May all your endings turn into beginnings.
This post is in no way meant to detracted from the seriousness of borderline personality disorder. If you admit there’s a problem, you’re golden. People like my mother…It’s everyone but them so she doesn’t deserve my empathy.
Oh, yes, as soon as it all scabs over…One trip to my mother’s and the scabs are open and festering and oozing and…
It’s nothing new. I guess I am just ill equipped to cope well today.
Though, for someone who’s told they have such low self esteem, I think I’ve held up pretty well considering character assassination is more of a norm than an exception.
I purposely waited til 1pm to arrive. Food was still two hours from being done. Which meant lots of time with mom and sis.
I like my sister fine, even if she is too much like mom. But my mother is so borderline…And I don’t mean that like “the weather is so bipolar,ha ha”…I mean, full blown borderline personality disorder. Plus she has early onset dementia moments that have made it worse. If ever a shrink wanted a case study for borderline, my mother is it.
“I love you…I hate you…Get away from me…Please don’t leave me!”
She will say one thing, then deny it. Scream if you call her on it, declare she hates you. Then she will say “Why don’t you ever spend any time with us?”
SHE is why the practice of suicide was invented. The only escape.
And don’t get my vitriol wrong, she’s my mom, she loves me in her own evil way, blah blah blah, love her too..
She’s just so damned venomous toward me because I look like my dad and learned his value system over hers. Been this way since I was a teenager. His sins were my sins. It remains the same.
And yeah, mommy issues are boring, blah blah.
It’s just this sort of thing is what fucks me up even worse with all the other mental bullshit going on.
She lavished a hundred dollars worth of clothes and easter baskets on my kid, then asks her what I got her. The tongue clucking disapproval was deafening. (Yeah, but I have food for my child the next week, sinful putting necessity ahead of frivolity.)
Then came the every-fucking-time-we-have-a-family-thing.
“Spook is such a happy kid, how can she be Nikis?”
“Spook is a people person, she didn’t get that from you.”
Oh fuck off.
Then came mom and sis’s inevitable snarks about what all they didn’t have for the meal rather than just being grateful for what they did have. And dad bought half of it as my sister’s easter gift so they wouldn’t have had what they did to blow on easter without him.
I tried to paste on the happy face, god i did. I faked it through the baskets, the egg hunt, the meal…And then I just plead cramps and said they could bring my kid back home when she’s done playing there. How much am I expected to tolerate?
On a side note…one of my friends’ daughter gave me a hand made Easter card. She’s like 13, known her since she was born, very sweet girl.
And I know she meant well, but it still irks me.
The card said, “You are a special person no matter what anyone says.”
She made everyone else a card. Theirs only said that they were special and she loved them. Gotta love unintentional insults.
She’s a sweet girl but it just goes to show…my reputation precedes me.
And I maintain it ain’t all me, I am surrounded by idgets.
Anyway…I am hope. My head is pounding. I want to shower this day away like a nasty film of dirt.
Because while it may have dented my armor…It’s nothing new and it won’t hold me down long. I am defiant until death.
Which may be hastened by that stupid Elsa doll Mom got my kid singing “Let It Go” over and over and over.
What’s tastier? Comet or Liquid Plumber?
(Sorry, no offense intended, just in a pissy mood. Tomorrow is another…Um…)
Some days not even a sweet bunny who gives you candy can gloss over.
Unless you are suffering from a neurochemical imbalance, you are NOT allowed to make such comments as the following.
No one said life was fair.
Mentally ill people need a dating/friending site.
Since the mundanes (those without mental issues, or so they tell themselves) find us so difficult and too much of a downer…We should totally band together as a social network of our own. Friendships, dating, long term romance, career opportunities…All within the scope of our imbalanced brain chemistry. Bond over drug cocktails, commiserate of Post Traumatic Shrink Disorder, mutual anxiety induced freak outs, manic benders at the virtual bar/mall. It could be a thing. Ha ha, we could even have our own version of Pharm land.
I’m not really being sarcastic (just a little quirky humor).
Is it really any crazier than a dating site solely for farmers?
