Daily Archives: November 18, 2014

Take a Dip With Me

dipSo we got the results back from my nephew’s cancer surgery. I am going to copy the text his mother sent so I make sure to get it all correct: “The pathology came back as cancer, very likely stage 1 or possibly stage 2, he will have a CT scan on Wednesday to see if anything spread to the other side or possibly lymph nodes. Doc thinks caught in early stages. A couples of courses of chemo likely. We will know more on Thurs after the CT scan, then to an oncologist for specific treatment.”

I am thinking this is not perfect news but is not a disaster either. It sounds as if they are doing all the things to cover him and make sure it has not spread. On the other hand, it doesn’t sound like it was some tiny nodule of some unknown origin that was not cancerous either.

If it was my son, I’d be hysterical and useless, but that would not be of help to anyone. So maybe I would actually be strong and supportive. How do you know?

Since my nephew has cancer I feel a bit guilty writing this blog about ME, ME, ME, but I guess that is the idea. I mean how mentally ill people react to life. You’ll be glad to know I got off my butt and made brownies and went over to see him with my sons and husband. He got up to see me and give me a hug. He looked really good for someone just out of any kind of surgery. The guys all sat and chatted and I visited with my sister-in-law, Patty. She was trying to do some work from home on her computer. I felt sorry for her. Her house was a mess, which isn’t a big deal to me except that it is unusual for her. I’m not saying it’s always perfect, but you could tell people had been struggling. (Remember her husband had a heart attack four months ago.) So I decided to get over my asshole petty attitudes and invite them for Thanksgiving. She looked so relieved to have somewhere to go. She normally loves to cook, so I know she is exhausted. The best part of this deal for me is that I talked her into doing the mashed potatoes which is the food I really hate to make. So now I think we have 22 for dinner.

Their youngest son Andy, came home from high school while we were there and he was very friendly. He acted nice and had a good sense of humor. I was very relieved they didn’t seem to treat me funny. Of course, everyone was focused on Jack but no one acted like I was a leper for not having been around much. They acted like I was any old member of the family.

There are a couple of big events coming up. Jack’s graduation from college and Andy’s graduation from high school. I really need to make these “must attend” events and show big enthusiasm.

The middle child, Ellen is away locally at college. She is the one I think I may have the easiest time building a relationship with. I thought I might invite her to tea over Christmas break.

So really things are better with these kids. I need to sit down and make a little list of small things I could do to sort of keep in touch and build a relationship with them. Like being extra attentive to them over Thanksgiving. Maybe sending Jack a funny card and cookies. Maybe getting to do something with Andy and the boys? (I have no idea here.)

On a different note, I am hitting another dip. I cried a bit this morning. I did not feel like writing this blog although I feel better now that I am writing it. I am still struggling to get going in the morning. I missed my book club this morning, even though I read the book and liked it. The good news is it’s that same book club where no one knows if you are coming or not so they don’t miss you. I moved a coffee date with a new friend. I am going to try, however, to make my bipolar support group at three. I need to go and I’ve got to reassure that one guy that he is still invited for Thanksgiving. I can’t just disappear.

Yesterday, I did finally meet my old best friend from junior high and high school for lunch. She is better groomed and much thinner that I am but her face looks older. She looks just like her mother used to. She is a bit intimidating. She’s always been pretty perfect in the grooming, religious, housekeeping, etc. arenas. I do okay, but sometimes feel like a fat sack of potatoes next to her. But yesterday I felt okay. We laughed and laughed over stuff we did many many years ago. We decided to start texting and calling each other more often. I know I will have to do most of the initiating, but she does work and I don’t. But I am glad to have her more in my life again. I need my friends now. I need a cocoon of support. She knows all about my bipolar and is putting two and two together about some of my behavior in high school. She helps a lot.

I went to my women’s support group yesterday. Good group of people. We’re getting together for dinner with husbands on Friday night. I am bringing my famous banana cream dessert.

