Daily Archives: August 22, 2017

Alive And Frustrated

I really don’t want to write. I really have nothing to say. Still, I know a couple of friends start wondering about me when I go more than a day or two without posting and thank you guys for making me feel like someone gives a damn…

Nothing new.My kid is channeling satan in all new amplified ways. I watched a British special the other day expecting some sort of insight. This couple had a kid who behaved like Spook and they were ready to let the child services people have her as they were at wits’ end and they hired this behavior specialist guy. Mind you, he has no children of his own, just a background in elementary education. He chastised the parents, never met the child, basically told them everything they did was wrong and their child was responsible for nothing.

I will own my less than stellar parenting skills, my mental issues, and my inability to be consistent and keep my emotions in check. At the same time, I refuse to accept that the children don’t bare responsibility for their own behaviors. Of course, his method actually showed improvement in the child’s behavior as well as the parents’ over time so there ya go. I suck as a parent, guy with no kids established proof positive. Meanwhile, every day my kid screams at me for saying ‘no’ and often she screams even when I am agreeing with her, giving her her own way. So pardon me if I think she might be on the beginning slope of bipolar or some sort of mood disorder and she’s got behavioral issues for sure. But it’s all me. Just like me being her bestie and taking all blame will likely make her a selfish horrid person if not serial killer and that, too, will be my fault. Kind of makes you wonder why anyone signs up for the thankless job of being a parent.

Guess it’s for the rare moments, like when my kid, inspired by me writing a poem inside her birthday card, presented me a poem of her about us being two peas in a pod who don’t always agree. (She spewed back my own poem, but I won’t sue her for plagerism.)

Nurse doctor increased my Trintellix to 10mg day. Not feeling any worse than usual. She also said I have every right to request to see my old doctor and she wasn’t offended at all. Hmm…yet at the desk they put me right back with her rather than her specifying I wanted to go back to Dr B. And I was asking all these questions about my medication and this woman has zero clue, said she rarely prescribes it and would have to do research. GOOGLE. Fucking Google it if you’re gonna have a patient taking it. And god, all that clacking on the computer keyboard THE ENTIRE TIME….I gotta get back to Dr. B except he’s so booked it could be months instead of weeks before he could see me so…Frustrated is an understatement.

Today I am babysitting the shop a couple of hours while he does his ‘real’ job. Whatever. That is where I am now, I am a beaten down husk of humanity filled with rage and too whipped by life to even scream and punch things or give a damn. I am having nightmares still about the powers that be taking my kid away. Fact is, if she keeps getting violent with me and I can’t rein her in…It could happen. She makes me nuts but she also makes me strive to be a better version of myself and I need her as much as she needs me. Love is like that. Makes you crazy but giving up isn’t an option…

Even if it kills you.

Guess for someone with nothing to say, I still babble a lot. Or maybe I just had to fight my own stubborn depressive inertia and FORCE myself to write even though I didn’t want to or feel like it.

I am so tired of everything feeling forced or being a fight. I know, welcome to the real world. Well, the real world sucks. And if I’m not back to screaming about not going gently into that good night in the next few weeks, I am going back on the medi go round. Worse than being ‘can’t get dressed’ depressed is being a shambling zombie of apathy who gives zero fucks whether she wakes up in the morning or dies during her sleep.

I watched a show where they were lamenting a mom who killed herself, “Who does that, what message does that send the kid? You’re not worth sticking around for?”

The ignorance about the severity of mental illness is never going to improve. It’s a lost cause, maybe I am too. Or maybe I’m just beaten down and that is distorting my views. Maybe hope will return, perhaps I will view life as worth battling.

And monkeys might fly out of my butt.

Sorry. Had to throw in a pop culture reference. Wayne’s World used to make me laugh so much.

Laughter that isn’t faked…I fucking miss that. One of the side effects of mood stabilizers. Your extremes are tempered but also…all emotion is dampened, even joy.

Bloody hell.

I Got The Job?!?!

