Daily Archives: September 16, 2015

The Hangover

I can tell you one thing that no longer exists in my world due to my use of psychoactive drugs....

well sarcasmathank you very much

McCoy: “I’m trying to thank you, you pointed-ear hobgoblin!” Spock: “Oh, yes, you humans have that emotional need to express gratitude. ‘You’re welcome,’ I believe, is the correct response.” It never occurred to me to question gratitude till the other day, when William and beep battered the concept senseless. Now instead of thinking hmmm wtf…

I Don’t Want to Write About #Suicide

Do Not Want to Write About Suicide. Background image is chainlink fence with people playing basketball behind it

I don’t want to write about suicide
I don’t want the image of her
Clinging onto a chain link fence
Chef’s knife in hand
Chef’s knife inside of her
Looking through the chain link
At kids playing in the park
She mourned the loss of her son
She could not contain her grief
She could not hold on
She had other children
They no longer had a mother
My father no longer had a cousin
I no longer had a cousin once removed

When I was 18
I, too, wanted to kill myself
I thought the world
Better off without me
My family
Better off without me
The emotional pain
Unbearable
A living hell
But I didn’t kill myself
I sought help
I got help
But I was not a mother
Grieving the loss of her son


Filed under: Depression, Motherhood, Poetry Tagged: Grief, Grief Loss and Bereavement, loss, suicide

#IStandWithAhmed

Cool clock, Ahmed. Want to bring it to the White House? We should inspire more kids like you to like science. It’s what makes America great.

Looks like the paranoid, xenophobic actions of a Texas school may just have made Ahmed Mohamed’s life. Funny, that was the name of my uncle, a word and numbers savant! I’ve talked about him in my blog posts. But now it’s time to talk about Ahmed, the 9th grader who brought a clock he had made to school, and got arrested because a teacher called the police, claiming it was a bomb. Well he was released, and no charges are to be filed, however the police do, now, have his fingerprints. The police chief said that “… there was no support for the perception that Ahmed meant to create alarm”. Maybe the “alarm” he did create with his clock was to wake up America, to wake up from discrimination, xenophobia, and fear.

However, ironically enough, this incident has opened doors for Ahmed that before were not open. For example, the door of the White House! President Obama has invited him to the White House, MIT is preparing to invite him for a visit. Mark Zuckerberg has invited him for a tour of Facebook, and Jaime Casap of Google has issued an invitation. Well I like this kind of irony, I hope this bright 9th grader will leave the arrest behind and now embrace all these amazing opportunities that are being offered to him. I hope one of these opportunities makes his like!


Party of One: How to Stand Strong in the Truth When No One Believes You

Laura P. Schulman, MD, MA:

Wow, another blockbuster post from The Invisible Scar! Timely, too. I have been out in the forests of Colorado thinking about how my mother brags about the time I accidentally swam too far out on the lake on a windy day, when I could not hear my parents yelling for me to come back in. I was ten years old. I remember being absorbed in diving under the waves, as my father had taught me to do. When I finally got tired and swam back to shore, they put me in the hot car with the windows rolled up, as punishment for…what? Not hearing them because the wind was drowning their calls out? Enjoying myself doing something they had taught me to do, and encouraged me to do? My mother boasts about using this punishment again when I ran away from her verbal and physical abuse and hid in a corn field. Didn’t they know that their “punishment” was not only openly abusive, but could easily have been fatal? How about the times when they both smoked in the car with the windows rolled up and accused me of coughing just to be annoying? My mother claims that never happened. It’s especially important for her to deny that now that I suffer from severe asthma. Of course she tells her friends how wonderful I am. They all adore her, and tell me what an “angel” she is.

This article also addresses the issue of the parents killing the child’s pets. Amazing. I never knew that was a common occurrence in abusive parents. One time when I was about 12, I went to visit a relative for a few weeks during summer vacation. I left my pet bird with my parents. When I got back my bird was gone. “She flew away,” says my mother. I couldn’t believe that my birdie would ever do such a thing, because she was so tame and social. Years later, my mother laughed as she told me the real story: she got sick of caring for the bird, so she put it out in the screen porch with her cat.

