Daily Archives: May 24, 2017

No, YOU Started A Meet-Up Group!

WHO is this person and WHO started a Meetup Group for persons 50 and over?  She sounds like a fucking centenarian!  My God!  The scandal!  Trying to meet people her own age!  And in her own town!  And an Introvert, mind you!  It seems I’ve drunk the kool-aid about it not being good to be isolated all the time, I guess.  Maybe I miss having more friends / social contact than I have now.  Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and think what a bad fucking idea this was and ask for my money back.  And maybe I’ll grow a tail 🙂  Well what the hell.  I started a Meetup group.  Forgive me for cutting this short.  I’m compulsively monitoring Meetup to see if anyone has joined my group yet.  I’ll keep ya posted 😉


Filed under: Bipolar, Bipolar and Meetup Tagged: Bipolar, Bipolar Disorder, Blogging, Depression, Hope, Humor, Mental Health, Mental Illness, Psychology, Reader

Manifest Anxiety

I have run the emotional gamut over the last 4 days from too depressed to be awake to wanting to die to “I’m okay-ish” to today’s “I was fine then the anxiety started gnawing away at me and I had to go out near people and now I am either having a nervous breakdown or a psychotic break”.

Mixed state. Icky.

Sunday my will to live was nil. The bad thoughts were kicking my ass and I was starting to believe their lies, especially when my kid was hosting 6 different kids and shrieks were the ambient noise. That day I managed to wash dishes and fold six baskets of laundry, not out of will, but out of desperation to drown out the depression and its lies of how worthless I am.

Monday was survivable.

Yesterday…I hadn’t eaten in 36 hours, took my meds, and started throwing up. Then my stomach started to churn and not even milk and Pecid were taking it down. I got excessively sleepy and had to stumble through the day ticking off minutes til my kid was asleep so I could escape to dreamland, too.

Today didn’t start out bad. But then came time in the dish and traffic and oh, some dumbfucks parked in the middle of the road arguing about who was the shittier driver. That was pleasant because confrontation sits so well with me. That ratcheted up the anxiety to fever pitch.

Part of this week’s anxiety is being at the shop 4-6 while R is out of town. It’s not that there’s anything to do. Whatever was asked of me was done Monday and now it’s ghost town aside from talking to elderly people who wander in and seem to just want conversation. No, I think it’s the responsibility factor. Like someone trusting their child to you when you’re in the middle of having a seizure and a heart attack as well as being dosed with roofies. I have enough with my kid and cats and home…But ya know, I am forcing myself outside my comfort zone for a friend and also, giving the depression and anxiety the middle finger. Fuck you, I can and will do this, even if it lands me in the Rubber Ramada.

Price for this forced functionality and rebellion is immense. Because I sit home and wonder, did I lock the door, did I turn everything off, did I forget something…Crushing responsibility at the moment. But when not mixed, when not getting my ass kicked by a seasonal depression that’s lasted 8 months…it wouldn’t be a big deal. I am capable enough. At this time, though, I am also altered so much, putting on pants is a challenge.

Of course, I can’t tell anyone around me that. I have to pretend to be just fine because Niki is too smart to be depressed. As if intelligence has fuck all to do with depression or bipolar. I can’t tell my family how bad it is because then they will start thinking I am unfit to care for my child. Yet as I fall apart, my kid is still fed, clean, clothed, going to school, and has friends. No, I am the one I am unfit to take care of. I do the bare minimum for myself because that is what it takes to be a competent mother while in this hellish state of mental unhealth.

Not a word there? I just made it one.

So two more days after today and hopefully R will be back and I will be free of added responsibility. Because I am wearing down and breaking down and I don’t even get to tell my doctor about it, he’s so busy I get to see the nurse in spite of an 8 month depression that’s barely been alleviated due to the fact the midwest still thinks it’s late winter. FFS.

Writing this has given me a headache.

I am gonna tell the nurse I just want to go low dose Cymbalta. I’ve been on it two or three times and the high doses always make my anxiety go insane. I am thinking this time with the Wellbutrin (if they can be mixed, cos you can’t say it’s so just cos the internet said it is) maybe I can be skyrocketed out of the abyss. Cymbalta has done it for me before, one of the best meds ever used by me if you discount high doses causing mania and anxiety. I just hope it’s not a case of “I have to talk to the doctor and he’s gone for 6 eons so you can’t get a script til he returns from Planet Neomaxiezoomdweebie”.

And I best not hear “outpatient therapy”, either. I am beyond the point where talking and art therapy are useful. I am up and ambling about and my anger is keeping me alive…I just want some damned balance and maybe the will to live. Because the way things are going with the new president…the disabled are going to be disposable and I’d like to have my mental ducks in a row before that happens.

And by disposable, I mean, bye bye benefits, not that the Trumpire wants to suck our blood and kill us.

