Daily Archives: December 19, 2014

Hubby Home Sick

Today my husband came home early after a day of throwing up at work. Poor baby. It’s impossible for me to care for him since there is nothing I can do. It’s frustrating. I want him to feel better.

My mood is right in the middle. I’m actually not feeling that well myself, I have a feeling the stomach bug is making it’s rounds again. Yay. It’s hard to tell if it is my mood or circumstance. That’s the funny things with moods.

Makes for a not in the mood to do anything even write my blog kind of thing. It’s even more important to write those days I think. This is good reinforced behaviour. I am still thinking about what I am gonna start as a year long habit come nerw years. Like a resolution but something that sticks. haha.

It’s Not going to beat me!


Mental illness is such a fucking waste of life! It is such a waste of a day, of moments. It is such a waste of time. We could be doing something constructive, we could be doing something artistic. we could be doing something positive, That’s what I’m going to do, right now. Damn it! I’m not going to let this god awful thing beat me, I’m going to decorate my tree!

It’s back :-( Now to make it go away.

DSCN1826_2 DSCN1826_2

Ah bipolar, how many guises do you come in? The manic, with its highs, fast talking, fast walking, ideas upon new ideas, boundless energy;  and the depressed, no new ideas, no energy, crying, suicidal ideation, yes we know those. The mixed phases, a mixture of both mania and depression with increased anxiety; even those ones we can recognize after a while. The incredibly anxious one, with panic in our breasts, hot peppers in our chests, pathetic crying spells, tears, copious tears streaming down our faces, not wanting to go out, obsessed with one thought, that something bad is going to happen to our loved ones, something so bad that we will not be able to handle it, terrified for our loved ones, anxious, out of our minds, now this is a new one, at least for me. The answer to this riddle? Trying an increase of 12.5 mg Seroquel. Cut a 50 mg pill into quarters, lets see if this will squash the anxiety without putting me to sleep, although at this point, being put to sleep sounds good to me haha. Just took it, so far, a little dizzy, but not sleepy. If this doesn’t work, I’ll increase to 25 mg, and if that doesn’t work, I will call my psychiatrist. Although most of his suggestions are no good for me… Maybe I’ll try meditation, maybe that will help… I’m sure exercise will help…

Actually anxiety seems to have subsided a little, Although muscle weakness has increased :-( If I hadn’t been raised to speak without profanity, I think I would be swearing right now. Yes I would.

I would probably give my right arm to be rid of this torturous disease…

Conversation with Myself

Yeah, it’s just gonna be a two post kind of day, courtesy of the whirly gig that is my mind.
Imagine a hamster hopped up on meth going round and round on its squeaky little wheel.
THAT is my mind today.
The day was pretty shitty to begin with (and it’s mostly me, I am moody and hormonal as hell) but then I picked my daughter up from school…And she comes out looking all pissed off and informs me she got put on “blue” (when they misbehave, blue is a warning) because she hit a boy.
And why did she hit him?
Because they had some sort of peppers for lunch and he told her they were good but she disagreed. So she hit him.
Yeah, it is definitely time for a conversation with myself. I’ve tried talking to others, they’re clueless fucking binary code machines.
So…this is how my self therapy goes. Exit page now if you’re afraid, and you should be afraid because my brain…ain’t right.

When did you become so judgmental, Niki?
Well, they do say you become what you know.
How does that make it right? Look at what your daughter is picking up on.
That’s crap, I don’t care if people want to eat slugs or wear clown shoes or worship at the altar of a giant spaghetti monster. I only get bent when I get hurt by others’ idiosynchrasies.
Well, what makes you so special that you get to have hurt feelings? It’s gotta be you, because everyone else around you is so mentally healthy and happy.
More bullshit. Those around me steeped in denial, oppressed, self deluded, some drink to cope, some sleep to cope, others work themselves into exhaustion to avoid having time to think about anything deeper than what to eat for dinner.
You’ve got an answer for everything, you arrogant snotty bitch.
Fuck you.

Yep, that’s how a conversation with myself goes.
And when I got home and I was feeding the stray cats outside and some of them don’t get along so I feed each cat in a separate spot…I thought, how can someone who’s so mercurial and evil be so kind as to take money out of an already tight budget to not just feed strays but humor their temperaments by feeding them in different spots?

