Daily Archives: March 14, 2014

Bipolar, Employed, and Hating it

Jobs are for brains that can make plans and stick with them. Jobs are for people who can go with the flow, and not just be pretending to.

My new job is working in retail. I am a visual merchandising assistant. I make a little above minimum wage, but that’s not the problem..

..the problem is that I work with young, backstabbing, vain, horrible, non professional people. These are the kind of people that make cliques and make everyone else who isn’t in it feel like outsiders. They are really fake and mean to people whom they don’t deem fashionable enough.

The other day I got sent in the office for a talk because I had ask for my boss’s boss opinion on a project I was doing. She helped me and was really okay about it, but then turned around and told my boss that I didn’t know what I was doing, and that he must not be training me right! She got all of that from me asking her advice! My bosses told me to never talk to her again because she just acts like that about everything. Basically, she is out to get me. THEN they told me that I need to calm down because I am just an assistant and that my enthusiasm was too much!!

Too much?? Too much?? If they only knew how much I needed and wanted a job! How much effort it takes me to keep something because of my mental illness! It shocked me!

Now, I’m sitting in-between a rock and a hard place because I need and like what I do, but the people are not my cup of tea.

How can I overcome this??

Filed under: depressed, Ranting

Demon Bait

So I am watching season one of Supernatural (again) and they were talking about how someone who is panicking or has emotional damage is leaving themselves open to demonic possession. And my first thought is, I AM DEMON BAIT.  But really, what self respecting demon would want to occupy my fucked up brain? I’d thwart their evil plan to maim and murder with an unexpected mood swing of tears.

I think of these things. Not because I believe either end of the good/evil spectrum but my imagination isn’t merely vivid, it’s technicolor.

Not a bad day. Ran errands. Cleaned house. My mood keeps going up and down as the sun comes up and goes down. I swear my depression is directly linked to the weather. It goes beyond simple seasonal affect disorder.

After dodging invites for 3 weeks, my guilt kicked my ass and I accepted an invite to visit with R and his wife tonight and so Spook can play with their granddaughter. I am already in hyper dread mode with the anxiety kicking up dust like a cyclone cloud. The professionals tell you to force yourself to be social, it will be good for you, blah blah blah. They’re too clueless to know that in a true depression, being around others doesn’t help. Not me, anyway. I spend the whole time ill at ease, with a mask of normalcy plastered on, while my mind is circling the drain wondering how much longer I must endure before I can be free.Yes, free. It’s like a prison sentence. And I don’t blame it on others being bad company. It’s just the depressive mind frame. Maybe this sort of thing helps mild depression. Major episodes, it just makes me feel even shittier because that slim portion of my brain that predates the depression will turn up the volume on the conscience and I will feel guilty for not enjoying myself and for wanting it to hurry up and be over.

Truth be told, were it just me, I’d probably dodge again or come down with temporary ebola monkey flu. But after months, I know Spook wants to see her friend and I failed to take her to a classmate’s birthday party the other day because I was in such bad shape…I can’t let this shit rob her of a childhood the way it’s managed to rob me of a life. But I can also only fight so much, there will always be casualties with depression. For tonight tho, I am gonna suck it up and put in 2.5 hours max before a polite  leave. I keep telling myself I might enjoy it. R hasn’t spoken to me in 4 months I pissed him off so bad. The tension is not something I, or my panic disorder, are looking forward to. His wife says wine will be involved. That should make him easier to tolerate.

I sound awful I suppose. It’s soo easy to sit on the outside looking in and judge others. I do it myself, usually without intending to. Usually because I was judged first. Until you’ve been in that exact same spot though, your opinion is null and void. Don’;t just walk in my shoes. Wear my dysfunctional brain for a day. I wish others could. Then they’d grasp just how much it’s all not some sort of affect or put on. I don’t hate people for fun or sport. I don’t avoid contact because I think I am superior. My brain just sends out so many wrong messages. And right now it’s telling me I’d rather stay home tonight and just feel crappy without extra incentive.

Alas I will go. I will put on the mask and appear civilized. I won’t mention that the panic has kicked in and is telling me I am in danger from some unseen entity. I will smile and chuckle and pretend I get the same joy out of life as others.

