Monthly Archives: July 2018

The Happiest Part Of My Day Is Bedtime

I’ve said it many times before during a deep depression but never have I meant it more than I do now. Sleep, interrupted and haunted by nightmares as it may be, is the one part of the day I truly look forward to. And that’s NOT normal.

I have been in way worse personal situations before. Had far less to look forward to, to live for.

I love my daughter, she is my superpower, my reason for getting up in the morning when every fiber of my being says to stay asleep, pull the covers over, mash a pillow over my head….I fight for her.

But I feel like I’m losing, big time, and I am still 3 weeks from my next med appointment, with yet another new psych pro and my track record with psych nurses is well, one, but it was not a good experience.

My family, as usual, is trying to take over my kid’s birthday. They scream at me to pay the bill that’s in my sister’s name cos they’re broke and no, I can’t make a payment arrangement, but they’re talking about driving 80 miles and spending $40 on party favors…so then they can gripe about not having groceries for two weeks. But it’s this way every year with them, my kid’s birthday isn’t hers, it’s just their chance to show who loves her more by spending more.

I also have to face down school registration next week, which entails driving 22 miles out of the way to fill out paperwork since she entered end of year and I was never given on line log in credentials.

My God, I survived being abandoned with a 2 year old and no money to my name and didn’t feel this fucking hopeless, anxious, and depressed.

That my doctor thought I was in a good place 2 and half months ago is disturbing.

Anyone who’s only joy is going to bed…is NOT doing well and you are NOT a very good doctor to leave a patient in that mental space.

Now my happy time. Lights out, and let the toss and turn commence so eventally I will have the oblivion of sleep. Which is also followed by the self loathing of ‘oh,fuck, I woke up again” in the morning.

This.is.not.norma.or.mentally.healthy. Psychiatric care in this country is appalling in its incompetence.

Is there still Magic

How often do you make time for the magic? A better question, selfishly, is can and do I make room for the magic. My husband bought me a beautiful bike for our anniversary. He often jokes other wives might ask for diamonds, but I wanted a nice sturdy bicycle to take me around. Probably to take me outside of the landmine that is my mind. Its sleek. Dark gray and fast. Fast like me. Fast like my thoughts. Fast like my moods sometimes. I even track my speed and distance on an Excel file. Physically I am always trying to do better. Can I beat my last time? And then, what does it really matter.

I have taken a new job. Not my first choice, but one I obviously applied for. In this electronic and digital age, job postings appear on my phone while I sleep. Dutifully I went to the coffee shop to apply for various positions. I am approaching 45 and trying to make a career change. I am a social worker at heart and on paper. However, I am ready to sow some new career Oats. The job market seems to disagree with me. Application after application. Trying so hard to create, with sincerity, the best damn cover letter imaginable. You need this…check. Yep…super personable. Diligent..double check. I am your Go Too Gal.

I fancy myself a professional. I passed a county test and got invited to an Interview. Must of surpassed at least 20 folks to get this far. The Court system has been a silent interest of mine. I have some experience within the walls of a court room as an advocate for my clients. It feels like a nice fit more me. New…but also pulling in my social works skills. I put on a shiny dress. Answered key questions and waited.I didn’t get the job. I didn’t even get 2nd round interviews. I was devastated. Naively. Possibly. Probably.

This new job. I hope to be the best. I hope I can bring new life. New Skills. New energy. As I await the start date…

I was riding my beautiful bike along the river. For the first time, in a long time, I wasn’t trying to beat a clock. I wasn’t trying to Outdo myself. I wasn’t battling the everpresent voices in my mind. The ones that hang and lure like a lantern. Innocent, but deadly. I made my way up and down the river bank in peace. Breath seamless. Stride powerful. Sunshine guiding me.

As the bike path ended and gave way to city streets, feeling grateful and at peace, I saw the woman I am to replace. She had on a beautiful sunhat, seemingly also at peace, as she entered the Farmers Market. She seemed to disappear into the landscape. As she crossed, I felt a sense that it was right. I am in the right place.

It was magic.