Yeah, yeah, I know. “Not another woe is me negative post from this chick.”
Welcome to mental illness. It is what it is. I get depressed for no reason and bounce back and come down and…Ya know the drill.
I hit a wall last night after a visit from my dad. Well, I was sliding down the abyss before that but he…I made an “ouch” sound as I was walking down the steps because I had cramps and he snarked at me. I growled, “You get cramps and talk to me.”
To which this empathetic man yells, “I DON’T WANNA FUCKIN’ HEAR IT, YOU WORK EIGHTY HOURS A WEEK THEN TALK TO ME!”
Sometimes I want to hit him over the head with a shovel. He has no empathy. NONE. Well,except for pets (this is where I get my pets over people mentality, I guess.) I flipped a car into a creek when I was learning to drive, they had to haul me and mom out cos it landed on its roof…I was cut and bruised and panicking. And he screamed at me, “Look what you did to the car!” Not “are you ok?” Not “As long as you guys are ok, the car can be replaced.”
So why I am still shocked by his douchiness is a mystery. Guess I keep dreaming, even at 42, about those warm fuzzy parents that allegedly exist in magical pegacorn land. Yes, even I am astounded by my own naivete. Maybe R was right when he called me delusional. For all my pessimism, there’s still that stupid sliver that thinks people can change because, well, I did.
That was my wall. I didn’t even bother to eat, I was just in so much discomfort. And yes, I have no right to complain blah blah fuck blah.
Everyone is a complainer in their own way.
We all have issues, discomforts, anger, desire…Expressing emotions is the definition of complaining. Because if one did not complain, one would have to be silent for life.
Needless to say by 7 pm…I was under my blankets in my crypt like bedroom tossing and turning and trying to get warm. I can’t seem to regulate temp these days, always too hot or too cold. (Premenopause???Cos bipolar needs one more glitch to make it go haywire.)
It hit me it was easter bunny night. It was almost 9 pm before I managed to fill the eggs and hide them and set out the small basket for my kid. I felt so evil and grumpy for not feeling happy about it all.
But it’s a kid’s holiday, not mine. I pasted on the fake smile and all for her this morning.
Inside, I am not smiling.
I have to deal with my mother today. The one who has other people buying her groceries so she can go blow over a hundred bucks on Easter gifts so prove she loves my kid more than me. She cusses me to hell and back for being practical like my dad. May be the one good quality I got from him. I’d rather have food for the next month than blow it all on crap for my kid to get bored with and break in two minutes. Crazy me.
Tis a sad day when your own mother makes you feel shitty for being responsible.
I am dreading it. There are gonna be like ten people there not even related to us, and I am still crampy and bloated and grumpy. I don’t want to go. I am obligated to of course. If I didn’t have a kid, though, I doubt I’d be missed. I am little more than the vessel that provided the grandchild for my mother to dote on. One day she even said, “Well, at least I love your daughter.”
My parents are a nasty bit of work.
Already my stomach is churning.
I usually make chicken and noodles for the family shindig. Upon learning how much my mother spent on gifts while someone else bought the food for a meal only her and my sister even want…I said fuck it. Not wasting my time and budget to feed a bunch of people not related to me.
I may put in an hour and play the “cramps” card. It’s true. Not that it will lead to me being cut any slack but it’s my escape hatch should things get too venomous or ya know, my mood become explosive.
Tomorrow is the start of a new chapter. Focalin day. If R keeps his word in helping me pay for the stuff. Once the winter power bills are done, I should be okay if I sacrifice well, everything but eating and using toilet paper. For now…This is my lifeline. It may not work but then again…It could be the one missing link in the magic bullet of med cocktail to get me back on my feet.
How pessimistic can I be if I still have HOPE?
I haven’t showered since Thursday. I don’t want to. I don’t want to do anything but stay home and stew in my shitty mood for today. My kid is so excited and here I am, viewing it as an execution basically.
Is it distortion or just traumatic family syndrome?
Might not be so bad if my family drank wine with the meal. Hell, wine makes everyone more tolerable. Even me.
Unfortunately my mother thinks anyone who takes so much as a sip of wine cooler is a raging drunk.