Faking it has become a way of life.

Kinda makes being demon bait seem attractive.

We Don’t Do That Any More, Do We?

Here’s a story that caught my eye recently.


It’s long, but worth reading. But for you busy people, I’ll summarize.

Two thousand unmarked graves were found on the grounds of an old hospital. Whose could they be? Civil war dead? Victims of an epidemic?

No. That section of the old hospital was an asylum, and the bodies were those of inmates. The insane. The developmentally delayed. The rebellious. Anyone the family wanted to hide and forget.

Of course, we don’t do that any more. No more locked, back wards. No more Snake Pits. No more Cuckoo’s Nests.

No, the asylums (pardon me, behavioral health residential facilities) have largely been closed and the inmates (pardon me, clients or residents or patients) released.

After their 30 days of insurance coverage run out.

To a group home that has a waiting list longer than the Mississippi.

To outpatient centers that hand out meds that may or may not have an effect or even be taken.

To the streets.

To a society that hates and fears them, lumps them all together as eyesores and NIMBYs, panhandlers, homeless and jobless, and spree killers.

Of course there are mentally ill people who are able to function in society on some level or another. They’re the ones who have likely never been in a locked ward. Those with understanding families, good insurance, nearby therapists, and a support system of friends. People who can hold a job. The ones who hardly ever shoot other people. People like me.

Still, the functional mental patients, your coworkers and neighbors and even family members are afraid to “come out” as needing help or getting help. They won’t even admit to taking Prozac, despite it’s being one of the most prescribed drugs in America.

Why is that? Because even if the asylums are gone, largely closed by lack of funding rather than obsolescence, the stigma remains. As a society, we have the impression that all people with mental disorders are psychotics or schizophrenics, lurking nearby just waiting for the chance to get their names in the papers and on TV.

We don’t lock up mental patients much any more. Now we’re humane. We give them apathy, invisibility, fear, and maybe a few drugs.

And the same old stigma.

Bring Change 2 Mind PSA

Bring Change 2 Mind is an excellent organization whose purpose is “To end the stigma and discrimination surrounding mental illness through widely distributed Public Education Materials based on the latest scientific insights and measured for effectiveness.” The organization was founded by actress, Glenn Close, who has a sister with bipolar disorder and a nephew with … Continue reading »

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The Importance of Memories

The following was written in 2009, not long after my dad passed away from cancer.  I thought I would share it on here in honor of his birthday; he would have turned 78 today.   As hard as certain dates are for me, like the date of his death, Christmas, etc., his birthday always hits me the hardest. I don’t think the pain of losing my dad will ever go away, not completely. I have learned that it is okay to grieve forever, as long as I don’t let it hinder my living.  Though my dad is gone from this earth, it is up to me to keep him alive in my heart and to make sure his grandchildren never forget how wonderful he was.   Whether you lost your loved one recently or years ago, don’t ever let go of those precious memories.   They are an important part of who you are, and if you regard them in the right way, the loss of that person can fuel your future, making you strive to be the best you can.  I wish my dad was still here today.  But five years after his passing, I can see how losing him opened my eyes to the world around me.  Everything I do, I do for him.  I know he can’t see the choices I make, but I like to think if he could he would be proud.                                                                        

Hesitantly I take the photo album off the shelf and open it to my favorite page.  It is a picture of my father and me at my fourth birthday pool party in the month of June, 1983.  Someone had given me a make-up set for the occasion and he’s helping apply a thin layer of pink lipstick to my young lips. 

I close the album before the tears pooling in my eyes can drop onto the pages.  The best memories of my childhood are times spent with my dad, yet he passed away on February 15th of this year.  I have tried to stuff these memories into a dark corner in my head, afraid that to relive them is to ache all the more for the loss of something that can never be replaced.  I have tried to convince myself that it is better to let the memories die along with him, to forgo the bliss of happy times in order to ignore the pain of losing him.