I am still unable to string full days of activities together. It’s like one day on my feet and the nest one down. One friend said. “Well, why don’t you plan it that way? Take Monday, Wednesday, and Friday off.” That sounds complicated, but maybe I could pretend I am a pediatric brain surgeon and am busy those days. It’s a thought.

hugs to you all,

lily

I’m Trying

Originally posted on Thoughtful Minds United:
When I first got accepted to contribute to TMU, I chose my own schedule. I decided to publish a post every two weeks, to give myself time for those moments of humdrummery (thanks for the…

I Am A Murderer

I have been collecting shells at the beach. I am going to make my sister and her girlfriend a Shell Jar (buy a glass jar, fill it with shells, voila! A Shell Jar). I only want the most perfect shells for the shell jar. Two of the most perfect, gorgeous shells I found had something living in them. Rather than flinging them back into the ocean and admonishing them to “LIVE!”, I picked them up, thinking sorry little suckers, you gotta die. And now I’ve been waiting . . . and waiting . . . for them to die and leave their shell-homes. My guilt over killing these little shell-beings is proportionate to the stink they are causing. It’s disgusting! Little gushy things are starting to come out of the shells. Ohhhhh it’s gross. One thing I can tell you is that I have learned from this experience. Never again will I bring a live thing home. I feel guilty! I feel like a murderer. What is this doing to my karma? I’m probably going to step on something sharp and infectious at the beach. I’m sorry, little shell gushies! Never again, ok?


Filed under: Bipolar, Bipolar Disorder, Psychology Shmyshmology Tagged: Bipolar, Hope, Mental Illness, Psychology, Reader, Shell Gushy Murder

Still here…

Just working through the waves. Not drowning, promise!

Fresh Hell Begins With Human Contact

I started out okay today. Then came dealing with the outside world of petri dish dwelling humans. I asked the landlord two weeks ago to get someone to look at my duct work because I have nothing but cold air coming into my bedroom and bathroom, which has been going on for three years and I have asked multiple times for it to be fixed.
Nothing.
Today the lady next door, who is section eight, has a clogged drain and bam, maintenance is all but licking at the sewer drain.
Um…I have not once paid my rent late in six years. So why does she get premiere service while I fester, ignored, shelling out four times what I should be for heating and still freezing?
I stepped outside and asked one of the guys if they could add me to the schedule to take a look. They grumbled about how the cats probably did it, and NOTHING.
So I called the landlord’s office and put in a request. Again. Pissed off and frustrated doesn’t begin to cover it.

Then R calls because he needs someone to watch the shop for 20 minutes while he deals with his broken down car and gets it to the auto shop. I told him I was low on gas and hadn’t planned on going anywhere until time to get my kid. He gives this disappointed petulant sigh and says, “Oh, well.”
Yes, allow me to drop everything, waste my gas money, get nothing for my trouble, all to please you.
I told him it’s sad how we only contact each other when we need something and we should fix that.
His reply? “Probably.”
Underwhelming.
He apparently is content with the arrangement of using each other and calling it a friendship. I on the other hand would rather not have friends like that. It’s demoralizing to realize how little someone thinks of you outside your ability to fulfill their needs.

My mood isn’t like, crushed and in the gutter. It’s just…my spirit keeps getting stomped on daily and it takes a toll.
The ability to battle this mental roller coaster is helped when you have people you can count on for support.
My old counselor told me I needed to get over it because I was never going to get this out of R.
I don’t dispute her logic.
But she had no idea my loyalty, or what a moron I am when it comes to people I care about and their ability to manipulate and say the right things to lure me back in only to disappoint me time and again.
It’s a flaw, I suppose, but at the same time, it’s at odds with this vision everyone has of me being anti social and negative. I WANT to believe in people. How is that wrong? Seems the only one who ever gets hurt by it is me, and while I like to express my frustration with that fact…I’m just not ready to entirely give up on people. I see the good under the surface in most. Writing them off seems like taking the easy way out.

