Daily Archives: November 24, 2015

Sneaking Around

We’re playing the first of Christmas music in the house because we are baking the first cookies of the holiday season and that just calls for carols.  Listening to Straight No Chaser singing “Christmas Cheer”.  I love this album.  And it was the first one I found when I started looking. So there. But I’ll need to finish it before Bob comes home because he doesn’t like Christmas music too early.  So.

My conference went well yesterday–now we’re working on little ticky things about the projects.  I need to rotate a photo on a video and he wanted more links in my hypertext story.  So that will be fun to do.  I’ve already done most of what I’m going to do on the hypertext story–I’ve gotten ti up to 48 pages and think that’s almost too long. I have to recut the whole video to rotate a photo so I’m not really happy about that. But I’ll get it worked out.

I’ll be packing this afternoon for our trip out of town for Thanksgiving. I’ve almost got everyone’s laundry done.  I just hope everything goes well this year.  Everyone including me gets so touchy this time of year.  I will have to be careful and bite my tongue a lot.  But we’ll see how everyone behaves.

Hope everyone has a good rest of the week and a Happy Thanksgiving!

 


Metamorphosis

kafkaSleep now eludes me. Words and images have become my enemies, lumbering in and out of the dark places of my brain which only exist during the quiet of the night. The images are Kafkaesque, not the images one usually associates with metamorphosis. I am becoming someone I vaguely remember from long ago before medication and before I knew what was wrong, when my mental illness was scarier and more unpredictable. I’m a little concerned that my posts may not be good for my stigma-busting; but because I am nothing but open and honest about my mental illness, I refuse to edit my experience. Perhaps it will show the dire need for affordable mental health care, because that is one of the reasons I’m doing this. A correct diagnosis is vital (as accurate as one can get in this field); and as I’ve mentioned previously, I’m concerned all the different types of meds may be have been masking or even causing symptoms. The truly helpful meds are so expensive, even a very old generic medication is barely covered by my insurance simply because it is rarely used anymore. Our local newspaper just ran an investigative series on the appalling lack of good mental health care. The state of this issue in many parts of the world that one would think of as advanced is frightening.

It’s been over 25 years (since my last pregnancy), that I have not been medicated in some form (self-medicated or prescribed) at night. It’s been about 40 years (except for my pregnancies and a few other brief periods) when I haven’t been medicated at all. My brain is not happy. I’m questioning my reality – do I feel this way because that is what I’m expecting?  That’s what makes sense because I’m not even a week into the detox process.

The last time I did this I was in the hospital for four weeks. Two weeks detox, one week clear, one day of testing, one week with a new medication. I wish I could afford to do that now. I know my marriage will survive, my husband is unbelievably understanding and supportive. I have to rein in the feelings of guilt – why would he want to live with Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde? I feel so unlovable; but if I can think of it in the terms of the fact that he wouldn’t leave me if I had any other disease, I should be able to get a grip on those unreasonable fears.

It’s all in my head, right?

(image credit to octothorpopus on flickr)

 

Tagged: bipolar disorder, depression, insomnia, medications-psychiatric, mental illness, psychiatry

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Because Saying “Screw Off” Can Be Hard to Do

tupac

 

Well folks, apparently it is altogether possible that there is an actual meme or photoquote or graphic to describe how I am feeling right now.  And really, leave it to Tupac to set me straight! Things continue on in my world, about as normal as the setting on a washing machine, but again there have been some blips on the radar.

My mom (QoB) and stepdad (Big Dawg) were together for thirty-some years when their divorce was finalized at the beginning of 2015.  Big Dawg did his part (to the best of his ability), in helping my mom raise me.  I won’t say he was perfect, but he wasn’t a demon either.  He was many times there when I needed him, although was just as often in the other room staring at the TV while I cried and fumed and fought and otherwise dealt with the the irascible mental illness within my brain.

He angered easily, although he never struck me or my sister (that I remember), but my clearest memories are of him losing his temper and yelling and doing the lecture-thing far too often.  It was through him that I truly believe I learned some really terrible coping skills and relationship skills, but I don’t hold him to blame for any of that.  It is what it is, it was what it was.

Somewhere between the announcement of the pending divorce and now, I have taken it upon myself to be extra-special-nice to Big Dawg.  Mostly because I feel sorry for him, now quite pathetic and alone.  When he and QoB very first broke up, I do believe (looking back) that he showered me with attention and affection, using me as a pawn to get to my mother.  I do see that clearly now.

What’s difficult, is that the attention he gave me, I had been thirsting after for most of my life, so I didn’t see it as negative at the time.  In fact, it is hard to see it as negative even today.  And maybe tomorrow, it will be difficult, too — I have no way of knowing.

What I do know is that my mind has been playing some fierce tricks on me, and I am at a point where I am on a wire above the city, balancing between giving him more benefit of the doubt, more opportunities, more chances, or just hopping off the wire onto my emergency inflated escape pad and giving absolutely NO MORE of myself.  Now, not no more of myself forever, but for quite some time.

I have a tendency to give too many chances, especially to the men in my life.  Oftentimes, people around me don’t understand it, and wonder why, oh why, is Rosa giving this schmuck another go at her heart and *fragile* psyche.

I have a hard time giving up on people, and I always have.  I can have been completely hurt by someone at age six through thirty, and continue to give more and more chances.  It has worked out in my favor a few times, but mostly it ends me up with heartache.  I don’t want anymore heartache at this point.

I am at a point right now, where I am unsure if I can follow through on current family commitments, nevertheless keep attempting to stoke the fire under a certain person’s ass, praying that they will take notice of me again and give me the time of day.  Praying I won’t always get chosen dead last for every little thing.

I grew up with a romanticized notion of how someone was, deep down, and now that the gold glitter paint is flecking off, I’m at a loss as for what to do.

I will make it through this Thanksgiving because I am tough and LarBear will be at my side, but I am not sure I am going to be able to follow through on anything after that.  I believe everything is going to need to be “up in the air,” and I will take it day by day.

Which, hmph, is what I am supposed to be doing anyway — mindfulness, keep it simple stupid, day by day, minute by minute, stay in wise mind, hug a tree.

 


Filed under: Collection of Thoughts, Relationships, The World Spins Around Me Tagged: anxiety, attention, Bipolar, bipolar disorder, dads, depression, divorce, fathers, giving up, mania, relationships, stepfathers

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