Daily Archives: August 20, 2015

The Dark Knight Rises

so I got the opportunity I wanted and now I’m just waiting for it to happen.
Mentally,?I’m a clutter fuck. I can’t really put things together in my mind because of the great opportunity and me worrying about life in general , but I HOPE HOPE my mind can get it together.

I am also smoking ….so you know how that goes.

My medicine has been working still….I guess. I can’t tell anymore if I’m just numb to my brain or it’s working. I need to do a little more looking into this. Hell! If Minot crying and my mind isn’t running I should be okay right??!!

I hope all of you are okay! The BipolarBlogger Network reminded me that I need to blog more because it not only helps me but other as all. I can’t forgot my awesome blog as awesome bloggers that I love.

Please bear with me! I am having a crazy life right now and never meant to go anywhere!


The Aeroplane Flies High (Turns Left, Looks Right)

Oh man, has anyone seen my brain? I think I have officially destroyed it. *giggles* But it was for good! My beloved Bipolar Blogger Network is the most squared away that it’s been in ages. Thank you for that much, hypomania. I’m utterly worn out, but like… productive. Woo. Also, I told myself that if I had time to sit and read the wiki articles of the Monarchs of the United Kingdom in order, I had time to do network stuff. >__>


 

 

I keep looking at some coloured pencils I have and thinking I need to draw something. But what. Maybe my brain will hork up an illustration idea for here. We’ll see. They’re sparkly, so they torment me with the constant flashing reminder that they are there.


 

I think that the Depakote is doing some good? At the least, it’s not doing any bad. My hair is intact, I’m not particularly nauseous, and I’ve not turned bright yellow from liver bile explosions or whatever. Between that and the Seroquel being normal release, I’m getting to sleep easily and sleeping heavily, which is good. Oh, my dreams aren’t any weirder than usual. If anything, they’re less weird… but then, my dreams by default are usually the Apocalypse, so.

Having said that, I’m sort of worried that my next psych appointment is less than a month away. I have never had appointments so close together. I’m kind of terrified it means that Dr. Z is mad at me for trying to push for ADHD diagnosis/medication, which is probably just completely silly. Maybe it’s just because Dr. K thinks that I am at risk of going manic because she thought I was so high. I actually feel bad about that, because if it had occurred to me while I was in my appointment, I would have pointed out that I have never had a manic episode (that I know of), have never been hospitalised for bipolar, and that right now is only of concern because of its duration. I’ll try to not fret over it though, because really, what good does that do? And really, complaining about being seen in a timely fashion when I have friends who can’t even get in the system? Bleh.

I think I am going to go find some chocolate, and veg out for a bit before bed. Hope everyone is well out there.

<3

 

Kid Stuff

My mom has this super neato habit of sharing really important information with me very casually and way later than I need it. She’s dropped a dozen or so of these little depth charges over the 8 years since my dad died, and my reaction is almost always: WHY WOULD YOU NOT HAVE TOLD ME THIS BEFORE?? REALLY??? Because, so much of the time, what she tells me does affect my life in one way or another. Like when she told me she had postpartum depression after my sister was born and again after I was born. This is important information to me for 2 reasons. Firstly, even though she’s got a family of nesting squirrels residing in the part of her brain that processes empathy, it would’ve been helpful to know that my psychiatric issues are not unique to me amongst my family members (so, y’know, I’d feel less like a freak resorting to slathering a Thanksgiving Smile™ on my face at every goddamned family function so I wouldn’t make anyone uncomfortable), and secondly, the children of mothers who suffered postpartum depression are at an increased risk of emotional and developmental issues – info that, if shared, would’a come in really handy while I was growing up and displaying behavior that baffled and frustrated my parents.

Which brings me to my main point…

My parents tried to find a kiddie shrink for me when I was like 5 or something. My dad sensed that there was something not quite right about me. I hit certain milestones (walking, talking and reading) earlier than a lot of kids, but I had fears, anxieties and an aversion to change that I clung to later than most children tend to. I also had serious issues with tantrums, mood swings and shyness. My dad had some of the same problems as a kid, but he grew up very poor, very neglected, and a very long time ago, so psychiatry wasn’t an option for a number of reasons. I think he was worried I’d suffer as much as he did and he wanted better for me (this is purely speculative because, as I stated previously, nobody told me shit). So my dad got in contact with a very well respected child psychiatrist though a colleague of his and he and my mom went to check this dude out. When they met him, the realized immediately that, no matter how good a doctor he was, I would not have talked to him due to the fact that he was a large, tall man with a beard. At that age, I was afraid of all men who weren’t my dad or grandpa. I was also afraid of very large adults and I didn’t know anyone who had a beard, so this doctor would have seemed frightening and imposingly alien to me. Nothing would’ve been accomplished in my meeting him, except maybe a lot of crying.