Nobody is more shocked than me, but I got the Security job.  Yeah.  That one where I bombed the interview.  Don’t ask me how, I don’t know.  Maybe it was my heartfelt-and-somewhat-pitiful thank-you note after the interview.  I am completely floored.  How did this happen?  It might be God.  But the rollercoaster ride isn’t over yet!  I still need to pass a background check.  I have Bipolar and ADD.  There might be things I don’t even know about that will bite me in the ass.  Who knows?  I am sort of crossing my fingers.  I say “sort of” because I have such mixed feelings about taking a full-time job.  How in the fuck am I going to do this?????  I do not know.  All I can say is I’m going to have to take it day-by-day.

I will write an update once I hear whether I passed the background check or not.  Then there’s the drug test.  I’m less worried about that, since it’s been fifty-plus days since I used pot.  In the meantime I am enjoying the slow pace of my days, and my last days at my parent’s house being the maid.  I am worried about what Mom and Dad will do without me.  I have to let that go.  So much letting go . . .

I’d love to hear from those of you who work full-time – how do you do it???  Hope you are all well.  Love, BPOF

Filed under: Bipolar, Bipolar and Work, Bipolar Disorder, Mental Illness, Psychology, Psychology Shmyshmology Tagged: Bipolar, Blogging, Mental Health, Mental Illness, Psychology, Reader

Getting Ready

SO I start tomorrow teaching and am looking forward to it.  First day we will go over the syllabus and get to know each other a little bit, and if we have time we will have a short writing assignment for the rest of class.  Second day we’ll start on the literature.  Fun fun fun!

Today I made it to class five minutes early so that is good.  I went into the computer and figured out how to log onto the network and sent something to the printer to print and that went well.  I only stayed for a half hour today and came on back.

i’ll say this–I’ll get some exercise walking from the parking lot to the building.  It’s up some steps and a little bit of a walk  from behind one building up to the one I teach in.  SO we will see how it goes.

I got into my W class early and realized I did not have one of the books, and of course it is the first one I’m supposed to read.  I wound up paying almost 30 dollars for it so it will come in on time.  So now that’s maddening.

SO I will hopefully have lots to talk about tomorrow.  I am so excited to be doing this and seeing where I can go with it.




I had a whole other blog post half-written, but when I came back to it, none of the bipolar drama mattered any more.

There was a theme of WANTING this summer, but we all know wanting comes from believing there is a hole in our soul that needs filling.  The cure for wanting isn’t changing our bodies or our location, it isn’t filling that hole with stuff or people.  The cure for wanting is to sit with it, cup it gently in our own two hands, breathe it in and out.  Then, we remember we are whole where and when we are.

I’ve been thinking about turning 60 in a couple of months.  I don’t usually pay attention to birthdays, but this is kind of a milestone for me.  See, I never expected to live to see 60.  In the back of my mind, far from consciousness, I think I was marking time until I made a decision to exit this world.  Turning 60 means I’ve made a different kind of decision.

At first I didn’t think I’d created much of a life—it certainly didn’t look like the life I imagined for myself when I was a girl.  But when one of my mental health gurus said, “I’ve always thought you were good at living,” I reconsidered.

My sister’s husband died three weeks ago after a long illness.  She had been preparing for that eventuality—buying a home in Oklahoma where her son and his family live, clearing out sheds and closets—but the last six months of constant caregiving along with Hospice drained her life energy.

I supported her the best I could.  When the time came, I stood beside her as her husband died and when some of his family members got ugly.  I stood at the graveside with one arm around my tall, cowboy nephew, and the other around his little son, and I felt alive with love for my family. Last week, my sis and I packed our vehicles with the last of her things and caravanned to her new permanent home.

Yesterday I returned to my home of geriatric (and complaining) cats, art projects in progress, the last week of water walking at the Aquatic Center before it closes for the season, watching the addictive drama of Big Brother with my friends, coffee and movies and lunches with other friends, meeting the interim minister at church and volunteering to lead a SoulMatters group.

I think it’s time to give up my hair shirt.  It’s time to embrace the good life I’ve created and allow forgiveness to become part of it.  Today, all I want is to be content, to be grateful.

Breathing in, I choose the Adventure.

♥ ♥ ♥

P.S. Happy Birthday, Richard.