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Tag Archives: bipolar
Dear Friends, Last year, I wrote about Anthony William’s book Medical Medium. William explained how praying to a group called the “Unknown Angels” helped him a great deal. At first, I was quite skeptical. However, the thought of asking those mysterious-sounding Unknown Angels appealed to me so I went for it and I started talking to them. … Continue reading Thank You Dr. Jamison & The Unknown Angels
I think I’ll post! Sorry it has been a while but I have been seriously so depressed I was happy if I showered once every two weeks! I’ve had no motivation. Honestly I say it is partially genuine feelings and this new weed I got. Both make me want to do more.
I did go to Applebee’s during a slow time for lunch last week. Slowly getting at doing more.
I’ve been playing my computer games but still haven’t painted. I can feel it coming though the painting will happen sometime I just have to patiently wait for my brain to allow it.
My anxiety has sucked a lot lately. My brain just always goes to a negative place for every single thought that I have. I don’t know what to do about it except give my head a shake and go on to the next thought and hope it is better.
Anyhow nothing really has happened besides the Applebee’s thing. My life is not real exciting right now. My days are spent stoned and dozing in the recliner listening to music. It makes me feel relaxed and shuts that voice up for a little while. So I always end up doing it every day. Though the night before I always claim will be a weed free day but it doesn’t end up that way. oh well.
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
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.
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?
I am struggling mightily with the impulse to buy some pet birds. It’s Spring, and I hear the beautiful birds singing, and I just want all the birds!! I have had Zebra Finches before (other birds too) but I like Zebra Finches because they are zero-maintenance. They don’t want to be held or cuddled or paid attention to in the least – they just live their precious lives in their cage and if you get a male and a female they make precious babies! OH! How I want to get some! Then I could just sit in my chair and watch my birds. And avoid studying. Oh. Yeah. That.
Part of me says “Wait until you pass your certification, then this will be your reward” which is a great idea but fuck me I don’t want to study!! I have just rebelled and rebelled and I haven’t studied for a week! This isn’t good people!!! I’m supposed to take the test at the end of the month! This is my own deadline but it’s for a good reason, I need to go out and get a damn job! Have I mentioned how I feel about getting a full-time job? I know I have. I feel like SHIT about it! Oh lawd I think all this shit is tied together. Could getting pet birds possibly help me in some way? Could I become homeless with pet birds? These are the things that pop into my head. I dunno, I just think pet birds would contribute to my home harmony. That sweet little song . . . C’mon people talk me into it!
Well that’s about all for this week except we had a damn snowstorm in the middle of May and I had to say What the FUCK, Colorado?! That sucked. It is beautiful today, though. Snow all gone. Hope all is great in your world.
Filed under: Bipolar, Bipolar and Studying, Bipolar and Work Tagged: Bipolar, Bipolar Disorder, Blogging, Depression, Mental Health, Mental Illness, Psychology, Reader
I am generally one to exaggerate any given idea, event, moment, description, but it is truer than true that my life is really pretty darn okay right now, and has been for a little while.
Yes, there are bumps in the road, but I am using skills more frequently (and without overthinking) to get through the bumps, and the bumps pass much faster than they ever used to.
For once in my life, I can say that my stress level is relatively low, and while that is super and great and amazing, the mental health issues I deal with can make me take calm and serenity and throw it out the window, to replace it with something a lot more familiar, like drama.
Yes, I am saying it: My life is good right now and it is a daily, sometimes moment-to-moment struggle to not sabotage the hell out of it. I have my slips mostly with LarBear, and he is very forgiving and never holds those little fits against me. He knows what is going on, just as I do. Things are good, and it is hard sometimes when things are good, because that is just so unfamiliar.
I laughed when I saw this post on Facebook, but there is such a grain of truth to it. How many days in the last five years did I basically not get out of bed, or get up and get showered or dressed? A lot, y’all, too many to count. I spent months at a time not even leaving my house.
Now that I have regular activities like church and social whatnots and am exercising at the local pool every day, I am finding that I actually LIKE being out and about. I don’t like to be out all the time, but I like it more than I ever thought I would. Because things were the opposite for so long, sometimes I start to fall into a pattern where I ignore my social obligations, my appointments, the pool, these new people I have met, but I find myself turning the mind quickly back to this semi-stability that I have gathered (through a ton of hard work).
After years of angst, I finally have the people in my life that I need and deserve, and I have enough self-respect to cut ties when things are toxic or harmful in some way. I still give people far too many chances, but I rarely let another person really harm me without slamming the door in his/her face. I truly believe that the church family that has come into my life recently was meant to be, that the people in my exercise classes and at the YMCA were meant to be in my life right now for specific reasons. I especially see now how my relationships with family members have changed for the positive, and how it could not have happened before. And of course, some may tire of hearing it, but LarBear was certainly paired with me by something more purposeful than chance.
I really think that the key to my happiness now, and the methods that I employ to stay that way and to avoid fighting the peace within and without, is that I am doing things in my life every day that I love, with people that I love, with intention and purpose. I have an amazing amount of love in my heart that is poured in by others, and my heart is full enough to pour into others, as well, which makes my heart even fuller. Being positive and doing what is effective, is what works. Keeping a close eye on your mood and your thoughts and your feelings, is very important. I think so much of it just boils down to paying attention and to living a life you love. That may sound oversimplified, but that is my sound bite.