To which that other part of the brain says, Hitler was a vegetarian, doesn’t mean he wasn’t a monster.

The conclusion this leads me to draw is…We, as humans, are a complex species, resplendent with flaws and good traits. We can create beauty and chaos, we can give joy and misery. We are neither all good nor all bad.

But then again, some really are just plain bad.

How do you know if you’re one of the monsters?

A former therapist once told me, “Niki, if you’re asking that question, you are definitely not one of the monsters. The monsters lack the self awareness to even realize what they truly are.”

So why do I still struggle daily with the confusion between how I perceive myself and how others seem to perceive me?
Today was the perfect example.
R wanted me at the shop because he was bored and wanted to company. I would have rather had a root canal without Novacaine but I’m all about quid pro quo so I went. Never know when you might need that favor returned.
I was in a bad mood, and my bitchiness set him off. Like I even wanted to be there and if I am that unpleasant, why does he keep dragging me back into it? I’m more than content to go away.
But then his friend Mark stopped by and I’ve always gotten along well with Mark. Next thing you know, Mark and I are swapping one liners, talking about Grumpy Cat, just…meshing.
So what the fuck is R’s problem with me?
And why do I even fucking care? I don’t put this much effort into being civilized to my own family. Mainly because they are family and every bit as nasty as I am so we deserve each other.
I guess part of it stems from almost 20 years ago before I was on mood stabilizers and I was a bipolar monster, R had every reason to hate me. I was…well, improperly diagnosed and treated so even worse than bipolar normally is.
But I have turned myself and my life around in every way…and for some reason, he still treats me like I am some leper passing my condition onto him (because moods are contagious, especially that vile pms thing). Yet he keeps beckoning me because he “enjoys my company.”
What. The Fuck.

Is it any wonder I can’t get my head screwed on straight?
Simple answer, run screaming into the night.
But that was what he did to me, because the mood swings were too much of a hindrance on his life.
I don’t give up on people so easily, not when I believe deep down there is good there.
And I’m not talking shallow superficial, at least they’re good for a laugh…
I mean, I knew this man when he was not a hollowed out husk of a human being. I saw how much he cared about his kids, how passionate he was about stuff. I remember that person, even if he is long gone. I know he’s not evil deep down.
Come on, Niki, you’re living in the past, he has obviously changed and you no longer relate, just avoid him.
No, I inconvenienced him by being who I am and he shunned me, if I do the same then I am no better than him and I MUST be better than that.


I want to remove my brain with a melon baller.

It’s like I am incapable of having anything but a love/hate relationship with anyone because it’s all my parents taught me and it’s all I’ve ever felt about myself.
I like this and that about me.
I hate all this stuff about me.

How do you unlearn something like that when people find you so difficult they’re always abandoning ship?
I honestly don’t see where I am that damned bad.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I am definitely difficult. I am a challenge.
But I have a lot of good qualities that most just don’t get or don’t see because they meet me during a depressive episode and decide Debbie Downer doesn’t work for them.
Wait for the manic phase.
I am awesome when I am manic or stable.
But that’s like driving a car that only runs properly half the time, it would piss me off.
How can I blame others for feeling that way about my instability?

I can blame them because I’m the one giving the benefit of the doubt and all this trust and they are the ones stabbing me in the back all the while telling me it’s my own fault.

Musta been sleepwalking when I sent out the memo stating “Hey, it’s okay to lie to me, betray me, get mad at me for being offended, because it’s all my own fault.”

Maybe the easiest way to break this down for myself is to compare what I used to be with what I have become. Maybe the people around me can’t see the difference because they haven’t changed at all.

1999- High as manic kite for summer, sobbing simpering pajama depression all winter. Throwing things mad one minute, hiding in basement the next while sniveling.
Unable to hold job, keep own place, or even take care of a kid for more than a couple of hours. Totally self absorbed and unaware of my own failings.