But on this day I  resolve to embrace what I have tried so hard in the past few months to push away.  With a deep breath I close my eyes and allow myself to drift slowly to the place where fragments of memory trickle in, and then I feel a great whoosh of emotion as it all floods back to me. I brace myself and fall back in time to where a little girl’s world revolved around her Daddy…

Saturdays were when we went to town, just the two of us, leaving my mother to some peace and quiet at home.  Our trips were predictable and commonplace.  I would climb up into his black Ford with the red interior and we would take the scenic route from Maysville to Jefferson.  As old country songs softly filled the cab I would gaze out the window at the clumps of majestic trees broken only by the patches of grassy pastures.  I would point to the horses and cattle that grouped  themselves here and there and he would smile in wonder of the countryside as if he were seeing it through my own tender eyes.  Often he would tell me stories of his own childhood.  The funny things he and his cousins would do.  The tricks he would play on his sisters.  His horrible fear of rabid dogs back then.  Sometimes I would sing songs to him that I had made up and he would delight in my creativity to make words and music intertwine with my tunes about pets and places and people. 

Among stops at the hardware store, quick browses at the small shops downtown, and payment of the electric bill at JEMC, our trips would often include visiting his parents at their home in Dry Pond.  My grandfather would let me help myself to his peanut brittle and Danish cookies and Daddy would play a game of checkers with me. I always revelled in the times I won the game because he always made it a challenge and never let me win on purpose. 

In the hot days of summer my favorite part of Saturdays was the stop at the old Langford store where Daddy would buy us each a cold bottled YooHoo and Mr. Langford would try to bribe me into talking to him with promise of a piece of bubble gum.  I would duck my head shyly and pull close to Daddy’s side while Mr. Langford would chuckle and claim “That’s the most bashful child I’ve ever seen” and hand me the piece of bubblegum anyway.  As we left I would look up at Daddy and grin.  He would laugh and help me back into the truck and we would enjoy our cold drinks on the trip back home.

The best memories from my childhood revolve around Daddy.  Adolescence brought more bittersweet instances, as a father tried to hold on to the child, while the child tried even harder to grow up and branch out into her own patterns.  That is the way of a teenager. This made for arguments, hurt, resentment.  Still, there were the happy moments.  The jokes.  The recollections of past years.  The sense of being the same in so many ways. Despite being adopted, he never treated me like I wasn’t his own flesh and blood, and people who didn’t know otherwise would swear I looked just like him. We shared a lot of common interests, so beyond being a father to me, he was a great friend and a wise teacher. He taught me the importance of being polite and considerate of others, of working hard and saving for tomorrow.  My daddy was truly a good man.  Forget the bad temper and the occasional criticisms.  Beyond that, he was trying to mold me into someone who could make it in this world.

I have not “made it” in this world as well as he and I had hoped.  I feel like I  let him down many times, though he never seemed to stop loving me.  He had a hard time accepting and understanding my mental illness (as we all did), and I was ashamed of being considered “broken” to someone who meant so much to me. In my humility I distanced myself from him the last few years of his life.  We still talked on the phone daily, but I rarely visited. I live to regret this now, as I wonder if he knew when he died how much I still thought the world of him.  How I will never live a day on this earth not wondering what he would have me to do, what paths would make him proud.  For all the times he helped me during my life, whether financially or with his wisdom and advice, I can never, ever repay. 

I had the privilege of seeing his face light up every time I brought my daughters over to see him.  He was such a good Pawpaw to the girls. It was the most beautiful sight in the world to see him outside playing with them.  Together they would plant sunflowers, pick blackberries, and feed the birds.  He would help Kayley find rocks for her collection, just as he had for me when I was that age.  She and Emily would giggle in delight every time he rode them around in the wagon.  Because of Daddy, my girls now have memories that mirror the ones I have. 

Reliving these memories hurts.  It creates a lump in the throat, a strangled intensity that will not pass.  But it is important to keep these recollections alive, to never hide them in the corner, to never let them fade into useless frozen matter.  These memories are my only lifeline to the greatness of my father.  I will not abandon these thoughts, these feelings, these regrets, no matter how much it pains me.  I will not abandon my father’s legacy, and I will do all I can to protect it. 

