Daily Archives: August 17, 2014

Faith, Hope and Love

…..and the greatest of these is Love.

Thanks to my support people, I’ve got that one down pretty well. But I’m sure struggling with the faith and hope parts. They go together—if you have faith, you have hope—and I feel bereft of both these days.

Please understand, Constant Reader, that I am not depressed. I am merely experiencing an existential crisis that I think is perfectly normal considering what I’m going through at the moment. Pieces of my old life just keep slipping away with every week that I remain unemployed, and the worst hasn’t even happened yet—the utilities are still on, Will and I have plenty of food, our meds are paid for, and we are not yet homeless.

I just wish that God in His infinite wisdom would let me know what He’s got up His sleeve, because I feel completely adrift in the world and I’m not getting any direction. Sometimes it even feels like He’s so far away that I can’t find Him. I talk to Him in the darkness of the night and receive no response; I go to Mass and pray the ancient prayers of the faithful, and I feel like a liar. This faith crisis is so serious, in fact, that I didn’t even go to Communion today—I feel I’m unworthy of the privilege when I’m not even sure right now what I believe.

It’s not that there isn’t sufficient evidence of God’s mercy and grace; all I have to do is look over at my husband and know that we owe his life to more than modern medicine. And I’m reasonably sure that He works through human beings for our greater good, as has been made manifest in the generosity of my friends and the guidance of my doctor (AKA life coach). It’s just that I don’t feel like I’m being heard when I beg God for a way out of this situation, and it scares me because maybe there isn’t one after all, or at least not one that doesn’t require enormous sacrifice.

Then I get to thinking: what makes me so special that I shouldn’t have to face adversity? Nobody ever said life was fair; if that were the case, Jesus would never have gone to the Cross. People go through hard times, they lose people and homes they love, and they survive it. I’ve been blessed throughout my life with so many good things, and relatively few heartaches. So why do I feel like I’m being punished?

Here’s where my melancholic Irish heritage comes in: it’s because I’ve been blessed with such abundance that I have to suffer for it somehow. I’m serious. We love our good times and celebrate them heartily, but we also fear them because we know bad ones will follow. (Sound anything like bipolar?) So in one sense, I’m almost resigned to paying for all I’ve been given by having some of it taken away from me—by illness, by aging, by unemployment, and/or by just plain old bad luck.

This is where faith, hope, and love come in. Love, as I’ve said before, is not an issue—there is no doubt in my mind that I am loved. I have only to feel Will’s touch to know it. But God, while You’re trying to figure out what to do with me, I could really use some faith and hope right now…..and if I’m wrong and You really are trying to communicate with me, would you please make me shut up and listen?


It’s Quite Okay

After my ‘scare’ of the other day, it was a big relief that the pressure of the false memory/dream/whatever faded fairly quickly after taking that little extra bit of Seroquel. And it didn’t come back, so perhaps the combination of upping my meds on the spot and talking it out neutralized it. I find that talking/blogging about things like that rob them of their dark powers over me. After all, if I expose it for false instead of letting it lie to me and make me hide in its gloom… :)

Still, I always worry a little bit that something will crop up that I cannot beat down. It took me a long time to get to a point where I tried to fight down anything, and once I started winning against some of my brain’s tricks, I was worried that it would find new and worse ways to catch me out. The devil you know, you know? My brain trying to convince me that I was formerly married is definitely a new one, and as said — it was a fairly disturbing thing for my brain to crap up. But I have to remind myself that I am still pretty freshly postpartum; time might be ticking along splendidly, Littlerbit is only just two months old. My hormones and everything are still pretty shaken up, even if I am feeling mainly fine. So that doesn’t necessarily mean that such delusions are likely to be the state of scumbag brain play normally. I’m hoping at least, and hope doth spring eternal.

For what it’s worth, my brain has been working delightfully lately. For example, I’ve made some breakthroughs on my knitting abilities. In this week, I’ve figured out cabling, knitting in the round, and how to actually use stitch markers. I’m so chuffed — it opens up the world of knitting quite a bit wider. And, being left-handed, all my learning is hard-earned, as there is very little useful tutelage online for us sinister sorts. Between that and latent anxiety, my knitting skills have been especially hard won. But it’s so good for keeping my brain quiet in addition to writing and gaming, so hooray for being able to do it more better, ha ha.


The post It’s Quite Okay appeared first on The Scarlet B.

Instagram Memes

I am obsessed with Instagram. I mean, really obsessed. I love taking #ootd (outfit of the day) pictures. I love taking pictures of my food. I love making photo collages. I am no photographer, by any means. But I like to think of my Instagram as another creative bipolar outlet, like my writing.