I self isolate to insulate myself against being hurt.
So when I can still manage to go out on a limb and have faith in people…Isn’t that a testament to my strength and my willingness to hold out hope? Maybe it makes me the naive moron but the other option, to be misanthropic and completely dismiss that humanity might have an ounce of goodness left in them, is less appealing.

I have come to terms with the fact that it is a “me me me” society and people’s general attitudes toward the suffering of others is “Meh.” Apathy as a collective mind state.
But the truth lay not in the sheeple, the mindless masses without empathy or conscience or the emotional maturity to grasp how their behavior impacts another negatively.

The truth lays in the sprinkling of genuine souls who have kindness and empathy and conscience and truly care. Just because they are so rare does not make them a figment of the imagination.
What’s the saying, you gotta kiss a lot of toads to find your prince?
Guess my philosophy is, you gotta get disappointed a lot to keep the faith in your fellow man before finding decency in one.

Aside from the emotional spewage I just inflicted on anyone who rads this…
I must admit when the maintenance guys were outside, even though working on the neighbor’s pipes, which are accessed by my yard…I was so nervous and the anxiety soared…It’s deviation, it’s unfamiliar noise and voices talking, it feels like an invasion of my safe space. I double Xanax-ed to ward off the mounting panic and paranoia.
Which was further enhanced by phones ringing.
God, I loathe what society has become, so self important that every single one of us must able to be in constant contact via phone or whatever. For a long time, I didn’t even have a home phone. I got a prepaid cell for MY convenience, in the event of a car breakdown or whatever.
Now it feels like I am tethered eternally to the godforsaken device where my peace can be shattered at any given time.
I used to just turn the phones off. Now that I have a kid, that’s not an option. I have to be reachable for her.
Everyone else, though…
Who only ever wants to ask for something, deliver bad news, or criticize me…
Basically, human contact is the bane of my existence.
I always thought I had a stronger psyche.
It doesn’t devastate me.
It does, however, unnerve me and feed my neuroses.

That’s a meal I could do without for all eternity.


Sometimes a phrase is just a phrase…..

I grew up with phrases that didn’t and still don’t mean anything remotely like what the grouping of words are actually saying. Mothers who shouted at their kids to “behave yourself or ‘I’ll kill ya”, or “don’t do that again, … Continue reading

Depressed And Annoyed

The weekend was good and relaxing, but now i am depressed and fucking annoyed and getting more annoyed. I hate the damn moodiness.

Being bipolar is hard. Dont let anyone tell you any different. The constant mood swings, the depression, the addictive behaviours, the self doubt. I even doubt that I can ever be successful because of the way it controls me instead of me controlling it.

I’m so angry right now and I have no reason to be but I feel like I want to punch someone in the neck or nuts. Now I have to sit down and analyze myself and try and figure out if it is from nothing or if I have a reason for feeling like shit.

Stupid manic-depressive girl, why can’t you just be happy.


Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys

Another visit with Dr. Awesomesauce has come and gone, and once again I am left to ponder the discussion and extract the pearls of wisdom from it. I do this every time I see him, because there really is a lot of substance even in the joking and teasing interspersed between the serious talk.

As I expected, I got my ass handed to me for not calling him immediately when my depression spun out of control. “You scared the hell out of me,” he said, “and if you ever do that again you’ll get a size-10 boot planted in your backside!” He was only half-kidding. I told him I’d given Will permission to call if I started sliding—or zooming—which mollified him somewhat, although he reiterated that he would be seriously pissed (and very sad) if he had to attend my funeral.

We went over my hospitalization and he was pleased with the progress I’d made in there. But he made it clear that one of the things I’d been working on still needs improvement, and that is my tendency to take on other peoples’ problems…..in no small part because it allows me to not deal with my own. I’ve done it all my life, and it’s hard to remember “not my circus, not my monkeys” when I’m in the thick of someone else’s situation.