Likewise with my own cat, which I sadly left with them when I had to go for an interview: they left him outside when the neighbourhood dogs were in the yard. The last they saw of him, my father told me, was his black form streaking across the field across the road, a pack of dogs in hot pursuit.

No wonder I’m fucked up.

OK, I admit I wasn’t the best mother, but I can say this: I never purposely abused my child, or did anything to cause him pain. I took care of his pets, I never called him names. I listened to his concerns and took them seriously. I stood up for him when he was bullied for being different. I took on school systems to make sure his special needs were being met. I did neglect him sometimes, because I worked long hours and spent too much time at the gym trying to work off my manic energy, but at least I never locked him in a hot car, and the worst I ever said to him was that he was lazy for refusing to do his farm chores, which was true. I still feel guilty for saying it, though. I’ll stop now, because I really could go on and on about this whole thing.

Originally posted on The Invisible Scar:

150915-stand-strong-in-the-truthAfter you’veawakened to the truth that you were emotionally abused as a child (and perhaps continue to be as an adult child), you will definitely encounter some hard-coreresistancefrom some disbelieving people. These people either have known you as a child and believe the image of a happy family that your parents propagated; are enmeshed in relationships, whether as relatives or friends, with your parents; are in denial of their own abusive pasts or are in similar abusive relationships; or are not sufficiently emotionally mature or loving to be a good friend during your awakening and subsequent healing journey.

Those people will often try to coax you back into a state of slumber. Your emotional awakening is too messy for them to handle. They want you to stay in your box, under your label, not bustling out in passion and growth, but confined to the definitions of…

View original 1,348 more words


Another Day. . .

So I still have this nasty cough from my reflux but not quite as bad as in the days before this.  Listening to “The SPiritual Side of Wynton Marsalis” and trying to come up with what I’m going to do in the next assignments.  I have to create “electronic poetry” and do a review of an electronic poem.  Not sure what I’m going to do with either assignment.  I have an idea for the poetry assignment itself but will need my middle daughter to slow down long enough for me to get her to show me how to do it on the software I have in mind of using.

Still no decision on what to do with the blog.  I’m approaching my first blogiversary with this blog and may just shut it down.  It’s been successful in the sense that I’ve carried it on this long, but I barely have any readers now and wonder what the use in keeping it up will be. People will still be able to find it even if I’m not posting on it.  I’m just not sure what to do


Extorted, Contorted, Distorted

Extortion:

We’re sorry, but your campaign won’t be included in GoFundMe’s public search directory until you connect a valid Facebook account.

Seriously? What’s next, I have to ask Zuckerberg for permission to breathe because air is now owned by fuckfacebook? It feels like extortion, “use my site or you will linger in obscurity and your cause will get no attention.” Also, collective peer pressure: “All the cool kids use Facebook, what’s wrong with you, you weirdo?”

Hmm…Well, there was that time a friend set up a Facebook account for me and next I know, I am getting irate messages from my contacts because they were all automatically spammed to join Facebook. That’s invasive, not to mention rude. Their policies are ass trash, their humanity debatable. Fuckfacebook was created by the devil himself. And now it’s become like Microsoft, you can’t buy a cheap computer that doesn’t have Windows installed as a no choice default, now you have few social networking choices aside from Fuckfacebook and Twatter.

I want options. Choices. Not to be extorted and forced into using something I despise. Back when I had the choice, I was very active on myspace. Mostly it was promoting new bands because ya know, back then I could listen to music and get joy, rather than these days where I get panxiety. I loved making up flyers and decorating my page in band banners and promoting them. Because it was MY choice. No one put a gun to my head.