If they weren’t before they met her, they are now.
Take a breath.
Paste on the happy face.
I’m a woman, I can fake it, I have lots of practice faking things.
Meh, fuck it.
Maybe my shitty mood will deter people from talking to me.
And there it is..My kid asked, “Why did the Easter bunny only bring me this? I wanted this that this and that…”
Fuck it all seems the appropriate mind frame.
Hoppy Easter to those who are feeling it. Fetch an egg for me and make sure it has a sample bottle of cake vodka in it.
What? I have a drinking problem?
I have a dealing with family problem.
And I have counseling files to prove every one who met my mother labeled her toxic and told me to limit exposure.
Thank god for once in my life I am validated rather than doubting myself.
Bring on the pain.
I mean, Easter joy.
Epic bucket of fail, all of it.
This post was written over a few days starting on Thursday the 2nd.
Now you’ll remember my exciting experience with the Lexapro/ Fetzima switch out. The headaches finally went away and I was doing pretty good. Unfortunately, my husband got sick as soon as we came home from Las Vegas. He caught some sort of crud…not sure what it was…had a fever, bad cough, aches, headache, sore throat, and exhaustion.
I’ll be honest with you. I don’t like it at all when my husband gets sick. I am sort of at loose ends when he is down in bed. He gets very cranky and won’t let you help him. You can ask him a hundred times “Do you need anything?” and he will always say no. So he just lays there and sleeps. It’s very quiet then and I’m not sure what to do.
Now he was sick for a full two weeks. He wouldn’t go to the doctor because he said he was getting better every day. However, he was still coughing and tired. I slept downstairs, washed my hands a lot, and tried to stay away from him. He finally started to perk up. The next morning I woke up with a sore throat and we started all over again.
So it’s Thursday night and I am still sick. A nice fever, great cough, and sore throat. The headache and body aches have left. I have my friends here DayQuil and NyQuil. (I did not check for any drug interactions…oh, well.)
It’s weird to be actually physically sick when you have bipolar and are down. In a weird way, it feels good. People can hear you coughing and gagging. My husband just had this so he knows how bad I feel. It’s strange but my mood has improved since I’ve been physically sick. No one wants me to cook as I will infect them. I can lay around without guilt.
Now it’s Thursday and I’m a little nervous. Easter is Sunday and all I want is to go to church for one hour and eat a meal. A very simple meal. The complicated part will be getting that shower and prepping that dinner. So let’s see how I do tomorrow (Friday),
So Friday came and went and we are on to Saturday at noon. I am still sick, but things are looking up. I still have that horrible cough, so I try not to move. If I get up and go walking around, I feel pretty weak and want to go lie back down. My throat is still sore. Thank goodness I have no headache! That’s an Easter miracle within itself.
I decided to be proactive about Easter. Instead of worrying about whether I would make it here or there, I just decided I wouldn’t. This took all kinds of pressure off. So I told the kids not to worry about going to church. (They were thrilled.) And you know, it’s not just that I am really weak, it’s my desire not to spread this illness around. Both my husband and I have been down 1-2 weeks with it. Nobody else needs that just so I can sit at church for an hour. And they put our services online anyway so I can watch it on there.
My kids will get Easter baskets as always. My husband does this and he really enjoys it. They will also be having an Easter egg hunt. I had to laugh as my 27 year old daughter groaned when we told her this. She said “Mom, we are not five!”. But we have a surprise for them. We are putting slips of paper in the eggs with denominations of money on them. We’re not going to tell them till right before the hunt. I’ll bet they move really fast.
We’re having a very simple Easter dinner. My pretty Easter tablecloth will have to hang unused in the closet this year. We’re going to have a ham as my husband can put this in the roasting pan and turn on the oven. We’re having potato salad and rolls and cherry pie purchased from the store. We’re cooking barbeque beans in the slow cooker. And my daughter is making a fruit salad. We’ve got cute paper Easter plates and napkins. So, really, not bad. A bipolar with a bad respiratory crud’s Easter Day. And I know if I didn’t have the crud I could have gotten up and done the tablecloth and all. And maybe have made it to church.