2014- Moods leveled out prior to winter depression. Depression hindering but not crippling. Able to maintain independence with own place, car, and care for a child full time with aid of steady disability income.
No more screaming mimis, no more throwing things, no self harm, no drinking myself into oblivion every night.
Recognize own flaws and trying to work on not being self absorbed and blinded by emotion.
Not sleeping constantly, functioning.
Rarely crying aside from horrormonal week.

So yeah…
I HAVE made progress.
I think it’s the people around me have just stagnated by not making any changes and the only way they can get the upper hand with me is by reminding me of who I used to be.

I still need to work on regulating emotions (though it’s hard when your hormones are so out of whack a tv commercial causes water works, I cannot be blamed for something not in my control). I need to stop vilifying people who hurt me. I need to stop having high expectations of others.
I want to be accepted for feeling too much.
I need to accept others for feeling as they do, even if I think it’s too little.

BUT I am still entitled to be hurt and feel betrayed when my one cardinal trigger has been pulled. Forgiveness may be divine, but some of us need to lick our wounds before we can get there.
And when you’ve been hurt so many times in the exact same way after telling people it’s the worst way they can hurt you…
Well, I think that entitles you to feel pretty damned salty and never trust them the same again.

I’m always growing as a person, evolving into a better form of myself. Upgrading. Updating.
But for now…
Maybe I just need to feel what I am feeling even if those around me want to roll their eyes and blame me to absolve themselves.

Human emotions are not a quiz where there’s a right answer.

So while my kid hits because someone likes peppers and she doesn’t, maybe the lesson I need to learn in there is that…robots are people too.
They’re just not my cup of tea.

And that’s okay because everyone has a different palate.

Waaay Run Down

Yeah so, apparently teething children mean I need to hide from blogging for a few weeks — who knew? It’s because when I hit a certain level of frazzled or stressed, writing about it ceases to be cathartic. Instead, I start flipping tables mentally because I’m sick and tired of being that level of trying to hold it together when I really, really am not. Which isn’t to say that I’m having any episodes that I’m aware of, just that… I’m tired, and REALLY want to be left alone instead of being screamed at all day by a fussy baby. It’s not quite literally all day, but it feels like that when it’s the first thing I have to deal with in the morning until like, noon. For a week. Every day.

At least it’s Christmastime now, which means other people can deal with the kiddo for longer stretches of the day, ha ha. And really? I know how much better I am this time around when I am mainly holding it together, even when my brain goes into scumbag mode like last night. I’d gone into the kitchen, and I was pissed because there was a full sink of dishes (when I’d already cleared one that day), and the table was mounded high with stuff, and other things, and my brain hit a PTSD moment remembering my childhood, and basically being used like slave labour (to include forcing me to take a job and then pay for the care of one of my siblings atop chores). And most of y’all know the deal when the brain finds something like that to niggle onto. It clings and it sucks it in like some sort of leech and leaves you pulsating with all the poisons. But! I didn’t flip out. I didn’t scream (except at a plastic bag wrapped around a chair leg that was resisting being moved). I didn’t start sobbing, or try to find something to break. I instead expressed my upset to my husband, and felt… not exactly better, but defused. A year ago, I would have been the aforementioned wreck (and not because of pregnancy hormones or anything). Having said that, I’m fervently hoping that I can get a few hours to myself in the next couple of days, because I’m really freaking worn thin.

Of course, I also have to, in fairness, point out that we went to a party on Wednesday. It was a lovely time with good friends and food, and I went to bed later than usual (as I do every other Wednesday anyways for the same reason; it was with my Stitch ‘n Bitch group). And no, I don’t drink or anything — it’s just taking my meds late and going to bed late throws me off a bit. I made it worse this week by forgetting to set the alarm and waking up an hour late. No harm done in the day’s schedule really, but I wasn’t happy with myself either.

Oh yeah, and I’ve been having computer problems too. My graphics card had decided it was dying, and then decided it wasn’t, and that was eating up a lot of brain power. And then I used what tiny bit of brain power I actually could muster to get caught up on emails for The Bipolar Blogger Network. Yay for that being done (and welcome, new faces!), but man, does it take a lot out of me that I apparently didn’t actually have. Whups.

Ah well. At least it should be better for a few weeks. And if I’m lucky, the little one will cut that first nasty tooth over the break, and realise it’s not as bad as she thinks (and therefore, hopefully, spend less time grumping at me about something I can’t fix, ha ha).