Lately, I've posted a number of memes that have really resonated with me. Here are a few.

The following one speaks to my soul. I have worked my butt off for everything I have. I have degrees from Duke and Rutgers. I'm hoping to add a second masters to the list in a few years; I'll be in graduate school in a year. I've been manic three times, depressed three times, and hospitalized three times. It is a process to stay stable. I have made some bad decisions along the way. I have paid the cost for them. But I have (painfully) grown into the 30-year old that I am. And I love her, so dearly.

This is how I feel sometimes (in the picture below). I have been having such a great summer. But I fear that I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. Last year, I became depressed after the mania ended. I fear that the same thing will happen again. Although I think I'm better protected this time around; I'm on an anti-depressant.

This is a pet peeve of mine (see image below). I hate when people use mental disorders as put downs or as adjectives. Find a better, less offensive word. I blame the Katy Perry song for this.

Fatigued and Dehydrated in Paradise

Avonlea and Rilla picking wildflowers in Bear Creek!   It’s a spectacular, sunny afternoon in Alpine Meadows. I’m alone in the “Munchkin Cabin” while Lucy naps on the cool kitchen floor. The rest of the family is swimming in the … Continue reading

Ask Me About My Multiple Neuroses Disorder

Long day. Ups, downs, in betweens. Lamictal, are you failing me?

My kid is spending the night at my dad’s. He was an ass when they picked her up and that brought me down. Her being gone made me feel more off kilter because damn it, she’s my kid, her not being here feels…lonely. She drives me nuts but this is her home and it’s just a roof overhead without her uzi child rapid fire. She is what makes the place a home.

I found out finally that she can take the school bus BUT…Pick up is at 7:20 am (I don’t do mornings or schedules well) and she has to transfer buses twice to get there and twice back. They assured me there will be aide present for the wee ones, but….Geesh, she’s fucking FIVE! I am freaking out, unsure if the bus is the way to go, or if I should cave in to my control freak nature and take her myself even if I have to sacrifice Mangoritas for gas money. Oh, wait, I don’t buy my booze, R buys it. He buys my smokes, too. I guess I could stop feeding the cats for extra gas money…

I am just fucking lost. I will be so glad once the first two weeks are over and we have established a routine. I don’t do well with new things. At all. I get that it’s about my kid, not me, but I was neurotic long before I became a mom. This shit doesn’t just go away because your uterus housed a spawn.

So once she was gone and the bus thing was gnawing away at my brain…The day seemed to drag on and I was just…here but mentally, elsewhere. The anxiety has my stomach in knots like pretzels. I hate it with a passion. I don’t know why they can’t invent booze in a pill. Take one, numb the panic, then you think clearly. The professionals don’t believe this, of course, but it’s true. Once I get in a comfy place after a drink or two, I can focus better and I am calmer and more lucid. It is a fine line between that and blotto but if the fucking meds did what they’re supposed to do properly…

Excuses, excuses, I suppose.

I saw something on Reddit today (well, more than one thing) that pissed me off big time.

First was a story about some mom being arrested because she was overheard in a store saying the word “fuck” in front of her kids and she used an angry tone or some shit. Really? The system has nothing better to do? And wtf is with “well meaning” strangers butting in to things that aren’t their business? Unless you see someone punch a kid, you need to shut the fuck up.

The second was submitted by a Redditor asking, “How do I get a depressed person to exercise so they will be cured of their depression?”
It makes me thankful stupid isn’t contagious. The notion there’s a cure for depression is asinine enough. The notion that exercise alone will do the trick makes me think the poster should sue their brain for non support.

I don’t understand how a self proclaimed intelligent, progressive society can churn out so many ignorant people. And sadder is, those ignorant people consider themselves experts on mental illness. The best ones are the “I used to be depressed but I am all better now so you can be, too.”
I can only imagine how offensive it would be if I told diabetics “my blood sugar used to be wonky but I cured myself so you can too if you give up your meds.”

Ignorance makes my soul sad.

I know this was a rambling post but I needed to vent. Now I am going to return to chainsmoking, panicking, and listening to awesome new bands like Gemini Syndrome, Starset, and classic Sick Puppies.
“When your face…hits my fist…and your face hits the floor…”

Fuckin’ poetry, dude.

Darling Days (August)

The Dog Days are darlings -- don't you doubt it ... thus August twines her vines 'round summer tides, cool clothes, sharp shades, cheeks seeking for a breeze ...