Daily Archives: October 31, 2014

Going Inpatient

Well, it’s gotten to that point. I’ll be leaving for the hospital in a few minutes, so I wanted to let my readers know I’ll be off the grid for a few days. I am so depressed I can barely stand myself; it’s time for me to go. I’ll see you when I get back.

Happy Halloween

Halloween Costumes


May you cross the Veil carefully this Samhain.

I do not Agree to the proposition that I am Worthless

Laura P. Schulman, MD, MA:

I have a lot to say about this, but my brain refuses to work at this moment, except to comment that if mental health care sucks hind tit in America, what must the situation be like in less “developed” nations?

Originally posted on Art by Rob Goldstein:

To: Supervisor Shirlee Zane
Supervisor District 3
Sonoma, CA

Dear Supervisor Zane,

Thank you for considering  my story for your listening session to hear public comment about parity and mental healthcare.

And, thank you for your advocacy for people with serious life threatening mental illnesses.

For many of us the Behavioral Health System simply does not work.

To some of us it looks as if it does not want to.

In 2009, I was diagnosed with a severe dissociative disorder.

I see a psychotherapist twice a week and I realize that this is an achievement and yet I want to state that this should be the norm.

The idea that I should be grateful for receiving the only treatment that is known to work for this illness is absurd and places me in a beggarly role.

My problem is that my illness now requires a more intensive structure…

View original 775 more words


You guys … thanks for the comments and compassion on my previous post. I can’t think of a good enough word to use to tell you how touched I am.

Right now I’ve got that post meltdown calm going on, you know how it goes.

The nausea has finally calmed its jumpy ass the fuck down.

Thanks again, I really mean it. You guys were so nice you made me all weepy.


Is Suffering Optional?

“Life is painful, suffering is optional.” If you’re a regular on Facebook or Twitter, you’ve probably seen the quote above attributed to the Buddha, or the Dalai Lama, or Gandhi, or Confucius, or a slew of other spiritual leaders. While it certainly follows Buddha’s principals, and the Buddha likely said something similar, most sayings on […]

The post Is Suffering Optional? appeared first on Insights From A Bipolar Bear.

Why I Save Dad’s Voicemails

  I’ve been wanting to write this post for a while, but I kept putting it off.  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to write about the topic, but more and more I found myself easily distracted. (Thank you social … Continue reading


So this will be a short and quick thought. Am I the only one who takes out their bin of medication, pour out your dosages, look into your hand and just sigh. I sigh because I’m overcome with conflicting emotion. I’m thinking, this is my life, contained in these little brown bottles but I’m ok with. I’m getting the help I need and I have lots of reasons to be sane. On the other hand I think, this is what I’ve become, Little pills and brown bottles.

Besides the fact that I am blessed with a new CVS technician that laughs and says “wow, that’s the most prescriptions I’ve seen for one person!” (Note, if you didn’t pick up that sarcasm, I’m not the blogger for you, go away). I often find myself self conscious about the number of bottles in my arsenal.

Then I think about what my options are. I can opt to not take medication, be on a bum roller coaster having major mania followed by loooong bouts of depression, make reckless decisions that will haunt me forever, jump from job to job, alienate myself from everyone I love, run from visions that don’t exist and bring myself to the point where I question why I am even here. Or I can take a bunch of pills a few times a day and try to grow and learn. Today I’m happy I chose pills. Even though it makes me feel one step closer to Aldous Huxleys ‘Brave New World’ if taking these little effects daily, I’m on board.

That is all.

Dark Night Of the Soul


I decided I’d better put a trigger warning at the top of this post like I did the last one, because the theme of this one is even scarier. Just in time for Halloween. Only this isn’t tricks or treats, and the fear doesn’t go away with the flip of a calendar page.

The past 36 hours have been literally a dark night of the soul for me. Yesterday morning I spent three hours in the bathroom while Will was out running errands and going to the doctor. Why? Because I was afraid I’d do something bad if I left the relative safety of the little room. You see, I knew where the gun was, and I knew where the pills were, and of course there were knives in the kitchen, and I’d gotten it in my head that I wanted out.

