Daily Archives: October 13, 2015

Thank You

Thank you so much for all your support

Thank you everyone who supported me Saturday for NAMIWalks. I raised over $1,500. The team I walked with, the Stigma Smashers, raised over $9,000.

Unfortunately, I started to feel weak and dizzy. Being fair skinned and freckled, I am naturally sensitive to the sun heat. My medication exacerbates my heat sensitivity. Saturday hit a high of 99°F in Irvine. I had to sit in the shade, go home, hydrate, and sleep to recuperate.


Filed under: Gratitude, Medication, NAMI Tagged: #namiocwalker, heat sensitivity, medication side effects, NAMIWalks, NAMIWalks Orange County, thank you, thank you donors

Countdown

Well, tonight I take my last Abilify and start on Geodon the next day.  If anyone has any experience with Geodon, please leave me some notes in the comments.  I’m really nervous about making a change of any kind and seeing what might happen with my stability.  WIsh I could communicate that somehow to all the players involved–my doctor, the insurance people, the pharmacy ( who have actually been stand-up people through it all.  )  WE will see.

Most everything else is going well–I’m packing to go to the class I’m going to next week at the W and trying to make sure I have everything covered.  Rereading some of the books to inspire my discussion of them during the class.  Keeping up with 12 books, half of them poetry, is a bit of a task.  The poetry isn’t particularly memoriable as the books are.  So that’s been interesting.


Countdown

Well, tonight I take my last Abilify and start on Geodon the next day.  If anyone has any experience with Geodon, please leave me some notes in the comments.  I’m really nervous about making a change of any kind and seeing what might happen with my stability.  WIsh I could communicate that somehow to all the players involved–my doctor, the insurance people, the pharmacy ( who have actually been stand-up people through it all.  )  WE will see.

Most everything else is going well–I’m packing to go to the class I’m going to next week at the W and trying to make sure I have everything covered.  Rereading some of the books to inspire my discussion of them during the class.  Keeping up with 12 books, half of them poetry, is a bit of a task.  The poetry isn’t particularly memoriable as the books are.  So that’s been interesting.


Self Image ~ How Do You “Fix” Something That Someone Else Messed Up

InsecurityHow does one go about “un-fucking” (pardon my French) what one “let” someone else fuck up for you? Yes, this goes back to my ex-husband. I have been seeing a guy for about a year who adores me, thinks I look like a movie star, and compliments me all the time. But, he, like most men I know has this fascination with what I call “boys with boobs.” I am constantly catching his eye straying to young women (not middle aged) in the grocery store, restaurants, etc.; basically every time we are in public.

Now, we get to my ex-husband. For about the last two years of our marriage, my ex would not sleep in the same bed as me, and was not intimate with me. Of course, his porn addiction kept him quite busy. In the meantime, my self image and notion of myself as an attractive woman took a deep nose dive. I also have some excess weight that I have not been able to shed after my go around with Depakote. I have always had a somewhat pathological relationship to the way I look. Now, my main question is how do I “un-fuck” what my ex did to my self esteem, and image.

In my mind, I am grossly overweight. In reality, it is about 15 to 20 pounds; not much more than the national average. What I see in the mirror does not line up with what people see. I do not see beauty. I see someone who has been led to believe that they are too ugly to even be in the same bed with. I knew when I started dating again that this would be an issue; it has been for most of my life. I really do not want to screw up this new relationship because my ex-husband could not see the beauty in me (at least not without several layers of make-up). So, if anyone has any suggestions on how to undo the damage done to me by an abusive husband so I do not mess up this relationship over something like body image, it would be greatly appreciated.

The Precarious Balance Of Mental Illness

After a very rough night, there was this brief “tee hee” moment this morning when I dropped my kid off at school. She gave me a kiss as she was getting out but said, “Don’t let anyone see the love, it’s a secret!” And I laughed out loud. My six year old is already a teenager if she is ashamed of being seen kissing her mommy.

Yesterday…Yeah, at one point, I started reading some of my old writing, like from 9 years ago. Hoping it might spark that one tiny thing needed to reanimated my creativity. I was making notes, getting out the big white board. I had my kid and myself bathed and her in bed by 8 p.m. There I was, all arrogant, thinking, maybe I have reached the point of calm where I can let my imagination run riot…

Only to have it entirely fucked up by  a ringing phone. A call I did not even answer.Oh, yes, after 5 days of not existing in his world, R was beckoning. I was feeling so contemptuous, I knew answering could be a very bad thing. Holding back my sarcastic whiplash tongue is hard enough when stable. Circling the drain as I have been…It’s just bridge burning territory. Because I’ve “done the right thing” and taken his calls before while in such a mind space and it has lead to nothing but misery and him guilt tripping me for being “bitchy”. When one feels disrespected and taken for granted and you won’t even hear them out without becoming a vile jerk…Bitchy makes sense.