Hey, don’t look at me, college humor came up with that nickname for him. I just like it.


Post to Defying Shadows

So I have written a post about 46reasonswhynot that will hopefully run on the launch date of the new site on DefyingShadows.  I explained the “13 Reasons Why” controversy and said that I wanted to provide a positive alternative to the show instead of just condemning it.  We will see what she does with it.

The local paper says they will get to me next week which is when I’ll be at residency.  Hopefully they will email me and get something out before launch.  That would be wonderful to see.

Working on Bob’s laundry and doing pretty well with it.   Washed Rachel’s yesterday along with all the sheets and things   I’m on track with where I want to be in preparing for my trip so I am happy.

We’re going out to eat for lunch to celebrate the first day of summer vacation for Rachel.  I think we’ll enjoy ourselves.  Bob’s going to join us so that will be fun.

Just kind of in a holding pattern until I leave tomorrow.  I so hope this goes well.  We will see.  Hope everyone has a good rest of the  week.

 

 

 


Surely It’s Me, Right?!

Watching tv. Trying to write. This has been the pattern for weeks. So much on my mind yet I can’t seem to catch my thoughts. I feel like a drifter. Its been just about 3 months since I left my full time job of 17 years. I was leaving many great working relationships behind in pursuit of a less stressful environment. The hope was in doing so I would have less depressive and manic episodes. I was averaging 2 hospitalizations a year. I guess i always forget even with “good” stress, such as a job change, the risk of an episode is high. I added to that statistic w a devastating manic episode.
On to greener pastures I am now in a part time position. A little slower pace. A smaller office. The only person I really talk to is my supervisor. I drift in and out of the office. Sit at my desk. I miss conversations w my old coworkers where I sat in a unit of 8 people, I the veteran. I the one most people came to for assistance. My cubbie mate and I on the verge of a real budding friendship-something I don’t seem to be good at. But, that world is gone. It seems out of sight out of mind.
I know. I know. Everyone is sooo busy. I don’t always reach out as often as I should. But I try. I think of other people daily and wonder how they are. I don’t just forget people. I feel confused when folks I thought were my friends don’t respond. When these same folks seemed so concerned after hearing about my possible suicide attempt (long story wrapped up in my mixed manic episode). Shared my business with others without my permission. I let go of all of that, as I thought they truly cared. Thought they were my friends..or at least more than acquaintances at this point.
Is it me that falls off the map or them? If anything, I keep in contact, albeit hiding, through texts. When they don’t get returned what am I to think? I am lonely. I feel so alone. I have very few friends. Can’t maintain the ones I *may* have. Lost some along the way.
At the same time I don’t want to beg people to be my friend. Surely it’s me, right? You know why I was unable to write this..because the truth hurts. The pain of isolation is grand. To be fair, I do have a husband. He is most certainly my friend. But, 2 people don’t make a circle. A circle of support is always shoved down my throat. If only I had one. If only I knew how to rally one.
I just drift along to and from work. Drift in and out of the grocery store. Drift from my bed to the couch. Drowning in loneliness and isolation. I think people like me. But that’s as far as it goes. I really don’t understand why it stops there. Surely it’s me, right?


With Awful Anxiety, Yet You Can Do This!

Anxiety says you are weak. You cannot overcome this gargantuan problem. A little voice inside your head says this is not true. Anxiety screams you are powerless. Everything is going wrong and it will only get worse. A tiny whisper in your mind says no that is not so. Anxiety bellows who you think you are, get a grip, you cannot help yourself or anyone else. There are only catastrophes in store for you. Forever. A quiet voice in your heart says you are stronger than you think. Panic joins in and raises your blood pressure, makes your heart hammer, you break out in a frigid sweat and are on the verge of screaming that you give up, you cannot do this any more, you just want to lie down and fall asleep forever. A soft voice in your gut says you can do this, you can handle it, just like you have handled 100’s of unthinkable things or not so unthinkable things. Panic and anxiety all but stop your heart, they all but cut off your oxygen, your arms and legs feel as if they are made of lead, your throat is dry,  your mouth has cotton in it, how do you survive this. This time you are done, there’s no help, no flailing your arms as you drown in a sea of terror. Then you hear it, the softest whisoer, the sweetest sound, it’s the love you have given and received all your life long, it is all the positive thoughts you have ever thought in your life, it is gratitude for your life, it is the knowing you are enough, you are strong enough, intelligent enough to, resourceful enough, just enough. You listen to all the quiet voices. They get marginally louder. You listen harder, you cling to these for dear life. You promise yourself that these voices are true and you will listen to them and heed them. You promise yourself anxiety and panic will not win. Even if you need Ativan every now and then, no shame in that, for the first time in months, you have hope. You can do this.