Things Can Be Better

Bob and I met some friends for dinner last night and had the best time talking and eating.  WE really enjoyed seeing them and just talking about what was going on in our lives.  SO that was a good ending to my empty day yesterday.

I’m up earlier than usual this morning trying to get some things done before I go to the grocery store.  I am SO sleepy though.  THe temptation is always to go back to bed.

I’ve about finished my silly little story about the incompetent assassin.  He’s a good shot but not good at the espionage part of things.  I hope people can see that it’s supposed to be funny so I’m wondering what to title it so as to telegraph that right off the bat.  I’m just not great with titles.  But I wrote something.  I’m just hanging on to that victory right now.

My youngest comes back this afternoon so we will see how that goes.  She has had a goo time I think–gone to church for Camp Meeting every night and I think she enjoyed that.

Well, if I’m  going to get anything done I need to get moving.  Thanks so much for teading and following along as I keep on living this bipolar life.

Ass Clowns Shall Inherit The Earth

I survived court. Barely. They had the AC cranked at the courthouse. I got there 25 minutes early (timing shit since we live in Armpit has become iffy, don’t want be late, so I run too early, bloody hell.) and while everyone else looked comfortable…I was literally pouring with sweat from my scalp, face, neck. Oh, and the added bonus, in spite of bathing, body oil, body lotion, perfume, deodorant, anti perspirant and Gain Febreeze sprayed clothes…I was so stressed and anxious, my body began emitting the usual unpleasant stale odor. FFS. I even broke out the pricey Cool Water perfume (was a gift) in hopes it would battle the stress smell and…FAIL.

Donor wasn’t even there but they couldn’t discern if he’d even received notice due to all his address changes so…another hearing on September 14th. And for the life of me, I( don’t know why. The lawyer laid it all out. Abandonment, no contact for six and half years, the state ordered him to pay support and even knowing that when he got a new job…he didn’t notify the state of his address change or new job. There is a no debt, no property, and he sees my dad and stepmom and sister pretty much weekly as they go to buy gas and such where he’s a ‘manager’…and he doesn’t even ask about Spook’s well being, he just has the nerve to tell my dad he got a promotion but it’s still so hard to make ends meet. Boo fucking hoo.

So the lawyer said he’d go to the donor’s job to get a new address and serve him with papers and of course, if the judge doesn’t order the donor to cover fees…I’ll have to. And I still can’t pay my security deposit and now I have the old bill in my sister’s name to handle (never ever try to discontinue serving on line using a smartphone browser if you’re smart phone illiterate like me, I screwed the pooch there.) And I swear the lawyer is dragging things out, chasing donor down, all in hopes of charging more legal fees which he ain’t getting from me unless he’ll accept a dollar a month. My uncle guaranteed on my behalf but my god, do I need more family debt and drama? The nightmare just gets worse and worse.

And ass clowns like the donor keep getting the benefit of the doubt and judges saying, “Nothing’s been done in this case for 2 years, the parties really need to reach an agreement.” WE AGREE WE HATE EACH OTHER. He abandoned us, he has shirked responsibility at every turn,and cares more about himself whining about not making enough money more than asking my dad “Hey, how’s my daughter doing?” What kind of judge needs more than that to just issue a ruling and move on? I swear the donor is coated in Teflon, nothing ever sticks to him, he skates on supporting 3 kids or even being in their lives, he moves woman to woman, job to job, and…he still gets the benefit of the doubt while I get…screwed without dinner or a kiss. Ass clown motherfuckers.

I encountered more of them trying to get out of town and come home cos Dad and his crew were watching my kid but they had plans today so I had to rush back to fetch her so not to fuck up their lives the way they fuck up mine. I am fairly certain 80% of drivers are braindead ass clowns. And if they’d PUT DOWN THEIR FUCKING PHONES they might descend to just being rude ass clowns.

I survived, though. I had a little picture and plastic toy my kid gave me ‘for comfort’ in my hands the while time I was in the courthouse. She is my superpower. Being her mom is strength. I believe it was quoted in Jessica Jones by her mutant mom that , “I always thought I was meant to do great things, to change the world. But I realize, maybe my great thing was that I had you and you’re going to change the world.” (Loosely quoted, you get the gist.) I’m not beating on a bongo drum declaring my uterus has magical powers, but I DID bring a wondermous child into the world and she can do anything she puts her mind to…So maybe having her is my great thing, my gift to the world.

