Daily Archives: September 20, 2014

Edgy Wedgie

I am teetering on the edge of anxiety, which is nearly reaching panic. Because I never know when my dad’s faction of the family is going to pop by unannounced and that sort of thing FREAKS ME THE FUCK OUT. I don’t like unexpected knocks on the door. Bad enough I can’t control the ringing phone. I don’t like feeling like I can’t put on my jammies and get comfy because they may be coming by.
While belonging to a family unit that cares seems to please Becca, this faction is toxic to my mental well being. And I’ve talked and talked to them about calling first for ten years now and they don’t listen or care.
I dread their visits 99% of the time. If they’d call first, it wouldn’t be that way.
But then they overstay (and with me that means twenty minutes, max) so I start getting edgy and grumpy.
It wasn’t so bad before the mood tides started turning. Now, visits are excrutiating. Thus I am edgy and it’s uncomfortable like a wedgie.

My kid has been satan today. Constant demands, absolute defiance, hyper, aggressive, even running Bex outside at one point she was being so obnoxious. I have a headache now like someone cracked me over the back of the head with a cast iron skillet and I know it’s just tension. I’m strung tightly like piano wire.

Tonight is the big yearly doings in this armpit town where people get out their old classic cars and cruise up and down the main drag. Big fucking deal. Much as I like old muscle cars and such, crowds are not my thing. Nor is noise. And it’s become bastardized by these teenagers and twenty somethings who somehow think their 2012 model is classic. Yeah, I don’t remember a 66 Mustang ever having neon undercarriage, thudding stereo, or spinners.
Ass trashers have to ruin everything.

Aside from being a jumpy paranoid trainwreck and my kid channeling satan, it’s been a fairly uneventful day. I made a kickass meatloaf for supper. And that’s about all I did today other than go get some milk.

I watched a documentary on Scientology and once again, I reiterate- are those people insane? Your son kills you by stabbing you 23 times due to being an unmedicated paranoid schizophrenic and the surviving members still cling to their beliefs in that fucking cult? Oh, I mean “religion”. I generally support your rights to have faith and believe but these “religions” that ban medical attention and medicines are beyond my realm of understanding. If you wanna believe in a deity,then think about it: the deity allowed people to evolve intellectually and develop skills and technology to treat illness, disease, and disorder.
The jackass who repeated, “Mental illness does not exist therefore there are no medications to treat it.”
That’s beyond having faith in an outlandish belief. That’s delusion and ignorance. Odd how they wouldn’t hesitate to get treated for cancer, those meds which practically kill you to save you are okay.
But psychiatric drugs are dangerous.
I wouldn’t have survived the worst depressions without medication so whether you believe or not, I believe.I know the meds are flawed, there are side effects, and as the one shrink said, “We can make the disorders better with meds but we cannot make someone with these illnesses well.”

I can live with better, even if these morons call it “a bipolar personality” rather than accept it as a legitimate illness.

Maybe I’ll launch a new religion with a campaign against diabetics who just don’t try to positive think their insulin levels right. Church of the Delusional Ass Trasher.

Not even sillier than the giant alien clam god.

So You’re Bipolar, and You Want to Have a Baby

One of my friends asked a few weeks ago if I would potentially be able to give a friend of hers pointers on surviving bipolar and pregnancy at the same time. While I never heard from the second degree individual, it’s been on my mind a fair bit. And then, what came across my Twitter feed? Why, it’s a pamphlet on just that subject from Bipolar UK!

Bipolar Disorder, Pregnancy, and Childbirth

The long and the short is, and the same as I would have told my friend’s friend — it’s an absolute and utter crapshoot. There is no magic bullet, and if anything, it’s accepting that things are likely to be a lot worse for awhile. You could be a perfectly mentally sound person and end up having a horrible time, because hrm… oh. You’re carrying a parasite, and your hormones are waaay over the place.

For me, my first pregnancy was pretty easy on the whole. I had the usual array of weird physical pains, but my mood was remarkably stable as compared to ‘normal’. The afters, however… I am not sure that I went as far as postpartum psychosis (which, I know now, is a 1 in 4 shot for a bipolar woman rather than less than 1 in 1,000 births), or ‘merely’ postpartum depression atop ‘normal’ depression… which is also a 1 in 4 chance for a bipolar woman, meaning that 50%~ of bipolar women have issues. Eeep.

It was that after that finally pushed me into getting some help. You see, I grew up in the States in an environment that reinforced that I was apparently making up any and all health concerns I had. There is also a vast amount of stigma, which as those of us with diagnoses know, discourages anyone from finding out that they’re ‘wrong’ or ‘dangerous’ or whatever buzzword is used to keep us quiet as a lot. I had been in a job where I would have lost my job had I had a mental illness; I know this is a common complaint, but it was doubly scary for those of us working military intelligence. Everything was stacked against me, to include my own biases, which meant I had to hit the bottom of rock bottom’s bottommost bottom to finally ask for help.

Worth it? Absolutely.

Worth it? Absolutely. For me, that is. Your values may vary!