Daddy, I miss you.  I will always be your little girl.

Left Brain vs. Right Brain: Let’s Get Ready to RUMMBBLLEE!

Are you left brained or right? Well if you don’t know find out HERE. For me, I use both sides of my brain equally. I googled left or right brained tests and every one I finished said that I use both sides equally, which surprised me because I KNOW I’m not left brained. I’m also not that right brained either…

The brain is a deep deep place. Enjoy the test, the photos, and YOUR BRAIN!!




Filed under: Awareness, Images, Links, Ranting

It All Started At Birth (Age 16 ~ This Part Is A Bit Rough) Warning: Potential Trigger

Where was I? Oh yes, my parents were waiting for me, and they were angry although not quite as pissed off as I was. However, I may have been in shock by the time I got home. All my parents had to say was the equivalent of “Where the hell have you been”? I didn’t […]

It All Started At Birth (Age 16 ~ This Part Is A Bit Rough) Warning: Potential Trigger

Where was I? Oh yes, my parents were waiting for me, and they were angry although not quite as pissed off as I was. However, I may have been in shock by the time I got home. All my parents had to say was the equivalent of “Where the hell have you been”? I didn’t […]

Throwback/Throw Up Thursday

I remember hearing this as a kid growing up. The old man had some Stones records and I listened to the radio a lot too. Probably hearing the word "children" caught my ear, then confusion over the rest of the lyrics. I couldn't help noticing they were dark, way back then. Over the years it's become a love/hate song. Why? I'm not sure. Maybe because the lyrics triggered some shit before that I'd buried with bourbon and tequila: like almost every other young teen girl/young woman I was abused and used without my consent. And that's only some shit. Really fucking hard words to type right now, even if I'm being somewhat vague. This is the first time I've even put shit like this out there in public.

I gotta stop there. I don't want to trigger any PTSD shit or burst out in tears again, like I did earlier for no other reason than possibly PMS. I went from extreme anxiety to bursting into in tears in a second online while on FB this morning, without a single thought in my head. Part of me wanted to keep crying, but the other part of me wanted to slap the shit out of me and make me stop. I certainly didn't want to be seen by my spouse that way. He probably wouldn't say anything to me, or ask what was up, and not take it any further. So I'm hardened by some of my seroquel, and dry-eyed now. If seroquel can kill emotions (maybe?), then I'm all for it for now.

This morning started out well, if you can call garbage trucks emptying dumpsters a nice sound to wake up to. Well, it was a change from my regular alarm noise. I quickly and quietly threw on some workout clothes and a giant XL hoodie, and went out in the dark. I waved to the homeless lady smoking on the stoop on the way to Starschmucks. She was up and smoking. No treats for me, just the usual free coffee, then scurrying off to a corner, by a window. I felt paranoid, like there were too many people looking at me. Maybe I was looking at too many people. Maybe because it was a sausage fest. I got out of there pretty quickly after the coffee, and lit up a smoke. Goofy me listened to this on the way home. 

After fussing with the fucked up front door lock, I crept back inside, got online and pulled up a whole bunch of stuff. Also a bunch of other things that I deal with every day, including SuperBetter, which I'm still doing. I heard/saw a cool video posted by an imaginary G+ friend. I commented that it made my day, and that nothing was going to crap on it. I spoke too soon, of course. 

I forgot to check my Psychobitch Calendar. Oops. Maybe another dose of that mariachi music will ease the pain of my wounded fuckin' soul.

Yesterday was shrink day. Instead of spending my semi-private crying time/space, I spent the whole time at the shrink's trying to calm down from anxiety (even though I got a ride there), and stop shaking like a goddamn chihuahua again, as well as bitching all about my shameful marriage. That has become what I have decided is... abusive. And I'm ashamed of it all.

The shrink asked me how I felt when I was angry with the spouse. I was already angry, I said he ought to be pistol whipped. He said that he could probably see me doing that. Then I mentioned that it's probably a good idea that I don't own a baseball bat.

He strongly suggested marriage counseling again, and I told him that there was no way that was going to happen while the spouse was laid off, and just not at this time in general. He pretty much sees me being the problem, not him. He's really tight with his money unless it's being spent on something for himself these days.

