxury garbled with great loss strangled by stress and cracked open by success.  I don’t have a map for this place.  I don’t know the language.  I’ve given up looking too closely at it because it just makes me pukey.

What I’ve decided to do is just stand still.  If I’m giddy in the morning and too depressed to move by lunchtime, I try to just be that.  If I touch a client in some way or receive a compliment, I try to just feel it.  If I get into my mom’s car and weep when I find one of her nail files (she had millions), I sit with myself through the wave of grief.  If I try to eat a whole pizza for supper and end up getting sick, I listen for the fear that wants to be buried under food.  If I feel a glut of old trauma pushing at me when I work with Ben (because he’s a boy, and I’ve had trouble with boys who “help”), I let it come.

It’s too hard otherwise.  Too violent.  Too disrespectful.

I’m worthy of kindness and attention.  I deserve to be considered.  I don’t have to be anything other than me in this moment.

This lesson is not easy to learn.

Which is why I keep getting the chance to try.

Maybe when I get on the other side of this uncharted, alien landscape I’ll have a better idea of what it was.

Or not.

It really doesn’t matter.

This is what matters.

I’m what matters.