Mind you, I do not at all doubt the positive impact sites such as fuckfacebook and Twatter serve a purpose. And to each their own, if you enjoy it. I just find it vapid to update people every time I have to pee, cook a meal, or my kid does something so adorable no other kid on earth has ever done it. I need something a bit more meaningful than 160 characters and status updates and pictures of someone in mardi gras beads wasted off their ass or showing their  Jesus shaped chicken nuggets. If I want vapid yet interesting, I will visit Reddit, where I will find some stuff cool and walk away finding yet another flock of vile net trolls.

Free will and choice, that’s what I want. Instead Twatter and fuckfacebook have a monopoly and a stranglehold, no choices. I swear the next time a person laments, “You really need to have a Facebook page” I am gonna hit them over the head with a shovel. I’d rather get Ebola and bleed out all my orifices because that would be CHOICE.

Contortion:

Pretzel gut. It never lets up. It twists and contorts every hour of every day. It’s stress, it manifests physically when there’s no more damage it can do to my mind. I try to talk myself out of it, but LOL, that’s a fuck sunshine spewer fallacy.

I tried to listen to some music this morning, get myself jumpsarted. I made it four songs in and then my nerves cried uncle, auntie, and sacred pegacorn. I keep thinking what I need to break this stalemate with my anxiety is to force myself to revisit my old pleasures, force myself beyond it. Enter: angry pissed off music by Marilyn Manson, Sick Puppies, Mudvayne. For a moment, the contortion was replaced with a feeling of old; fuel for my anger issues, fire to set the negative shit on fire so I can focus on the good shit It was fleeting. I’ve become so programmed (through no one else’s fault, but by the bipolar itself) that any time I remotely feel good or powerful or confident…It HAS to be the grandeur brought on by the manic episodes. I cannot feel good because it will end badly, it’s not real. Every time I have let myself go, gone with the flow…It’s always turned out to be byproduct of the stupid manic and hypomanic episodes.

Yeah, yeah, I gotta “rewire” my brain. They say it takes only 30 days of doing something exactly the same way every day, no deviation, for it to become a habit you do out of muscle memory, basically. Well, my mother programmed me that way for 12 years of my life to get up, get dressed, eat, catch the bus, go to school. Yet there were days when my nerves were so bad, the pretzel gut would keep me home from school. The depressions would come where hygiene mattered not and I would curl up in my closet, even then, and cry. So all this “positive thinking” cognitive bullshit really has no place when it comes to a legit psychiatric diagnosis. Unless self sabotage is in some way healthy for the mind. Trying to become what others are when you are at a disadvantage just seems..well, masochistic, to me. And the professionals encourage it which says to me…They don’t have a damned clue. If this rewiring were possible, why not teach it to schizophrenics? Oh, right, they have a thought disorder, which is legit, whereas bipolar is simply a mood disorder thus illegitimate. Unless they want an excuse to explain why people snap and shoot up malls or whatever, then they can play the “bipolar is a very serious mental disorder” card.

This is where the contortion begins. Being told you can “think” yourself out of bipolar yet try as you might, it never takes. And because I read a lot of other blogs, one thing stood out to me: “The bipolar didn’t make them violent, they chose to be violent.” Hmm…Some people are just vile beings, bipolar or not. Most genuinely bipolar people, though, are not violent until the cycle reaches its peak and you go over the edge. At that point, the distortions are so rampant, it’s not choice that makes you lash out, throw things, cry, scream…Because once I got on mood stabilizers that shit stopped happening. I never chose to act that way and I resent it being implied that all bipolar people have a choice whether to behave that way. None of us choose the behaviors that come standard issue with bipolar. It’s ridiculous to say otherwise.

Distortion:

As the weather changes, gets cooler, it gets dark sooner…my brain is taking this as a sign of hopelessness and time to hibernate. I don’t want company. I just want to go to bed early. I have put up pale curtains that allow light in, put lights in all my rooms, and light therapy is doing fuck all. Because while it makes an impact, the cold is what drags me under. I remember when I was preggo with Spook and one morning I had to go pee but it was so cold, I couldn’t even sit up in bed without my teeth chattering and my body being wracked with shivers. I thought, “Geesh, if my own bladder can’t drag me out from the warm covers, how am I going to handle a kid during the cold weather?”