If you’ve been here for awhile, you know that worked out well, and I responded well to medication. We got things tweaked to something that seemed to mainly work, and then I had to throw the works into it and get pregnant again. Mind, this was done intentionally, and my psychiatry team were duly informed. I had good care from both them and the maternal psychiatry team, and honestly? I don’t think I would have risked it if the first time around hadn’t been so good. My mood wasn’t as stable this time around; I had a bad spell of depression in the March/April time frame, which made me question the wisdom of coming off of my meds. I pulled through by being able to be honest to myself, but had I not had a need for home birth due to anxiety issues, I probably would have stayed on my meds. Thankfully, we don’t intend to have any more children, so I shouldn’t have to worry about that choice again.

Pregnancy is a hard enough time filled with all sorts of decisions for anyone going through it. There is less to do with right or wrong, but rather, what is best for each individual going through the time and after. If it’s something that is important to you as an individual and you have a mental illness, then do make sure to have a care plan. Do make sure to work with your doctors and psychiatrists if you are fortunate enough to have such. Growing up in the States meant I was one of the many without much in the way of appreciable health care, so I can appreciate not everyone has access to the care they need. But don’t think you should deny yourself parenthood because you’re mentally ill. You’re just as ‘worthy’ of parenthood as anyone else.


Where is my mind part ii

This is one of the nicest things I’ve read on a bipolar blog lately, it’s by Natasha Tracy:

I’m the first one to say that support from loved ones is incredibly important when dealing with a mental illness like bipolar disorder. And yes, those loved ones typically include family. But here’s the thing – it doesn’t have to. {more}

All the info out there says that support is an important part of the whole bipolar recovery toolkit. Kay Redfield Jamison and Marya Hornbacher cite love.


I asked on a forum a good while back, for input from middle aged plus people living alone and coping with a mental illness. People said they knew of people, but nobody said yeah me. I could look around the blogosphere (and streets and mental institutions), but at the end of the day it’s all whaaaaaatever really, because no matter how much I research all this, here I am, this is my life and I just have to get on with it.

Fuck the Kool Aid though. You gotta keep going gotta smile gotta this gotta that yes no toe the line … well I don’t gotta. I’ve decided to do my damndest to be as okay as possible as long as my dogs are alive. Sometimes I need to remind myself of that more often than others, but it’s solid. After that, I’d like to go.

If I tell you I always suspected I’d end up alone, is that (speaking in the jargon of the Kool Aid) a fear or a self fulfilling prophecy? Do I have to apply that whole soap oprah self help shit all the time? Fuck the Kool Aid, because it isn’t all about the obvious. I couldn’t have known that my mother would die suddenly, for example.

Fuck the Kool Aid
Fuck the Kool
Fuck the


Anyroad up, I think I at least realise the need to plod through the next while without worrying about what comes next, to gratefully accept the support I do get from special people and let the other aches fade gently. I sound like the serenity prayer.

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Actually, I was reading the whole serenity prayer, which is by Reinhold Niebuhr; usually I just mentally delete or replace words about gods, but I started seeing it differently.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.

Because faith is both love and trust, isn’t it? I think they struggle to exist independently. That’s why the word trusting was redacted, because there comes a point when the absence of love leads to the absence of dreams, which leads to … so many more absences.

Where am I going with this? I’m just thinking aloud.

I could apply clichés like bandaids. The future is wide open, freedom’s just another word for nothing left to use (haha typical me, those are song lines). I use that sort of tactic to reassure other people.

*shrugs and walks off*

Where is my mind?

Flapping like a fish thrown on dry ground, it trembles all day, struggling. (Dhammapada)

I’m so tired, sore, sad.


I had the best day yesterday though. Time out of space and time. Time in one of the nicest liminal spaces left on earth. Sunshine and thorn trees and dust, elephant, giraffe, zebra, kudu, red hartebeest, black backed jackal, kalahari lion, pale chanting goshawks.

I don’t know how to readjust.


Does that sound churlish? Too bad … I don’t have to put on a facade here.

I’m weary of pretending and then slamming into my own loneliness. I don’t want sympathy.

A Brief History of Bipolar Disorder

Have you had someone ask why they’ve never heard of bipolar disorder? Asked why no one had bipolar disorder when they were younger? Told you that bipolar disorder seems like the flavor of the month? I’ve heard all of the above many times and it’s damned frustrating. It makes me feel like they are invalidating […]

The post A Brief History of Bipolar Disorder appeared first on Insights From A Bipolar Bear.

I’m Fucking Miserable

Yesterday was filled with flowers and gum drops and everything nice. I thought it would feel that high for at least few more days. Nope!

I woke up sad and grumpy and I didn’t feel like getting out of bed. So I slept a good deal of my day away. My husband was home, I could hung with his sick ass, but no I wanted to sleep.

We went out to the lot and even that couldn’t break my funk. I jut want to sob and eat and eat some more.

I talked Tom hubby about me working at phone sex again so tht I could at least make some money but he is concerned that I would have a sex drive. Currently I rally don’t have all tht much of one. I can see his concern and I also can not promise that it wouldn’t pick up. Being a domina can be very empowering.

Needless to say I need a way to make money and it’s the one thing that I feel tht I am good at. I could work 30 mins a week, making two hundred a month. I hope he’ll rally consider it. I want to be able to help gt us some stuff for the house.

I suppose he will let me know soon enough… Life is hard.