I cleared my calendar for this week in case I still feel weak. It wasn’t too hard. My goal is to give everything a good try NEXT Sunday and next week. Try to get to church, back to my women’s and bipolar support group. Speaking of which…there is a girl in my bipolar group who is pretty depressed and has been for a while. We haven’t seen her at group for a few months. I guess she came the other day and missed me. So she texted me! I don’t think she reaches out a lot so I was flattered. So I’d like to get back and maybe get her to have some coffee or something.
My youngest turns 21 on Thursday. No, I don’t feel old or sad or nostalgic. I feel relieved. That means if anything happens to me they are really all adults. I know they need me still for advice and support. But they have their dad. It takes a lot of pressure off. And I am all about less pressure.
So Happy Easter! I hope you are up and around and feel good. I hope you have no family fights! I hope the bunny brings you exactly your favorite candy.
And thank you for supporting my blog. It means a lot.
I’m sitting, curled up with a sneaky handful of the kid’s Easter eggs, on the couch in our family room. For the first time in months, I’ve had the urge to write… and with the kids playing outside, I’ve actually got time to grab my laptop and start tapping away.
Only problem is… I have no idea what to write about.
After a fairly harrowing start to the year, with depression constantly nipping at my toes, I’m finally back on an even keel again. The urge to pour out my feelings into my diary as a way to get through each day is fading. That feeling of constant dread in the pit of my stomach is gone. I feel like I can participate in normal life again… able to feel joy, happiness and contentment.
But writing about feeling normal doesn’t seem like an interesting topic for a blog about being a mum with a mental illness. And so, I’m sitting here – munching away on my third Easter egg – wondering what to write about instead.
To be honest, feeling normal is probably a topic we should talk about more.
I’m sure that most of us mums have days, weeks, months or even years where life ticks along quite normally. Times when our minds aren’t racing uncontrollably, or our stomach isn’t tied up in knots of anxiety. Periods where other mums at school pick-up – or people we meet – would have no idea of the struggles that we have faced, or those that may lie in wait, just around the corner.
For those of us who have worked hard to get back to what we see as ‘normal everyday life’ – or who work hard to have things stay that way – it’s not something that we take for granted. Being able to participate fully in normal everyday life is a blessing. Being able to be there for our family – even on the most mundane days – is a blessing.
Sometimes it’s not until we experience a life not so ordinary, that we appreciate just how wonderful an ordinary life actually can be.
Having gone through ups and downs with Bipolar, how do you feel when things seem to go back to ‘normal’?
Without further ado, I pick Faith47. I’m lazily and wisely letting the art speak for itself on this one. She has done utterly amazing work in poverty stricken zones like Khayelitsha, as well as more standard street art spaces worldfreakinwide. She only ever produces seriously wonderful stuff. Yassss I are a shameless fan. If you find her official website a little sparse, there are other flavours to try.
And so on. She’s from Cape Town, but she’s a global megastar as far as graffiti/street art is concerned. Google will get you a metric fucktonne of interviews, articles, exhibitions and so on. Her work speaks for itself though. In a way, this is a silly post, because actually all I need to say is Faith47 and point to google (or maybe even a street or gallery near you) and hopefully she’ll delight you as much as she does me. Not that she does me. Okayyy so – talented and intelligent and good looking; one would think that was enough bounty, but no. Follow me, this requires a new paragraph.
Let me introduce you to her husband, DALeast …
… and their son Cashril+
Ikr? It’s totally cool, street art royalty of South Africa and beyond – please feel free to own all the ups and props and talent.
Please note that although I’ve used street imagery in this post, there is a whole lot more … art, illustration, comics …
To induce hypomania, all I need to do is get excited about art, lit, music, film. Simples.
Another BRILLIANT interview by Clint Malarchuk, he talks about his injury, his OCD, PTSD, suicide attempts, depression, stigma, and ultimately his SURVIVAL and his thriving and living a great life now! I would listen if I were you ;-)
And here is the link to by his book “A Matter of Inches.” http://www.amazon.com/Matter-Inches-Survived-Crease-Beyond/dp/1629370495