But remember it I must, for I have plenty of my own business to take care of. Something drove me crazy enough to want to commit suicide; it was all the crap I’d allowed to build up over time until it nearly crushed me. I’ve allowed myself to get sucked into the vortex of others’ drama over and over, trying to fix their problems and feeling guilty because I couldn’t; in the meantime, my personal stressors were mounting and I wasn’t paying attention to them. The combination of these was what led to the collapse of all my defenses and landed me in the hospital.

So I’m having to draw boundaries, which is NOT easy for me. I can love people and listen to them when they’re going through things, but this is one of those times when being an empath does not serve me well and I must resist the urge to ignore my own needs in order to try to meet theirs. If I’ve got a handle on what’s going on in my life I can be a little more helpful, but I still need to maintain my boundaries. Or, as Dr. A so delicately put it: “don’t smell the shit in someone else’s yard when you’re up to your neck in your own pile”.

Not my circus, not my monkeys. He liked that expression and we had a good chuckle about it. Then he grinned and said, “You’re laughing—that’s a VERY good sound.” It was nice to know that he had missed my laughter, like Will had. Our last several visits have been sober and serious, and this one felt more like the old days when we’d spend a good part of our sessions cracking each other up (and sneaking therapy in between bursts of giggles). We talked about Australia and how stinky koala bears are and how the tame ones will hold onto you just like a baby. He showed me pictures of his recent trip to Florida and told me about the jellyfish he’d accidentally touched (“ugh, it was just like touching snot”). And I told him the story about Carl, the housefly who plagued us while I was inpatient.

It’s good to have things back on track with Dr. A, even though he stared me down till I confessed that I still have ever-so-fleeting thoughts of death (which are banished fast when they do come). Now, if I can just get my life in order again, I’ll be golden. :-)

 

 


Morning Lethargy Should Be A Disability

That is my biggest gripe of the day. It wasn’t the cold, the grocery shopping, the frustration of dealing with my kid’s school…
The biggest thorn in my paw today was the fact it took me three and a half hours to truly get awake, motivated, and functioning. I am never a day person, but during the winter, my give a damn isn’t broken. It’s uninstalled.
Or maybe it’s just the cold. Or I loathe being told what to do and when I have to do it. My mom always said I did have to have things my way.
The way I see it, when your mind is unstable and chaotic, it leaves you flailing and grasping around yourself for any factors you can control. Schedule. Chores. Socializing. Others view me as some domineering control freak.
Fact is, I barely feel in control of my own mind at any given time. My mood swings, anxiety spikes, panic erupts, and none of it happens with my consent.
So I try to control the things around me. How I do things, when I do them. I don’t like being boxed into things, but I also need some half ass semblance of routine. I am a delicate balance of logic and insanity.
Shrinks theorize that this same mentality is behind disorders such as anorexia and bulimia. One feels out of control of their world, they control the one thing they can- their body.
It makes sense.
When my delicate balance is messed up, even by good intentions, I am set off kilter. It makes me defensive and sometimes, hostile. How do you tell someone who meant well that they keep stepping on your toes in a way that makes you want to shoot them with a nail gun? Especially when you yourself know you’re being a dysfunctional neurotic and yet, it’s still that important to you to have certain things under your absolute control. The line should only be crossed if permission is granted or a request is made. Otherwise, boundaries are being obliterated.
I find myself in that place a lot. You can never convince people it’s nothing personal to them. They don’t buy that it’s just a personal quirk. And why should anyone believe that when it’s so much easier to take offense.
Control.
I need to have it over my world. Not anyone else’s, but mine. Intrusion is unwelcome and resented. I bite my tongue to be polite but eventually…it’s going to erupt in some panic induced angry form.
Being me is a pain in the ass.
The more I try to be less neurotic and let things go…The more I feel taken advantage of therefore I need even more control over my world. Trying to change to appease others is making it worse rather than better. Perhaps some neurotic tendencies are just meant to be quirks, not personality issues one needs to overhaul.

I dunno.
That’s what’s on my mind tonight.
Oh, and I wrote this.

Wounds