Daily Archives: March 30, 2017

Things Haven’t Changed Much

As you can see from the title things haven’t changed much. I’m still not painting, still not doing much. I’m depressed most of the time and I want out of this jail cell but can’t think for one minute of where I would even go and be comfortable.

Now I have to go make my lunch.

Stoned again.. sigh


And so it goes

Sometimes I feel the burden of life is too much. What have I done to deserve this heavy, hellish life? Where is my luck? Good luck? The luck I see so many people possessing. Some people can skate through life without getting a concussion. They can grow up without suffering abuse. They can have siblings, all of whom live to old age. Their families do well. There is not some crisis or other every few days. I am tired. I am exhausted. Lately, things had been looking quite rosy, had been looking up. But once again, it did not last. Someone extremely dear to me was physically harmed by hoodlums. I feel sick, nauseous, not knowing what I do next. How to survive, indeed why survive when there will only be another calamity sooner or later?

And again I sit here and wonder. When does it stop. Does it ever stop? Will me and mine always be used as a cosmic punching bag?

Literally sick and tired. The fight inside me ebbing away, seeping away. 


Self Forgiveness is an Art

Self forgiveness. I understand this concept in a broader context. I don’t get it when having to relate to myself. A week after my destructive manic episode I’m still trying to pick up the pieces. Mostly I’m pissed off. How could I have done the things I did? How could I treat people the way I did? Again, conceptually I know I was sick and not in my right mind. But when bits of memories jolt me I am ashamed. It’s stings so deep. I don’t remember everything that happened. Almost everyday there is a new revelation. A new stinger inserted in my heart. A new shameful discovery.
Yesterday while visiting my primary doctor, he read me the psychiatrist notes from my brief ER stay. I almost lodged a complaint because I believed no pdoc bothered to talk to me. I was sure I could plead my case and avoid hospitalization if given a chance. Turns out I refused to talk to anyone. Stated I was being wrongfully judged based on past events. I was argumentative and agitated. Hospital bound. There was much more in those notes. I am mostly disturbed I have absolutely no recollection of this interaction. Rather at 4:30 am after arriving at midnight I demanded to know when I would speak to the doc. We spoke at 12:30am. So scary!
This whole disaster plays out in my mind..what I can remember of it. It’s hard for me to reconcile just how out there I really was. I can’t seem to forgive myself..for the phone calls, the worry I caused, my aggressive behavior & demeanor.
I’m supposed to start a new job on 4/18. I just don’t think I’m ready. My memory and recall is so extremely poor. Processing. Decision making. Forget it. I had to send a request to move my start date. I am so embarrassed and disappointed. Why did this have to happen? I don’t know how my future employer is going to respond.
The only way out is self forgiveness. I can’t even begin to know where to start. I try to breathe, but that’s a struggle. I guess I don’t know what self forgiveness truly is.


Sick Again

Now the youngest is down with something again. I’m taking her to the doctor in case it’s strep throat.   Which she shouldn’t be getting any more since her tonsils and adenoids are out.  But she’s hot to the touch and her stomach feels icky, and that’s how all my kids manifest strep. So we have an appointment in about an hour.

Finished up all the schoolwork last night by writing my final workshop critique,  I have a piece being workshopped next week so we will see how that goes.  WE’re getting so close to the end of the semester.  I need to work on my final essay and get it in shape, but I’m still a little frozen up about approaching it.  I may just wait until the last minute and do it so I can’t over think it.  But we will see.  I’ve got a month still to work on it.

Talked to several people and asked for prayer about the mental health panel I’m going to be on in April.  Talked to my friend Betsy at church last night, my church counselor   Michelle, and my pastor about it.  Asked them to pray that I will be positive and not negative about the topic and say whatever needs to be said.

So everyone have a good weekend!

 


Bipolar Disorder And Memory Loss

Originally posted on My Brain Has Hiccups:
Many people with bipolar disorder are extremely bright so memory or other thinking problems can be extremely frustrating and confusing. I’ve never needed…

Dangerous Beads and Other Distractions

Bronchitis: Start of Week 4

Sometimes I wonder if the total of my existence is a practice in patience.  The Art of Waiting.  The Zen of Dealing in the Now.  I get so many opportunities.

Anyhoo, this is what I’m up to while I wait for my lungs to clear and my voice to come back.

I found a British detective series at the library starring the 5th Doctor Who (Peter Davison). “Dangerous” Davies is literally the Last Detective his boss would send on a case.  He’s a milquetoast, a butt of all jokes, a kind and gentle copper in a department full of cynical creeps.  I loved it.

I always need something to do at my craft table when I’m sick.  Luckily, the birthday present I made for my therapist took a wrong turn, and I had to rethink it. I’ve been sewing beads for six days now, which is a perfect, mindless activity for a head full of snot.  And I like where the piece is heading.

Before I got croupy, I’d cut squares for a quilted wall hanging.  A friend, who works at a paint/flooring shop, gave me all their upholstery sample books last summer, and I pulled out bits I thought might look nice in my bedroom.  I used a very old scarf of my grandma’s as a focus and built the progression of squares around that.  In my infirmary, I’ve sewn the top together, layered it with batting and a back, and am now ready to start quilting.  I think it will look lovely on my wall.

I’m not journaling much, but I did try something new.  I’ve shifted from paint to organic stuff that stains.  Organics like tea and spices are subtle and leave the paper soft.  Coffee is my favorite.  I make a pot, then take the filter full of wet grounds and scrub it over the paper.  The thin filter eventually ruptures and I leave the scattered grounds on the paper all day.  Sometimes I add a few drops of ink to the grounds for subtle color.

This time I sprinkled sea salt on top and spritzed the pages with water just to see what would happen.  I’m sorta loving the result.

Taking a shower may still zap all my energy, and trying to talk gives me a headache, but I’m doing stuff, which makes me feel less like a zombie.  And it makes waiting so much easier.