So my parents decided to find someone else. A nice, dulcet-voiced woman, perhaps, with an office full of teddy bears and baby dolls. Then they just didn’t. So I got no help. I felt weird throughout my entire childhood, endured many trials by fire, and didn’t seek psychiatric help for myself until the catalyst of my dad’s sudden death when I was 19.

So I get to wondering sometimes: what if they’d found me a doctor? The offshoots of this line of thinking have gotten divided into a rough dichotomy of outcomes. On the one hand, if I had gotten help when I was 5, I might’ve gotten a proper bipolar diagnosis at an earlier age and might, at this point in my life, have that shit more under control. I might not have developed a pattern of being so goddamned mean to myself after committing a (real or imagined) social faux pas. I might have been a better student, I might’ve learned better coping skills, I might’ve developed actual self confidence before the age of 23. A lot of good things could have happened and a lot of bad things could have been avoided. Theoretically.

On the other hand, there are a lot of things that I had to teach myself without any help and I might be better for it. I was so self-conscious about sitting alone in the cafeteria that, during my freshman year of college, I’d just skip dinner if my roommate had work or something. Whereas, Today Laura would plop down at any interesting looking table and ask to join the conversation, because Today Laura thinks strangers are great. It took a lot of work (and probably some Klonopin) to get me here, but, ultimately, I had to convince myself that I wasn’t going to starve anymore just in order to avoid the imagined whisperings of my peers who actually didn’t give a shit about what or where I was eating. Just an example. There are more. But my point is, a lot of the components that make up my ever advancing wellness are things I had to earn by myself – often uncomfortably. Yes, kids, I am a superhero.

But maybe one of the the essential questions at the root of this is: how do I feel about myself today? I can’t go back in time, I can’t redo my childhood, I can’t imagine a scenario where I could’ve asked for what I needed when I needed it so many years ago. That’s probably fine. Let’s just say I built some character, right? But it gets trickier when I have to think about my bipolar. I started seeing my current doc 8 years ago, but she didn’t diagnose me with bipolar until about year 3 – not because she’s a bad doctor, ’cause she’s not, but probably because type II bipolar is notoriously misdiagnosed as depression all the damn time. What I went through regarding my diagnosis is, by no means, unusual. Maybe if I’d had some professional help at a young age, I’d have gotten a grip on my illness before it had the chance to do some of the damage that it’s done (although, to be honest, some of that damage came in the form of more than a few fun as fuck benders that I would not repeat today, but which I remember with some fondness).

But how do I feel about myself today? I mean, today today isn’t the best time to ask ’cause I’m still pretty depressed, so my answer would be, um, glib…ish. And, anyway, at some point, this is sort of a fruitless topic on which to waste my energy ’cause I can only work with what I have, not with what I wish I had. And in a broader sense, I mean, most people probably have plenty of shit in their lives they’d like to have done differently, so how unhealthy are my regrets anyway? Maybe not very.

I guess something else to consider is the possibility that seeing a psychiatrist at age 5 (and potentially being medicated sometime thereafter) might’ve stamped me indelibly as crazy, especially if my peers found out. We had a kid in my grade school who saw a psychiatrist. His very name was a punchline. He was a weirdo and even the nicer than average kids I was lucky enough to go to school with from K-8 let him know he was a weirdo on a regular basis. Kids aren’t nice, even the nice ones. But Weird Kid from grade school also had unusual/nerdy interests (like science and owning multiple cats) and also had some motor tics and the occasional emotional meltdown in public. Not trying to be a dick, but find me a class of 6th graders who will be unflinchingly kind and accepting of such a kid and I will abandon my vow to remain childless for life and ADOPT ALL OF THEM. Granted, my problems were a little different than his. Weird Kid didn’t have a very good sense of how to operate within social norms. My sense of cool vs. uncool was sharpened to a fine point, so I knew when I wasn’t meeting the criteria and I did my darndest to hide that shit. That was probably the source of a lot of my anxiety. I knew I wasn’t cool. I don’t think Weird Kid understood it.

Regarding the above paragraph: Fuck mental health stigma. Super hard. Weird Kid, I’m sorry if I was ever shitty to you. I probably was. But maybe my parents were worried about the same thing and didn’t want their daughter to get branded. Not a good excuse to deny a child medical help by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m still thinking a lot of this through.

I guess the logical targets of my focus at this point should be a) appreciating the help I did end up getting and b) doing something with it. Like I said, gotta work with what I have. Like an emotionally myopic mother, a dead dad, and a childhood/adolescence studded with both regret and awesomeness. Also, like, this isn’t my first rodeo. I’m not as dysfunctional as I was 8 years ago. Better late than never, right?

Yeah. Better late than never.