Or she could be bipolar and high strung like me or well, a sociopath like her donor. I can only guide her in the right direction and hope I get it right. Surely, we’re all entitled to get one thing right in our lives.

The fact she was so concerned about my anxiety over court that she gave me one of her Hatchimals ‘for comfort’ tells me she already has more empathy in her pinky fingernail than a large portion of society.

Donate if you can, share if you will.

All You Need

There is a common storyline regarding depression, or depressed people, that love is the key factor. Some people feel guilty that they didn’t love a person enough to prevent a suicide. Some people think that being surrounded by love is the best cure for depression. Some people think that if you have love in your […]

Forever on my mind.

It’s all this iceberg.

 

 

iceberg

Empty Day

I don’t have the heart to write today.  Hopefully I will feel better tomorrow. Hope everyone has a good week.

 

The Bipolar Compass 2018-07-23 16:29:19

So I quit my job last week. Feel like I failed myself. The desire to keep going is so weak. I don’t know what I’m going to do. All I want is to lay here. I feel nothing.

Anxiety Files: My Central Nervous System Is Cannibalizing Me

I’ve been awake since 4 a.m. No mystery why, between the financial stress, the possibility of failing my kid with her birthday and school clothes, and tomorrow’s court hearing facing off with the donor. I’ve been in a state of panxiety all day, jumping at every sound, stomach churning, heart skipping beats, mind racing, frozen in place with paranoid anxiety. Like if I moved, the sky would fall. Yet I paced a lot. A whole lot. Accomplished nothing.

My kid went to my dad’s today. Except they didn’t tell me they were bringing her home to their house after church so I waited over an hour, starting to freak out, then get fucking pissed because I told my brother when he picked her up for church TEXT OR CALL AND LET ME KNOW IF SHE’S GOING BACK TO YOUR HOUSE. I had to call to find out for sure and dad was snarky, like I don’t have the right to want to know where my child is.

Hours ticked away. I remained jumpy and anxious, unable to focus or eat or get anything done. With them, they could bring her back any minute so what would be the point of bathing if they could come traipsing through the door at any moment…Hour after hour, I waited. Supper time for us, not a word. At 8 p.m. I finally texted my brother and said I wanted her back home and he came back with ‘after we’re done with dinner. OMFG, are you fucking kidding me????I waited that whole time so I could cook and eat with my child and none of the three of them could even send a text to let me know????? I was furious, and I think it’s justified, but of course, it’s the usual, ‘she’s in a mood’ or ‘she must be on the rag’ or ‘she’s overreacting’. Spook is MY child, not theirs.

Finally heard from the lawyer, which was a fucking miracle as he had my old number. If I wasn’t still getting magicjack notifications for voice mail (hasn’t been active in 3 years and won’t give me messages but it leaves a number of who called so I got back with him and he amazingly said, after 2 years without a word, he recognized my voice, huh? I must have a distinct voice.) But he will be there tomorrow and I told him I am done with the venom and seeking any back support, I just want the donor held accountable for his legal bills since ya know, he was the one who abandoned us with little food and no diapers for Spook. That’s the least that…person can do. Fortunately, tomorrow will just be a brief hearing where the judge decides to dismiss or carry on to another date. Not good for my nerves but…If he wants to fight me on the custody or visitation thing, I have 15 witnesses, most of whom he’s had contact with as recently as a week ago, who can attest that he’s never once asked them about his daughter. I don’t think his fragile psyche could handle a parade of people pointing out what an utter disappointment he is as a father to all 3 of his kids.

Still, courthouses, metal detectors, formal settings..Ugh, I’m in knots and having random gasping panic attacks and it sucks. Sadly, this was what it was like for me when I worked, every single day with the crippling anxiety. The only time I ever breathed were days off. Or well, one day, because by day two, I knew I’d have to go back. Hard work doesn’t bother me. My brain telling me to feel irrational terror bothers me and I can’t bully it into submission.

