Daily Archives: October 12, 2014

Mute Button

My kid, and life in general, all need a mute button. Because I can only handle so much non stop noise. Thanks to the lice leper colony, we’ve not had to worry about visitors or even calls because people in my family are probably that stupid as to think it can be transmitted by phone.
But my lovely daughter…has not shut up for a second this weekend. She hasn’t really channeled satan behavior wise, but for two days she has insisted on filling every single moment with babble, chatter, singing, bouncing, jumping, running, more yapping. She is frankly turning my nerves into frayed ropes that may snap at any moment.
It’s not exclusive to her.
I am super sensitive to sound. Everything that makes incessant noise makes me feel like I am chewing tin foil balls with a mouthful of metal fillings.
I suppose I was do for this. Yesterday wasn’t so bad. I was in a fog for much of it and did go to bed super early but…It wasn’t a bad day, just long and boring.
Today…Every tiny thing is making me feel crazy. Including a distance visit (they stayed far away outside) from dad asking why the icky icky problem isn’t cured yet. I don’t have super mom powers, apparently. In fact, I’m not as gung ho on the obsessive combing like Becca is.
Mainly because I went through it last year and it’s mostly a process of elimination. Slow elimination. Though if I am so bad at everything, the people around me are welcome to take over for a week or so and I will gladly go sign myself into the rubber ramada. The solid night’s sleep alone would be worthwhile.

The venomous feelings are setting in. I have asked my kid over and over for five minutes of silence and the uzi fire just keeps coming. I am nervous and that makes me defensive but I get angry and bitter when I feel forced into a corner like this. Like I am being ignored and utterly insignificant.
Knock knock.
Crazy’s at the door.

Is it bedtime yet?
Not that it’s much of an escape for me, I spend all night battling kid and cats for space in my own damned bed.
One day I am going to take my home, and my life, back.
Just not this day.
This day feels like an early batcave and maybe some earplugs.
A Valium the size of a hubcab would be good too.


Frail and Exotic Flower

Frail & Exotic Flower

⊂  ⊃

This is one of the flavors of my depression, feeling translucent and fragile, a melancholy scrim of gossamer floating untethered in the sharp October air.  This is when I yearn for deliverance, rescue, capture by warm and gentle hands.  My weepy mind slides into fantasy to protect itself from the hard edges of the world.  It pulls Heroes around itself like cashmere.  And it tries to sleep.

I am here, now, in this place of soft sorrow.  One eye on the Hero, one eye on the rhythm of the Real.  Train whistles in the distance mourn and warn traffic.  The pumpkin colored oak tree across the street paints across gray canvas and readies for winter.  I am both hibernating in the safe corners of my mind and stepping out to do laundry, meet a friend, have a birthday meal with my sister.  I am both insulated and exposed, denying and tolerating this phase of my bifurcated moon.

But, duality is home to me, my nature, and this season will pass to the next.  All I must do is wait.  In the cashmere and in the banging drum.  Both.  Always both.


You’ve Got This Video

Being diagnosed with bipolar disorder can be difficult and even scary. The moment a doctor tells you that you have a mental illness can be one of the worst moments of your life. However, Healthline aims to help those recently diagnosed with bipolar disorder with “You’ve Got This” — a public service campaign which has […]

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Bipolart

Maybe the whole creative-bipolar link is as simple as the fact that we experience emotions more intensely than most.

Well, that didn’t take long to say, so here’s an example of bipolar creativity.

Dream Song 14 By John Berryman

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.  
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,  
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy  
(repeatingly) ‘Ever to confess you’re bored  
means you have no

Inner Resources.’ I conclude now I have no  
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
People bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,  
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes  
as bad as achilles,

who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.  
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag  
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into mountains or sea or sky, leaving           
behind: me, wag.

A Disturbance In The Force

I think all the stress in my life is finally starting to get to me. For the past two days I’ve been itchy, squirrelly, and having some difficulty finding a place for myself. Nothing feels right; I’ve been trying to write this post all damn day and I’m not even sure if it’s going to make sense. Nevertheless, I’m writing it, if only to prove to myself that I’m not losing my grip for realz.

Chewing on a soft, warm brownie. At least I can enjoy the sensual things. The weather has also been crisp but beautiful, although I haven’t spent any time outside because I’ve been in the house in my PJs, dinking around on the Internet and not sticking with any one site for very long. I don’t have the attention span right at the moment. I keep having to get up and do something every so often, even if it’s just taking a glass to the kitchen, but I don’t seem to be able to harness the energy to actually DO something.