-LB

Tagged: bipolar disorder, childhood, dad, depression, diagnosis, mommy issues, parenting, postpartum depression, psychiatry, self-esteem, therapy

First Day of Class

Got up on time and went immediately to my school’s website to see if my course was active yet.  It was–It’s called “Wiring for New Media” and will involve a good many social media projects over the course of the semester.  So we will see how it goes.  I printed the syllabus and participated in the first class exercise, which is a discussion of what new media is and what we want to get out of the class.  SO that was interesting but didn’t take long.  I’m interested in seeing how “on the ball” the rest of my classmates are–how soon/often they participate, etc.  I’m excited about the whole semester so I am trying to be proactive and as participatory as possible.

So that was just about all there was to my first day.  I answered a message about when I would be available for video conferencing and turned in my preferences.  Next week should be more intense once we start reading and doing exercises for the course.  We will see how it goes.  I’m going to be doing a lot that I’ve never done before on the computer so that will be a steep learning curve for me. I’ll have to pick up a lot in a short time.

I haven’t gotten my disability plan yet–I got an email about it asking when I could “meet” about it–I replied that I was 2 hours away and wasn’t going to be on campus until October for the residency.  I never heard back, so today I emailed my department head about it.  So hopefully I will hear something soon.

ANd I found out something REALLY neat about the short residency–one of the speakers is PJ O’Rourke, one of my favorite political commentators!  I’ve got several of his book and plan to ask him to autograph one unless he’s selling a new one-then I’ll buy it and ask him to sign it.  I remember interviewing another of my political comedy heroes very early in my freelance career, Steve Allen. Funny, funny.  Hope PJ is as good in person as he is in print.


Of Tears And Terrible Sounds (When Life Is Too Painful For Words)

bpnurse:

This is a beautifully written piece by a man I admire greatly. He is a nondenominational Christian pastor who really gets what life is all about and nails it in this post. Enjoy!

Originally posted on john pavlovitz:

Despair

My dear, hurting friend,

I want words right now.

I want words that will fix this; ones that will repair all that is so terribly broken here.

I want words that will turn back the clock and undo the damage and erase the heartache for you.

I want some words that will provide you answers or hope or relief or escape.

Right now I am straining so desperately, reaching so frantically for these words so that I can give them to you, but they aren’t coming and I know they won’t come.

This wound is too invasive, this fracture too severe, this day too dark for mere words.

They all fail.

They all feel worthless.

They don’t say anything remotely worthy of your suffering.

The only language that speaks eloquently into pain like this is made of tears and terrible sounds.

When the heart is so battered and the anguish so full and the senselessness so great, there…

View original 352 more words


Raising Our Gender Fluid Four-Year-Old

Originally posted on Longreads Blog:
“Is that a boy or a girl?” My child is what you might call gender non-conforming, or gender fluid. You could also call it being a kid. She’s OK with the female pronouns, but she consistently requests short hair “like a boy.” The haircut seems to throw people off most of…

ward 13 and beyond

I had a ct scan yesterday, to “rule out intra cranial causes” of the memory and word brain problems. Only along the way, the scan turned out to be extraneous; when shrink two was filling out the bloods form, I quickly whinged about night sweats and blog bless her, she added oestrogen and progesterone to […]

Are YOU a mental health blogger or open about your mental illness?

Blahpolar Diaries is one of our resident authors at Our Lived Experience and she’s also quite talented in other areas like design and probably eating chillipoppers (Jalapeno peppers stuffed with Feta cheese and then deep fried). The latter is a guess but I wouldn’t be surprised. She designed a beautiful badge for bloggers associated with…

Are YOU a mental health blogger or open about your mental illness?

Blahpolar Diaries is one of our resident authors at Our Lived Experience and she’s also quite talented in other areas like design and probably eating chillipoppers (Jalapeno peppers stuffed with Feta cheese and then deep fried). The latter is a guess but I wouldn’t be surprised. She designed a beautiful badge for bloggers associated with…

Are YOU a mental health blogger or open about your mental illness?

Blahpolar Diaries is one of our resident authors at Our Lived Experience and she’s also quite talented in other areas like design and probably eating chillipoppers (Jalapeno peppers stuffed with Feta cheese and then deep fried). The latter is a guess but I wouldn’t be surprised.

1440013246909-01

She designed a beautiful badge for bloggers associated with OLE (check our blogroll on the right hand side of the screen). If you’re open about your illness and write about it, we’d love to hear from you!

We aim to create a network of bloggers where we can:

  • Examine issues relating to a particular group of people (Bipolar Disorder, Depression, OCD, Borderline Personality Disorder etc.)
  • Develop into a national network that would provide a basis for mutual support (which will enable sharing of ideas and experiences)
  • Work toward raising awareness, education and thereby de-stigmatizing mental illness in our country

We welcome you to share who you are with us.

Submit your stories to: [email protected]

-Yvette

OLE team