I doubt exhausted as I am I will get much sleep tonight. But hey, it’s okay. (No, not really, it pisses me off and I’m tired of always being tired.) But PBS sometimes has some cool shows on at 2,3 a.m. Though last night/this morning’s about new policing and how we are being watched constantly and have no expectation of privacy ever and facial recognition is being run from cop cars…Dear God. It doesn’t matter if you’ve done nothing wrong and have nothing to hide. If your underwear have crept up your ass, you should be entitled to rectify the situation off to the side in semi-privacy. Call me paranoid but I don’t think I am paranoid enough. (Oh, and little tidbit I learned on crackd.com…wearing Juggalo make up has actually proven to be a solid way to beat facial recognition software so while I won’t ever be an ICP music fan…if I ever need to duck and hide…Bitch is wearing Juggalo make up. Just saying.)

Finally…I know I am always doing fundraisers and it gets old and honestly, I’ve been looking for side work but I am either unqualified, undesirable, or fucked due to living in isolated Armpit so…having a fundraiser for my kid’s birthday and school stuff…makes sense. Kids are fucking monsters, especially in the upper grades. I remember one year in grade school, my parents were so broke, I owned TWO outfits. I tried to mix and match and keep them washed but that didn’t stop the little bastards from making fun of my limited wardrobe and calling me “stinky” cos they thought I wore the same clothes every day. I don’t want that for Spook. Not saying she has to be a fashionista, we’re good with Wal-mart stuff (and usually even yard sale clothes but due to being broke, I haven’t even been able to hit yard sales for decent used clothes for her.)

So look at this little girl and tell me she isn’t worth a $5 or $10 so she can at least start school with a couple of new outfits and all the supplies the other kids will have. Click just to share, if that’s all you can do. She’s a great kid (for a demon spawn;) and she didn’t ask for any of this crap situation. Any more than I asked for the one I grew up in, yet survived, albeit the name :stinky; did follow me for a couple of years until my parents were able to buy me a few more outfits. Oddly, kids don’t much care if your clothes smell like laundry soap and are clean. They’ll say mean things just because, well, they’re mean spirited little snots.

Anhedonia and Alienation

I have a hard time feeling pleasure. That’s anhedonia – the inability to feel pleasure. I have a wonderful life and I’m really satisfied in many ways. But I find that I really don’t ever get truly excited about much of anything anymore. I can remember times in my earlier life – before I had The Episode that wrecked my life at 44 and I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder – when I was joyful and full of energy and had a great time living my exciting life. I may not have been the life of the party like so many BP folks are, but I sure did love to party and I had fun doing it. Now I rarely get pleasure from even the simple things of life – a smile sent my way, a cool piece of art, or a song I once loved. These can still humble me but they don’t give me the same level of enjoyment they once did. It’s hard to muster up the energy to be pleased anymore. I fake it a lot.

I know this is a common issue for people with bipolar, yet it’s still very discouraging. Even tho I know my diagnoses and how they play out, sometimes it just sucks bad. I don’t mean to whine. But this is so overwhelming to me that I just have to write about it. I really try to walk with beauty over the Rainbow Bridge, as the Navajo (Dine) people sing so movingly about. I try to follow the advice of Gandhi and live the change I want to see in the world. But now I don’t really care much if I succeed or not. Before The Episode I was very socially engaged – managing a food co-op, founding a non-profit educational center where I met hundreds of people, producing concerts where I affected even more, and working at a lively collective cafe where we made our own ice cream, which I got to make. Yum!! Lots of good people came thru that place and I met my first real boyfriend there from behind the ice cream counter. Good times.

Which is why this is so fucking hard on me now. I was used to a different way of life than I lead these days. Now I live far away from the bustling world of gay society I was such a part of for so many years. It’s more peaceful here, and I have a wonderful home and a loving partner to share it with. But it lacks a certain energy and queer sensibility I was used to and I’m starting to miss it a lot. Last night we went out to the Gay section of town for the first time in years. We saw a hot Drag Show. Wow, those girls (and boys!) can really dance and sing (Lip synching really, but who cares…). It was so Very Queer – it was amazing. I lived right there for over 20 years, at different times, and it was my life. But I haven’t been in that area of town for a long time now. It made me feel so nostalgic I wanted to cry. In fact when I got home I stayed up till 1:30 writing in my journal. I had to stop often to cry. I haven’t cried that hard in years. It all hit me – how far I’d come from those days of merriment and engagement. How I didn’t feel the joy of it all anymore.