Anyways, hope everyone is well out there.


Sister Maria Euthymia

pertaining to a normal mood in which the range of emotions is neither depressed nor highly elevated.
Mosby’s Medical Dictionary, 8th edition. © 2009, Elsevier.


I did an image search for euthymia and got a page full of nuns. Well, a nun, numerous times. She nursed prisoners of war and defied the nazis by giving equal care, no matter what nationality the patient was. (source)

I had intended to explore the concept of euthymia and how to achieve it (wtf would someone who apparently had continuous cycling bipolar since childhood know about it), but then … ooh look, a butterfly.


The next quote is tangential, but I like it. Google translate isn’t very good at German, obviously the sentence structure fries its brain:

One who knows in Rwanda as in his waistcoat pocket, which is the country and the friendly people closely connected, Bernhard Tenckhoff is.

Don’t google 25 year old blocked pore.


It’s a Wrap!

presentsFirst off, dear readers, don’t forget we have to come up with a question for me to answer in a post. Like anything. No one has any questions about my life?

I figure part of the problem is that I have blabbed so much you probably feel like you know all about me. Which is true. There is not a whole lot I have not shared. But I know you are creative folks and after all it is Christmas. Someone can give me the gift of a question for me to answer. I just can’t flunk out of this online blogging course. LOL.

Well, today is a depressive day. I am on the couch and hanging out. I have ordered Christmas pies and done some texting. I have argued with my daughter. I have had two cups of coffee. I have bemoaned the fact that I am too fat. So all is merry, bright, and normal on the couch.

I have some things I am “supposed” to do today. One of them is writing this blog entry, so that is good. I think I can do that. There’s plenty around here to talk about. So let’s hit it.

First off, this will be the two weeks from hell coming up. My son and daughter are off work/ school and will be around the house. My daughter can be mouthy and my son gets bored. My job is to be cheerful, ignore their moods, and produce dinner every night. This keeps the peace. I don’t dare say what I think about anything.

Hey, good news! You might remember my two sons are in college. Well, their semester grades were really great. My oldest had four A’s and two A-‘s. My younger son had 3 A’s and 2 B’s. These grades are really good for a couple of kids who literally hated school the whole way through and are lazy and not academically inclined. I was relieved about their grades, because all their Dad does is moan about the cost of college and I knew I’d really hear about it if their grades were bad. So it buys me another semester of peace.

My nephew Jack had a nice college graduation. You all would have been proud of me. I did the whole thing…sat through it and went to my sister-in-law’s after and had cake and ice cream. I could tell they all appreciated it.

Anyway, today I need to get off my butt and I am trying to figure out how to avoid doing that. One thing on my list is going to my neighborhood Wal-Mart to buy stuff for my husband’s Christmas stocking.

My husband has always done all of our stockings, so I feel I owe it to him to do a decent job on his. I can usually wander Wal-Mart and pick up plenty of stuff to fill it up. But today I am on the couch, unshowered. Not that that should matter. Our local Wal-Mart is a disaster. You literally cannot be underdressed. I could wander over right now with my dirty hair and nightgown and I doubt anyone would look twice. It’s just a weird group of people. The good news is I can always go tomorrow. But that’s Saturday and it will be worse. But who cares? I have time to wait in line.

I also need to wrap gifts. If there is one thing I hate doing…next to showering….it is wrapping gifts. The last couple of years I have purchased packages of Christmas bags and boxes to make it easier. Throw the gift in, throw tissue on top, and you are done. But I had better get moving. Because we only have so many of these bags and boxes. And I want to hog them all before everyone else in the family gets there. I am such a slug.

I’ve organized food for Christmas.  For Christmas Eve, we are having chili and cornbread. For Christmas morning, orange pecan French toast. For Christmas dinner, deviled eggs, tomato/mozzarella salad, ham, peas, twice baked potatoes, rolls, and pie. I think we will have a mere eight for dinner. Whew! compared to Thanksgiving.