Like tackle the enormous amount of sorting, packing, and throwing things away that need to be done before renting a storage shed for all our remaining possessions. Will and I have collected a LOT of crap over the years. We probably should have another yard sale, but at this point I’d rather watch the Chargers play the Broncos. In Denver. In blowing snow.

There are way too many things to think about. I’ve had to use the Ativan three times in the past week and a half because all of this is making me more anxious than usual. Most of the time I tough it out, but at night all the thoughts crowd in on me until I’m ready to put my head through a wall. Far better to knock myself out than stay up half the night ruminating, right? Then of course I get distracted by stray ideas that waltz through my head, like how this is going to be my first Christmas ever without presents. I don’t know how to behave at Christmastime when I can’t buy presents. But it’s only two months away and we’re about to hit the lowest point ever in our financial life, so I guess I’m going to find out. I’m resigned to it.

Other stupid shit I think about: How long will it really take to get Social Security, if I get it at all? How much will I earn from writing? How do I re-home three older cats? (My son-in-law and my grandsons, among others, are violently allergic to them.) How will I get my flu shot this year? (Will already got his.) I still can’t believe this is happening. And where, oh where did the smart, witty woman who used to wear my clothes and sit at my desk go?

Yes, I sense a disturbance in the Force and I’m not happy about it. Maybe it’ll all make sense tomorrow. Maybe not.


Whatif’s 3

As you know I am the What If Queen. I am always wondering what would happen or what should happen.

What will happen if they build the people’s house down the road faster? That’s my new one. We bought ours first, got the for sale sign first and even had our name thingy first. Today even though they were working on our lot they had finished preparing theirs first.

They are now identical. I mean we completely designed out house. We could have picked some fancier items, or harder to install things and they may get into their house first. They havent even gotten to the framing yet but this is stressing me out.

What if I can create a charity? Will I be able to handle all that might entail? I asked my husband to help me do research on who I want to give the money to. What do I want to support, mental health or just bipolarity. I have time to figure it all out.

I never believed that bipolars could accomplish anything. I thought I was doomed to failure all my life. Reading other bipolars blogs have made me believe I can do good things with my life and I can accomplish things. I will fail from time to time but I have to keep trying.

I can’t get rid of it, so I need to learn to live successfully with it.


Muddling Through the Migraines

Welp, I saw the new neurologist this week at the Headache Clinic in a nearby hospital. The fact that the neurologist actually said “Whoa, that’s a lot” when I told her how many migraine days I have per month was a bit offputting and borderline amusing. So now I try a new drug and I will be going back to the Headache Clinic for what is called an occipital nerve block. Essentially, they will be injecting anesthetic and a steroid into the muscles above my neck in the back of my head. The hope is that with repeated sessions of nerve blocks, the inflammation causing the migraines will reduce. My neurologist is hoping it will present a 50% reduction in my headaches, which doesn’t sound great, but when you say 10 headache days per month instead of 20, that is huge.

I now muddle through the beginnings of yet another new medication course that again has a whole lot of expectation riding on it’s chemical shoulders. Having a game plan has eased my mind at least a little, but depression still lingers in the background, a wisp of darkness I see in my peripheral vision, just waiting to take over. The usual worries about money lurk and working overtime this week has left me bone tired.  Work itself has been it’s own bizarre stressor of late. Clashing personalities, power struggles and just being plain busy have amounted to one big mess. I do the best I can to leave it at the door when I get home, but honestly, the emotional overeating/binge eating is making a comeback. Lucky for me, being poor means you can’t buy all the Halloween candy at the store and my food allergy prevents me from eating an entire cheese danish, much as I would like to.

Interestingly, in the midst of all this, God has given me yet another reason to stop and say to Him “You have a wacky sense of humor” by reviving that thing I thought was dead, namely my heart. Too soon to really tell you all much suffice to say it’s not The Paramour.

I’d like to thank everyone who read, shared and commented on my last post. It means a lot to know I’m not alone in my suffering. I don’t particularly buy into the whole “creative genius stems from mental illness” thing, which means to say I know I’m not a great writer by any means so it does mean a lot when someone says “me too” based on my rambling stream of words. I also really appreciate everyone’s suggestions and love to see the little bit of community that sometimes pops up on a blog’s comment stream.

Filed under: Wellness Warriors Tagged: binge eating, depression, medication, migraines, pain