I sent a text to the spouse afterward telling him I'll be taking the bus home. So I went out and waited for 2 buses that never came. I didn't give a shit really. I didn't want to go home, but I didn't know where else to go. Fuck, I should have just taken a walk up the hill to the big cemetery, and walked around with my iPod and smokes. That's something to consider next time I'm at the shrink's. Another thing is that I'm not going to be wasting all my time there bitching about my abusive relationship. There. I said it. Fuck.

Today just didn't turn out right. I tried to keep my chin up. Then I have to go and have weird physical pains - stabbing ones. What the fuck?! You get your fucking gall bladder out, figuring that it will take the pain away in that spot, just next-door neighbor to your liver. Then they tell you afterward that it may not stop the pain in that region, that you still might feel some on occasion. Odd thing is that I never had gall stones. Just pain. So was there a point to it? What the fuck was that all about? More scars to add to my collection? 

God, I want a drink or seven. Tequila. And I want to drink alone. No chance of that happening here. I want to kill the pain, numb the brain, turn off the projector that plays the loops of film, pass out, blackout, disappear. I don't fucking want to live like this. I don't want to live inside of me. Somewhere there's an alarm clock and a bullet with my name on it.

Advice is like leprosy:I don’t want it

Seriously I value input, I truly do. BUT to get a three page comment from some person declaring he’s the greatest thing since god and he has cyclothmia but he is superior to normal people and he’s telling me not to take meds….Geesh, am I a freak magnet or what? He proved the point of exactly why I do suffer the dreaded meds. Because a crazy ranting manic monster is what I’d become. I’d be leaving comments like that and be clueless that I was being a nutbar because my meds STOP ME FROM BEING A NUT BAR.

I get a lot of comments like that and I just spam them. I don’t have time to deal with people who are on a manic delusion. You don’t want to take your meds fine, but I’ll keep mine so I don’t get the notion I am more important than God.

Today was non eventful. My mood was mid ground. Not up or down. Anxiety came and went but tolerable. My kid was less demonic than usual.

Dr’s office called to change my appointment to the 26th because my doctor is on leave for two weeks and they have some male doctor filling in. Me, in my infinite self absorption, didn’t wonder for a minute why my shrink is out. Like did she get sick or hurt or a family member die…No. It’s all about me and I DO NOT DEAL WELL WITH NEW PEOPLE ESPECIALLY A DOCTOR AND I NEED TO EXPLAIN MY MEDS AREN’T WORKING OH GOD WHY DID SHE DO THIS TO ME.

I suck that way, I own it. But it is hard for me to talk to new people, and I have had shit luck with male shrinks listening to me, so my anxiety isn’t without grounds. I need stability and all I ever get are revolving shrinks and counselors. They wonder why my trust issues are exacerbated. I try to go with the flow as I don’t have a choice but still…a fill in doctor makes me nervous. The Viibryd simply isn;t up to snuff and my doctor had said she had other ideas to try, so I’m gonna go see this guy and he’;s probably gonna keep on this stuff or want to go with one of the old school ones then she will come back and… I’m reaching that point of frustration with the meds not working and the side effects, I just want to quit taking them all. Well, except Xanax, it’s my bestie. Seriously tho. The psychologist I talked with a couple years ago told me it’s very common for bipolar patients to stop taking their meds because they feel better or the side effects are so bad. I don;t want to be cliche and I know I need my meds, but I have so many strange side effects Ive forgotten what normal physical health feels like.

I don’t want the meds. I just know they are a necessary evil. Now give me something that works properly, I might whip out the pompoms and cheer for the pharma companies.

Ok, I’m tired and more disjointed than usual. My kingdom for Focalin. Think when I was on it was the only time I actually managed to stay on topic and not come off as having scrambled eggs for brains. Sad thing when the doctor will prescribe but insurance won’t pay so you’re screwed. It might not cure depression but I’d be less depressed if I could think clearly and focus.

On the bright side…there’s the sun. Or it could be an oncoming train, I get confused.