I’m a very social person, but I’m an introvert too, so it’s always been hard on me to socialize with other people. But I was so damn hypomanic so much of the time back then that I overcame my insecurities and went out and did cool things. Now I’m too scared to interact with anyone, and I just garden at home. Don’t get me wrong – I Love it and it nurtures me greatly. But there aren’t any People there. It’s all just plants, and tho I used to relish that alone time I got with them, now it feels more like a trap. I’ve tried to join gardening circles, but I have little luck because I get too insecure and scared and stop myself before I even get going. Another common thing we folks with bipolar do. I want to but I just don’t Feel like it. Even tho I’m a very sexual person (even at 67 – never give up!) there are so many times I just don’t give a damn about it, tho not always. 🙂  Not my usual self at all. I just don’t feel sexual and I hate it so much. I hate not being able to always laugh at my partner’s silly jokes. I hate not being able to engage with the neighbors when we go out for a walk. And I hate feeling like nothing will ever make me feel again, ever.

Yeah I’m blowing it all out of proportion, but that’s what it feels like to me, and if there’s anything we Bipolar folks do a lot it’s to live thru our feelings, much to our dismay at times. Emotions are tricky to live with and when you have bipolar they trick you even more. They may always be real, for you, but they aren’t always reflective of consensus reality, if you get the difference. When you live thru your feelings instead of your intellect you often mistake your feelings for the reality others experience. It’s not! It can really fuck you up bad. You mistake simple social cues and you interpret things thru your own lens too much and it’s not always what may be really happening. You may feel awful when there’s no need to. You aren’t being talked about behind your back and you aren’t being thought of as “lesser than”, the way you feel about yourself. People may actually like you, despite your horrible sense of self and lack of ability to take in any compliments that may come your way. It’s kinda stupid and kinda sad when you think about it, but it’s all too real to me.

You can see how anhedonia and alienation can intersect here and how they’ve so harshly impacted my life and the lives of so many others. If you can’t feel anything you feel disconnected and alienated. Duh. It makes sense but it’s an awfully hard thing to live with. For me they seem to go hand in hand, but it may not be that way for everyone. I don’t really know. But I do know that many people with bipolar feel both of these things, whether in tandem or not. We just don’t feel good about ourselves so how can we feel good about life? It’s not easy. We feel that we’re not good enough to even deserve a life full of joy. And that hurts us terribly in many ways. It makes us unwilling to engage in things that may hurt us more. We shut down. You can only handle so much pain at any one time. Why ask for more? That seems crazy, but it may be the only way to get over it. There are potentials for joy on the other side of it if you can just hold on.

Maybe it’s just my age – I’m almost 70. But I see so many older people still loving their lives that I don’t think that’s all of it. I feel young at heart really and I look and act like it. I’m not a couch potato or a slob. I take good care of myself and try to do the right thing always, even tho I doubt myself and don’t really know if it’s right all the time. I second guess myself with people so much it drives me crazy. I’m sure none of them like me or want to hear anything I might have to say. I feel alienated from them. But if I could still feel their energy it would be so different.

I do still remember, tho it’s been so long, what it feels like to really enjoy life. And I do enjoy it sometimes, I’ll admit. I’m not totally shut down – not yet. I still feel love and give it in return. And I know it’s real and not in my imagination. So I have some hope that things can change. I always try to end these posts with something positive and this is the best I can do. I’m attempting to believe that if I keep trying to feel, that eventually I’ll get there, at least sometimes. I just can’t give up. I have to stay present in my life to integrate this and to find peace and serenity, which may be far better than happiness anyway. So I’m still hanging on, but it’s by the skin of my teeth, and my teeth are getting so sore…. 🙂

I hope you’re feeling something good today…

Steve