Daily Archives: November 19, 2014

Bobbing For Sanity

Today has been weird. My mood started out ok, little subdued. It rose. Then it came crashing down. Then it lifted. Then it stabilized. Then it crashed.
I knew the first weeks of adding a new med would be a roller coaster but this is more like bobbing for apples in a bubbling hot tub. And I am wondering if in all my indignant self snobbery I brought this on myself by thinking two anti depressants worked in the past against the seasonal depression so it will now.
Seven days really isn’t enough to gauge but it’s not been impressive thus far.

I’m sure pms is a factor, as well. Ya know, that non existent thing women have and use as an excuse against the poor helpless man folk as an excuse to be bitchy and act crazy.

I’m also a little thrown because someone threw a behavior deviation at me today. It was positive and pleasant, but soooo out of character for them. I’m still trying to figure out the angle they’re working, if they’re fucking with my head. I wish this were pessimism or paranoia but it rarely turns out to be. My gut is usually dead on when it comes to people and their motivations.
As much as I want to take this deviation for the better as a good thing…there’s this knot in my belly telling me not to shut off the alarms just yet.
And yeah, as a matter of fact, I do hate being this way. I miss the days when I trusted people implicitly, without suspicion or paranoia or fear.I was what, six, back then. Until my trust was eroded, abused, and morphed into the creature you see today. Perhaps if I had a stronger psyche I would still be a naive little mouse. Though coming from the family that I do, it was unlikely in the first place. We speak our minds, we call a spade a spade, and we don’t suffer fools.

I noted that yesterday’s post about fresh hell being human contact got a lot of views but no input. It was disjointed and rant-y, I will give you that, but it proved a salient point. Many of us are teeter totters with our moods, and maybe one or two wrenches in the works don’t toss us off balance. The more wrenches, though, the more we flail, and we come to see human contact as a trigger. Call it pessimism, personality, whatever.
It’s not anti social. It is not hatred of people idly.
Much like those who see the color red as a trigger for self mutilation, some of us have such precarious moods, we view human contact that way.
The biggest thing is that we keep trying. We may take time to grouse and regroup, but we keep trying to interact while managing our disorders.

If ever a post deserved a few likes, it was that one.
But I’m getting used to it. The more drivel I write, the better people like it. Anything I am remotely proud of is frowned upon or ignored.
And it’s not just this blog, it’s that way on the poetry blog. I write something I think is amazing and heartfelt, I am lucky to get one like.
I post something I threw together in five minutes without a second thought and it gets ten likes…
That’s life.
You regurgitate something meaningless and it is idolized.
You speak from the heart and it languishes.

Good thing I never started blogging for validation.

Blogging is the cheapest therapy out there and fortunately, therapy doesn’t need to be liked.

I’m doing that ranting thing again.

why am I the only one who finds that aspect of my writing charming?

I Feel Like I’m In A Prison

I’m writing this while I sit at my UV lamp hoping to get some relief from this damn depression. This morning I thought about suicide, ways to get the relief I needed but then I remembered Jim and that I need to keep going for him.,

My mother in law has been grabbing all my stuff from around the house and bagging it up. My room is like a ittle prison. Filled with more and more stuff and less stuff allowed out around the house. This house is gigantic and she is a seriously messy person so having a few of my things sitting around weren’t hurting her at all. Yet she is territorial. I can’t wait to get the hell out of here. If not I’m afraid our relationship will fail. I don’t have a lot of strength right now.

We won’t know anything until January about when we can move into the house. It feels so far away and everything is so painful and sad.

I am so incredibly lonely. I sit here day in and day out waiting for my husband to come home. I suppose I could clean for the mother in law, but honestly it is disgusting and I don’t want to touch most of it.

She’s almost a hoarder, not quite but close.

I’m not much of a house cleaner myself but I will hire someone to clean for me so my home never gets like this. Plus I think that living here has given me a newfound respect for cleanliness. It is almosts making me a germaphobe. My hands are dried out from cleaning them constantly. Yet I only can manage to pull myself into the shower once a week. I’m a hypocrite,. Yet it’s my own dirt.

I am hoping that the house is done sooner rather than later, but that is still in the early weeks of February. I hope I can keep from going insane or saying something I regret over the next few months. Sometimes a hospital stay seems like it would be a nice break and that’s downright sad.

Beach Therapy


Thank you Broken Light, for sharing my pic! <3 <3 <3

Originally posted on Broken Light: A Photography Collective:

Photo taken by contributor Bipolar On Fire, a woman in her forties from Boulder, Colorado, who suffers from severe depression, bipolar disorder, and fibromyalgia. She passionately loves photography, writing, music, and her many other creative artistic endeavors. Her aim in life is to create beauty and bring joy to the lives of others through her creations and words.