I don’t know why the professionals won’t listen to me. It’s the cold. Lack of light, sure, I get that. But I think after six months of warm weather, the shift to cold and dark plays hell with the bipolar rhythms. I was lifting a bit with the Cymbalta increase. Now I can feel myself slipping. When it warms back up (stupid fucking midwest weather), I am up again. I am starting to think the professionals are the crazy ones.

So that’s my trifecta of fucked up this morning.

On the plus side,yesterday I…gasp..DUSTED the shelves and knicknacks in the living room. Not all of it, but a lot of it. I was so anxious, I had to do something to keep from clawing my skin off. When it drives me to choose to clean…it’s fucking fatal. Because dust doesn’t bother me in the least unless it’s on my computer. Fuck everything else. It served a dual purpose. I was able to put out most of my Halloween stuff. I haven’t decorated the outside or door yet but I’ve got my skulls and ghoulish stuff out on the tables. It’s a start. I am trying to fight the brain’s distortions.

R was supposed to stop by last night. He flaked, not so much as a text to apologize. Or cancel out. That’s what gets me so pissed off. He had a fit cos I didn’t return his text the other night, yet he’s so important and busy, it’s okay for him to be rude.

I need to just drop out for awhile. Fuck socializing. I think sometimes the intrusion is what keeps me from getting back into my writing. If I could write, none of this other shit would matter. Unfortunately, my writing only seems able to come out when I am not beholden to social visits and demands. Which means I am doomed unless I shun everyone, which I’ve done before, and then I have to mend bridges I burned and it’s all such a pain in the ass. Give me a cave with wifi, I’ll be good.

Of course, being a loner is a disorder and unhealthy even if it enables your creativity to flow and make you happy and content. I can’t even wrap my brain around that. What’s healthy for others has nothing to do with me. I am an individual. I like being alone. I resent having to eat what others like, watch and listen to what others like. I can make compromises but most people don’t reciprocate and it’s me doing all the compromising so I get resentful. Easier to not even go there.

Okay…Novel done. If you made it this far…You really like reading my drivel or your ADD meds are really working.

 

 

 


So I went to the dentist today, and they gave me WHAT? Epinephrine!?

articaine

Yes, so I went to the dentist today to get a regular cleaning. First time in Louisville. Yes, I know, I’ve been ignoring my dental health since we moved here… so anyway, I thought it’s time to remedy that. This was the first time I’d been to this dentist. Some chiding for not having gone to the dentist in a while,  x-rays, a regular cleaning, and I’d be on my way, or so I thought. On the first visit, they just took x-rays and sent me home. On the second visit, they said they were only going to clean the teeth on my right side. They said they were going to give me an anesthetic, so the deep cleaning they were going to give me wouldn’t hurt. Ok. First they swabbed some anesthetic on my gums. Then they injected some short acting anesthetic, sticking me SIX times. Then they injected long acting anesthetic, sticking me another SIX times, this was to avoid pain??? After the long acting injections, my heart started to race like I’d run a 20 second mile! I told them I was having an adverse reaction as my heart was racing and I was feeling very jittery, deep breath. They very calmly informed me that that was the epinephrine in the long acting anesthetic to constrict the blood vessels so the anesthetic wouldn’t diffuse away. Epinephrine!!!!!???? They very calmly told me, that what I was experiencing was the fight or flight response in response to said epinephrine! Deep breaths, deep breaths. I said “You gave me what? Epinephrine? Do you know I have bipolar d/o, and the last time I was given epinephrine (in the form of Wellbutryn,) I has MASSIVE panic attacks!?!” I had written down in my history forms that I had bipolar disorder. They obviously didn’t read those. Giving someone with bipolar disorder epinephrine… really? This is a neurotransmitter, as such, it has effects on the brain, and the effect it has on my brain is a very undesirable one, namely severe panic attacks! They said “Oh well, it is a minuscule dose.” Well their minuscule dose had my heart racing and anxiety coursing through my brain and body. Luckily, oh so luckily, I didn’t have a full on panic attack, just anxiety, jitteriness, shaking muscles, and a deep desire to flee from there. I sat through the cleaning of the teeth on my right side, shaking and jittery. The left side is to be cleaned on October 8th. I’m canceling that appointment and finding myself a dentist who doesn’t even know what epinephrine is!