I loathe being passive aggressive, I should have taken the call. Because even though the phone never rang again…My night was fucking ruined. Anxiety spiked, the anger began causing my gut to churn, and my concentration was fucking lost. I get so sick of being right about people, how they use you to the nth when it suits them, leave you hanging, then expect you to be there waiting with bated breath for them. It’s infuriating. Disrespectful. I’m to the point where the positive in this “relationship” has become more negative. No one should have to feel the way I feel dealing with that man. He has good qualities, but hey, his only problem with me when he ditched me was my mood swings, he couldn’t handle them…If he can’t handle a woman who has a legit illness,what do I really owe him in terms of accepting his quirks and flaws?

I was awake until after midnight. Seething. Pissed off. Anxious. Because if I don’t jump to attention the next thing I know I will be getting another angry text from him accusing me of using him and “biting the hand” that feeds me. Leave it to a narcissist to give themselves way more credit than they’ve got coming. That was two years ago when he sent me that vile text for not answering my phone when he called twice. It’s stuck in my craw ever since. I may be volatile and moody but I don’t act like a spoiled brat over a couple of missed calls. I wouldn’t care if he ever replied to my calls or texts were he not orchestrating such an unfair game.

I got very nauseated because I hadn’t eaten supper, finally mustered up the energy to nuke some scrambled eggs. Fed most to the cats. Food, it all tastes so blah with the meds. My tastebuds, my entire mouth, almost always feel dry, numb, sour. I didn’t have that problem before all the meds. Hell, I could be a walking pharma ad at this point and I’m still circling the drain. One little thing like a call, one you didn’t even answer, should be able to set you down a path of crashing and burning. I had my evening semi planned, I was going to keep reading my old stuff, see if that spark would ignite. And one fucking phone call fucked it all up.

Because creativity is a precarious balance itself. Toss in bipolar and depression and anxiety and it’s a scale that only balances once in a blue moon. Especially when every tiny thing runs the risk of upsetting that balance. This is why my writing has always benefited, and flowed, from absolute seclusion. People distract, people stress me out. I need to focus, to get into that pocket, and it often feels like the world is against me.

It was midnight when I finally caved and took another Xanax and a Restoril. Hate doing that, because even if it’s not happened once, I still fear it will knock me out so much I’ll miss the alarm and fail to get my kid to school on time. But eventually sleep came. After being wakened by my kid climbing into my bed, wanting to chatter. After two near drop outs only to jolt awake in terror.

All. Because. Of. One. Phone. Call.

There will always be reality, stress, distraction. But do I really need it coming from a relationship in which my only benefit seems to be smokes and gas to get my kid to school? I could just switch to an ecigarette as a way to keep my hand busy, budget gas more wisely, right? Then what if my car breaks down? I can’t afford seventy an hour for a mechanic plus parts and labor.

Everyone wants to simplify it. “Quit bitching and cut the strings.”

Oh, the desperation with which I want to do just that.

There’s more at stake here than me getting my menthol fix to keep my nerves from devouring me.

The double edged sword is, if I hang on for that reason and accept the misery? Am I not simply prostituting myself and feeding my mental illness and psyche wounds for car repair?

Does that make me as bad as him or worse?

This tight rope act is so old. We all do it, day in, day out. We get little empathy, little credit for our efforts. Criticism is like a food group. You can never live up to the expectations of others who don’t share your struggles. This leads to guilt and self loathing. What a vicious little cycle mental illness has going on.

And it’s the gift that continues to give because last night tapped me out and today I feel lethargic and unmotivated and I don’t much give a damn about the fact my house is biohazard level two. Trying to keep up cleaning up after that sick cat my sister guilted me into taking, whom my kid barely pays any mind to now, same as the other cat she had to have…I’m buried alive. And I’m too fucking fed up to even poke a hand up through the soil.

 


Coming Back to Life (Part 1)

Originally posted on Our Lived Experience:
Today’s post is a particularly heart-rending one. The subject is absolutely not specific to parenthood where there’s mental illness involved, and it’s very much about motherhood universally. It’s brutally honest yet beautifully written. It’s also incredibly brave – by being so open with us, the author has made herself…

Coming Back to Life (Part 1)

Originally posted on Our Lived Experience:
Today’s post is a particularly heart-rending one. The subject is absolutely not specific to parenthood where there’s mental illness involved, and it’s very much about motherhood universally. It’s brutally honest yet beautifully written. It’s also incredibly brave – by being so open with us, the author has made herself…

Coming Back to Life (Part 1)

Originally posted on Our Lived Experience:
Today’s post is a particularly heart-rending one. The subject is absolutely not specific to parenthood where there’s mental illness involved, and it’s very much about motherhood universally. It’s brutally honest yet beautifully written. It’s also incredibly brave – by being so open with us, the author has made herself…

Coming Back to Life (Part 1)

Today’s post is a particularly heart-rending one. The subject is absolutely not specific to parenthood where there’s mental illness involved, and it’s very much about motherhood universally. It’s brutally honest […]

Coming Back to Life (Part 1)

Today’s post is a particularly heart-rending one. The subject is absolutely not specific to parenthood where there’s mental illness involved, and it’s very much about motherhood universally. It’s brutally honest […]