About this photo: “I’ve come to Florida for the winter to try to stave off the winter blues. Although I am very lonely without my family and friends around me, I am trying to adjust. Going to the beach and walking in the water barefoot is a special kind of therapy for me. I try to do it every day.”

Find more from Bipolar On Fire at her blog.


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Filed under: Bipolar

Memories Redux

I’ve written numerous times about my struggle with bipolar disorder and memory loss. There’s an interesting article on memory loss on the National Institute of Mental Health website, which I’ve posted before. What I’ve shared are the horrible gaps in memory that I have throughout my life. Sometimes it feels like over half of my […]

The post Memories Redux appeared first on Insights From A Bipolar Bear.

The Humour in Hot Dogs

The following is an actual conversation Hubster and I had over dinner.

Hubster: You’re very quiet. What are you thinking about?
Me: Human evolution and the world in general.
H: Oh God, here we go. Dare I ask?
Me: Well…in the animal kingdom when animals show their teeth it is, like, a really threatening thing to do. It’s like “Back of Buster. Get your paws off my mate you filthy son of a saber.”
H: Well…yeah…
Me: But in human society we literally BARE our teeth when we meet people through smiling. Don’t you think that is kind of sinister? It’s like…am I pleased to see you or is that a gun in my pocket? Am I smiling, or am I about to rip your head off? Who can tell?
H: Well, aside from the fact that unless you are a character out of Twilight you generally don’t attack people with your teeth.
Me: Hmmm. Very true. We attack with fists and weapons. I guess if I met someone and immediately adopted a Kung Fu pose that would be pretty threatening.
H: If YOU met someone and immediately adopted a Kung Fu pose it would be pretty amusing. I’m not sure about threatening.
Me: I’m a lover not a fighter.
H: I’ll remind of you that next time I leave the toilet seat up.

* friendly contemplative silence*

Me: And then, of course, there are tails.
H: Tails?!
Me: Yeah. If you had a tail what type would you have?
H: I don’t have a tail.
Me: But if you did. What type? Would you like a long bushy one? A curly one like a pig? One of those weird flap things sheep have? In a world with no limits…what’s your ideal tail?
H: Not having a tail?
Me: You cannot tell me that you’ve lived your entire life and never thought about your hypothetical tail.
H: I haven’t.
Me: Well as a deep thinking type, I’ve given it some thought and I really feel the monkey tail would be best for me. It would be like having three hands. Master D could hang on to it while I hold the shopping bags in the other hands. I could be chopping up an onion while simultaneously opening the oven door with my tail.
H: Well, I’m glad you have given it some thought.
Me: So. What’s your tail type?
H: Not having a tail?
Me: You’re only saying that because you KNOW it would be a pigs tail.
H: Sigh.
Me: But just think, if we did have tails, so many things would be different.
H: Our butts?
Me: Well yeah. But I meant, wow, our pants and chairs would have to have tail holes. We’d probably need to go to the “Tail dresser” to maintain our good looks. There would be whole sections of Cosmopolitan magazine holding debates on “What do men prefer? The waxed or natural tail?”.
H: Oh god…
Me: And think about it. Would what if you met someone you didn’t like, you would have to FORCE your tail to wag, even though it instinctively wanted to droop. Forget table manners, we’d teach our kids “Tail Manners”. “I don’t care what you think of Great Aunt Edna, Jimmy. When you see her give her a hug and wag your tail!” Really it would be one more aspect of your life to try and control. It’s probably a good thing we don’t have tails.
H: Well, I’m glad that’s sorted then.

*Approximately 10 seconds of silence*

Me: I do have a very important question for you though.
H: Go on.
Me: What would you do if your willy caught fire?
H: *drops silverware. Throws arms in air then covers eyes*
Me: Well?
H: You know what. I don’t even have a response for that question. How would that even HAPPEN in the first place -
Me: Unfortunate barbequeing accident? Sausage mix up?

H: – and I wish you wouldn’t call it a “willy”…you know what. no. Got nothing.
Me: Well you’re just no fun.
H: For not wanting to think about my nether regions being fried?
Me: We live in a country that hails the barbecue. It is an important issue.
H: We can never just have normal conversations can we?
Me: You wouldn’t have married me if you wanted normal.
H: I think that is the only thing you have said tonight that has made any sense.

Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is putting up with your wife and her inane drivel…

…and putting up with your husband when he just doesn’t see the humour in hot dogs.


MY SIL is a C**T

I’ve always known she was a selfish person. She uses my MIL to look after her kids and really has nothing else to do with her. Last night she asked MIL to babysit on a night she was going out with a friend and the friends mother.

I could tell how hurt my MIL was. My mother isn’t as good to me as this woman is to her daughter and I would never treat her that way. I have wanted to say something to her for months but I hold it like a little ball of rage in my stomach. It even invades my day dreams and it is super annoying.

Needless to say the depression and anger are making it a lot harder to hold my tongue. I just hope that I have the strength to hold back and not saying anything. Wish me luck!