As it is with most people who contemplate dying by their own hand, it wasn’t really that I wanted to die; I only wanted the pain and anxiety to go away. The pain of having no place to go. The pain of being left in the lurch by someone I love very much and shouldn’t have counted on. The pain of loss after loss after loss.

So I sat on the commode and let the darkness wash over me. I weighed various options and rejected each in turn; I didn’t want it to hurt, I didn’t want to leave a mess, and I didn’t want to take the chance of winding up in the ICU with tubes coming out of every orifice. I also didn’t want anyone to think I was a chickenshit who couldn’t cope, even though that’s exactly what I felt like, and that made me feel even worse. I wondered how Will would handle it. Would he be OK? How would the kids react? Would the rest of my family and friends be angry with me?

It occurred to me that I probably should get some help—e.g. call Dr. Awesomesauce. I didn’t know what to say, though. How do you tell your doctor that you’re on the verge of becoming homeless and you can’t deal? There’s a big difference between being stressed and having a psychiatric emergency. Isn’t there? Besides, I knew he’d ask if I was safe, and would probably want to admit me “downstairs” because I couldn’t make any guarantees. I didn’t want to be admitted. I know what “downstairs” means.

I got through the day on Ativan and sleep. Poor Will didn’t know what to do with me since I wouldn’t let him call Dr. A, but he hid everything in new places, and he fed me, and he medicated me and let me doze.

Then late last night, a very dear friend called and over the course of two hours, talked some sense into me, prayed for me, and gave me some ideas for where to get help with our housing situation. She didn’t beg me to stay alive, but she gave me some really good reasons to do so, and after we hung up I felt there had been a subtle shift in my perspective.

Today has not been good, but it’s been better, and right now that’s the best I can hope for. The original problem is still there, and I’m still scared. But I’m also over the worst, and Will felt I was safe enough to leave for an hour or so tonight. I feel absurdly grateful for his trust. I’m also grateful for the many friends who have been posting their support on Facebook…..if it weren’t for all of this divine intervention, I’m not sure if I’d have been able to turn that corner.

And I live to fight another day.





The Beauty Of Cyclothymia

The instability of constantly rapid cycling moods is enough to drive one insane. Bipolar one gets long periods of mania. Bipolar two has long periods of depression.
The only constant in cyclothymia is that there is no consistency. If our mood sticks more than a few hours, we do cartwheels.

So the fact that my mood has been hovering in the middle for a couple of days..is like a winning lottery ticket. Not feeling too little or too much. Having a few laughs. Putting on actual clothes, including undergarments, leaving the house. No panic attacks.
The holy grail of rapid cyclers.
This is a mental space I could happily exist in at all times. No extremes. Just middle of the road.

So…Without my mental demons nipping at my brain and toes…I don’t really have too much to say.
My kid’s been declared lice free (not that I think there was any this time) so we can take her trick or treating tomorrow.
My allergies are acting up and I am drowning in phlegm and sneezing and coughing like a maniac.
I feel…

Having said that, it is with cautious optimism I hope for some more middle ground days. It rarely holds with the ever changing rapid cycles but much like wishing unicorns and dragons were real…Hoping for some stability is not a bad thing.
I want to believe.

On a final note… I wrote this this week after seeing how differently people treat me depending on my mental state. It sucks to feel like you have to wear a mask and live a lie because people are too ignorant to educate themselves about mental illness.
I call this one Lies.


Find Calm

I’m obviously pretty stressed out. Having a home built. Living with my mother in law. Those are just a few of the things in my hefty load of stress.

My therapist said that I need to find something to de-stress myself. It’s hard. I have some games to play, i can paint and I like to play this thing called star something or other, it’s a karaoke game.I like singing, but then it makes me feel bad cause while I can get 3 stars on a lot of songs, I know I am not very good and it records you visually and audibly and it brings back those feelings of self-hate that I am trying so hard to fight.

I don’t know what to do. I feel like my insides are going to melt into acidic mush if I don’t find find something to do. I just wish I had the will, or the positive feels I were feeling last week. Some motivation would be nice but I’m tired and I’m stressed and I just don’t want to bother.

I even had a panic attack today at my therapy session. It sucked balls. This was after a xanax and a clonazepam. Ya I’m stressed.