So back to showering…you will love this story. We are in our weekly bipolar support group and someone asks if anyone else has ever been down in bed (or on the couch) a lot while depressed. Of course I raise my hand along with quite a few others. Then someone asks if anyone else has a problem with showering. Several of us raise our hands. Someone asks how long people go between showers. I am thinking what I should admit to. I think the longest I have gone is about five days. Which is a little embarrassing but not shocking I think. So the guy across from me says six WEEKS! I almost laughed. He said he just kept putting deodorant on and no one said anything. This really cracked me up and made me feel a lot better. Amazing what support groups can do.

Just to brag a little…I had a friend tell me this week that I was “such a loving soul”. I thought that was nice.

So the big plan for today:

-get up and get dinner in the slow cooker

-get upstairs and get my gifts in the bags and boxes

-get a shower so I can maybe hit Wal-Mart in the morning

-do my devotionals

I hope all of you are having a decent time this week before Christmas. I know it is stressful, lonely, and confusing to try to meet everything. Not to mention crazy relatives. Speaking of which, my half-brother got out of prison two days ago. Now there’s a story for ya!



Sometimes words are not even necessary…….

But on this occasion, to find out what I mean… you have to follow the link.. I really am shit at this wordpress stuff….. Sometimes words are not even necessary…Filed under: bi-polar

I Will NOT Be Assimilated

I am becoming more and more convinced I am surrounded by robots.
These are not people.

They are The Borg, just part of a collective.

I am too emotional. I am not logical. (No, I was not born part Vulcan like Mr. Spock and it’s disappointing because those pointy ears are cute.)

Robots don’t feel emotions.

That describes those around me.

Given, I feel too much, and always have but I think it’s what gives my writing a more authentic feel. I’m not just typing words. I am typing feelings. Things I believe in whole heartedly even when the collective keeps invalidating me at every turn.

Am I stubborn? In denial? Insane?

The only way I know to be true to myself without having to question and self analyze constantly is to simply avoid people. Which isn’t really dealing with the issue.

How can you deal with an issue when surrounded by people who don’t like how emotional you are, don’t like how feisty you are, don’t like your moodiness…

Yet they tell you that you can’t change them, accept them for who they are.



They are programmed, not with emotion. Binary code.

I get more warm fuzzies from Sonny in irobot.

Of course, fiction is warmer and fuzzier than reality.

Am I ranting again?


I. Will. NOT. Be. Assimilated.

I am not Borg.

I am an individual.

Fuck whoever doesn’t get it.

They’re all probably running on Windows ME anyway which was shit programming to begin with. Migraine Edition.

Maybe my programming is glitchy. Perhaps I am running on Vista, which is about as shitty as ME.

Maybe my attitude sucks.

But I am real.

Warts and all.

And what others view as warts…I view as quirks and some of them are adorable and some are irritating.

But I won’t change to keep the peace.

Not in my programming.

Alone really isn’t so bad when you’re being true to yourself. People who love you, truly, would never expect anything else of you.

Unless you’re deluded and lying to yourself, in which case…Upgrade to XP or Windows 7.

If I were lying to myself…

I’d be the happiest person alive because feeling this way all the time, so self aware, so self judgmental…is not a happy way to live.

It is, however, the right way to live.

For me.

Fuck The Borg.

How I Fell Into My Job

In fall 2010, I received an online newsletter from one of my former publications that included a news release from a local community college.  They were looking for people to teach English classes. A Master’s degree was the preferred qualification, with some experience also preferred.  The release indicated that a rise in enrollment led them to put out the request.

I thought for a little while.  I had taught English Composition while working on my graduate degree.  I was at complete loose ends—I hadn’t been admitted to the hospital that spring so I felt that I was doing well enough to attempt to work.  The college was only a few miles from home, so commuting wouldn’t be much of a problem. I decided to call the English Department and see what could be worked out.

I got the department head and explained I was calling in response to the request for English teachers.  My interview was very short and sweet—she asked my degree and experience, told me I would need to have my transcript mailed to the academic dean, and asked me to come in to get copies of the textbooks.

I was shocked.  I hadn’t expected it to be that easy.  Bob came home that night, and I told him, “I think I’ve been hired for a job teaching.”

I told him about the opportunity, and once I explained how I hoped to keep it low-key and part-time, he was all for me going to talk to the department head to see what I could do.