For cleaning my teeth, to avoid pain, they gave me topical anesthetic, short acting (six needle sticks) and long acting (six needle sticks) anesthetic and THREE appointments! Are they freaking out of their minds? Who does that? I’ve been having my teeth cleaned forever, and never have I been subjected to this, what do I call it but, craziness! I am still sitting here, shaking and jittery, and this is after almost 12 hours!

For god’s sake, how do you know what you are going to be subjected to? I thought I was going for a routine cleaning and then this… if he had told me he was going to give me epinephrine, I would immediately have disabused him of that notion. Before leaving, I did tell him that I had filled out forms in which I has written down that I had bipolar d/o. And that to give someone with bipolar d/o epinephrine is never a good idea, except maybe if they are going into anaphylactic shock, then it is a matter of life and death. I told him that the brains of people who have bipolar d/o are very sensitive and cannot be subjected to neurotransmitters, it can have catastrophic consequences, like the onset of mania. Now I am sitting here, checking every few minutes on myself, to make sure I have not been thrown into a manic phase. I don’t think so, but my heart rate is still up and my muscles are still shaky. Hopefully, I’ve dodged a bullet, a bullet that came out of a dentist’s syringe. And hopefully, now they will read history forms and inform people of what they are injecting into them before they actually inject it. Of course, I will keep monitoring myself, unbelievable as it sounds, for signs that a manic phase is on its way. I feel like an innocent bystander, who has just been run over by an 18 wheeler. Just need to calm down. Deep breaths. And plan my day tomorrow, some concrete, calming things and get some sleep. And never go anywhere near this dentist’s office again.

And to all of my blog mates, please be careful, we people with sensitive biochemistries have to be very careful who gives us what where.

Just a note: Epinephrine is a neurotransmitter and has effects on the brain and also on the body, such as making our hearts race when the fight or flight response is elicited. The reason it is called epinephrine is this: EPI means on top of, NEPHRINE refers to the kidney. It is made by the adrenal glands that sit on top of the kidney, therefore EPI-NEPHRINE. It is also called Adrenalin, because it is made by the adrenal glands. So epinephrine and adrenalin are the exact same thing. Another related molecule is norepinephrine, which is also called noradrenalin. Just FYI :-)


Finally!

My internet has been wonky all day long and now I finally get to post.  Talked to my therapist today and we worked out a plan for this grocery-store problem.  So hopefully I won’t be having any more anxiety about going.  We will see. Talked to her about my studies and how I’m having a hard time taking it seriously since we’re doing silly projects.  We will see what comes in the longer projects.  Hopefully they will be worth the while and I can do something neat with them.

Gotten a lot of good response from people about my speaking at church–people talked to me today about giving people hope.  That’s what I’ve tried to do this whole time ever since I was diagnosed and even more so once I got saved. I really wish I could thank all the people who’ve been good to me throughout this whole ordeal  I dont’ know how to–I know there were times when I was hard to live with.  But I made it with GOd’s help and everyone else’s.

I’m a bit at a loss on how to focus my blogging. I’m not living so much a bipolar life right now.  I’m going to think and pray about it and see where I need to focus my time.  Pray for me as I figure this out.


How to Throw a Therapist

How do you throw a therapist?  Make her curl into a ball and fling her like a shot put.  No, really, I have always thought of Sadie as very calm, cool, and collected.  She is a pro at masking any negative reaction to anything I say, and I’m sure in the past year+ I’ve triggered […]