Filed under: Daily Tagged: anxiety, Bipolar, borderline personality disorder, BPD, DBT, depression, dialectical behavior therapy, effectiveness, Family, happiness, love, mania, mental health, mental health recovery, PTSD, recovery, willingness
Hi there, my friends! I hope you’re doing well… So yes, I survived presenting my Toastmasters “Thought of the Day” to my Redwood Ramblers group yesterday. Once again, I was nervous as hell. At least my head-to-toe shakiness wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been during my Icebreaker speech. I … Continue reading Stoked I Didn’t Pass Out During My 2nd Toastmasters Talk!
“There is no love without loss.”
When I walked into the British Library, or, later that same day, the Poetry Library, I wasn’t thinking of my sister, who’s a medical librarian. I wasn’t even thinking of my late mother, who was a children’s librarian, and the key person responsible for my love of books.
That day, last week, it was all about me, and them: those magnificent keepers of the world’s knowledge, and passion. Because what is poetry, if it isn’t full of love, and loss, and the bittersweet experience we call life?
Today, though, I feel the distance between myself, and those I love: the distance of an ocean, and air miles, in the case of my sister; and death, in the case of my mum.
Can books, and in particular, poetry, bring us closer to those we love? I believe they can.
So many books take real people as their starting point. Sometimes they’re novels, with a person – living or dead – the basis for one or more fictional characters. Other times, they take the form of biographies, or even autobiographies, where the writer’s purpose is as much to bring back lost loved ones, as to record their own accomplishments, and – if it’s a good autobiography – failures, and more memorable mess ups, too.
Last Wednesday, I made a library sandwich, visiting the British Library in the morning, and the Poetry Library in the afternoon. The filling was the meeting I went to, inbetween. Both my library visits were brief. I had breakfast in the cafe in the British Library courtyard, where I also wrote a poem, then hit the gift shop.
I’ve been to the British Library at least half a dozen times now, but this was my first visit to the Poetry Library. My gratitude goes to my friend the author Stephanie Cage, who suggested my visit.
The Poetry Library is on the fifth floor of the Royal Festival Hall, some place else I’d never been before, and which I found thanks to a friendly Londoner who was originally from Sierra Leone, and was attending his daughter’s concert at the Hall.
The library itself was much less grand than I’d expected, yet it was no less of a pleasure to visit. After a long, information packed meeting, it was good to get on the Tube, and then walk to, what was essentially a small, poetry-specific, library.
Having taken some snaps, and had a quick (Michi)gander, I decided to read some poetry by a writer who I’d previously avoided. All three were edited by her late husband, the Yorkshire poet Ted Hughes, whose festival is next month.
I’m sorry, Sylvia. I’m going to borrow one or two of your books from the local library. I’m still staying away from the “Bell Jar”, though. There’s only so much my bipolar tendency toward severe depression can take.
I like to think you’d understand.
It’s easy to misjudge people: write them off due to their mental, or physical health; or, indeed, both. To avoid them because of the way they smell, or think, or come out with inappropriate remarks from time to time.
Because they are them, and not us.
I took several photos of Nelson Mandela’s statue, as well as reading the inscription below. The older I get, the more I’m impressed by people who can move from positions of great suffering, and / or hatred, toward working with those who oppose, and opposed, them. People like Mandela, and Gandi; the Irishmen Martin McGuiness, and Ian Paisley. Which isn’t to suggest that they were all necessarily admirable people, for no one is, not all of the time.
Over the years I’ve shown a tendency to act like a record which keeps sticking, and skipping, in the same grooves, over, and over again.
It’s hard to move on, difficult to let go. And difficult to know when we should move on, and when we should stick to our metaphorical guns, and turn to our physical pens, and pencils, and keyboards.
I wish you a blessed and thoughtful Sunday, whoever, and wherever, you may be. May your thoughts be helpful ones; your library, peaceful.
Tagged: bipolar, British Library, family, grief, libraries, London, Nelson Mandela, poetry, Poetry Library, Sylvia Plath, Ted Hughes, Ted Hughes Festival 2017, The Bell Jar, writing
A day early, I know. I just finished making not one, not two but three quiches for tomorrow’s Mother’s Day celebration because we’re going to have FIFTEEN PEOPLE at my sister’s house! Oh lawdy help me please!! How am I going to people with all the people??? This is the hazard of belonging to a big family. I know I shouldn’t bitch. It’s a privilege, blah blah blah. Well I’m all out of spoons from all this cooking, I deserve a cookie! Oh wait! Dammit I quit sugar! Bipolar On Fire getting tooooo fat! I’ve been eating like it’s a hobby and like sugar is good for me. Now my clothes are not fitting and I’m very uncomfortable. And I HATE dieting!!! I don’t know what to tell myself…I’m not going to buy bigger clothes!! And I’m trying not to die before my parents! Ah well.
So I got my third and final “fuck you” from Social Security Disability yesterday…no big surprise there but it still threw me into a bit of a panic. Somehow I thought there was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow but it turns out that I’m just like everybody else and I have to work for a living. Damn it all!! I don’t know how I’m going to do it with this cantankerous personality and labile mood. But if Social Security says I can work, then I have to work! Just one more test to pass, it will be a miracle if I get this Certified Ethical Hacker certification. Then it’s off to the job hunt. I’m giving myself until the end of the month.
Well that’s all from Bipolar On Fire Land, how are things in your world? Peace! And peach out!
Filed under: Bipolar, Bipolar and Work, Psychology Shmyshmology Tagged: Bipolar, Bipolar Disorder, Blogging, Depression, Disability, Hope, Humor, Mental Health, Mental Illness, Psychology, Reader