Daily Archives: March 3, 2016


‘It will always been right in the end’ It is something we hear all the time; something we say without thinking. It is meant to be supportive, but is actually terrifying. It obviously holds little merit. The only definition of the phrase that could offer it meaning would be to say that God makes sure […]

I was busy oiling my chainsaw at the time of the crime, officer…

***Revised version, if you got the run on sentence version, sorry, my net keeps crashing and things got all wonky, Mediacom’s bad.***

WTF is with that title? I know, right?

Actually, it’s a line I ripped off from the show Elementary, where Sherlocke Holmes was indeed oiling a chainsaw as an alibi when a fire was set…I thought it was hysterical. I mean, I watched it three days ago and still remember the line when I can’t even remember what clothes I sent my kid to school in on any given day…Rare when my memory works these days.

So…It’s been a week. Monday afternoon I got a panicked call from my mom, telling me I had to come take her and her roommate to the hospital, as roomie was having some sort of chest pain and no one knew where my sister was. It was a 20 minute errand and we didn’t even have to stay but nerve racking enough. I’m 43 and still get nervous driving with either parent in the car. Probably because they are overly critical assholes and all…That and the car and insurance are in mom’s name, which in a way gives her the right to be critical…Meh. I called later to check on the roommate even though by then I didn’t even care about my own well being. Life is draining me, ffs. But social niceties and all. And I know I’m not truly apathetic, I am just battling this bitch of a depression and it taints everything and makes me this heartless apathetic creature from the bleak lagoon…

Tuesday I was beckoned to help his highness (R) with some laptop issue a friend of his daughter’s was having. Like I cared. But I do have the password breaking disc and he is far too lazy to burn his own copy for the shop so I went. And didn’t even get a pack of smokes for my trouble, just a reminder, “Who’s paying fifty bucks to have your car towed and doing all the work on it?”  Classy as fuck, dude. Starting to feel like a marionette and he and my dad hold the strings and they are bastard puppet masters. I mean, I ask for your help, fine, hold it over my head. But I didn’t ask for any of this car shit and still…Albatross city. I still haven’t set eyes on the damned thing (he had it towed to daughter Ursula’s house and I don’t know where she lives and don’t even want to drive by, it might offender her sensibility to have someone as poor as me drive through her hood.)

I have, however, decided on the car’s name. Bright red cars just scream LOOK AT ME, I AM SO BRIGHT AND ATTENTION SEEKING. Thus the car is named…Jezebel. (I wanted to go with Whore, but I don’t think my kid repeating it would be cool…Parenting is tough, man, decisions, decisions…)

Wednesday I saw the shrink. It wasn’t bad. He agreed to take me off the Cymblotto. Which, ha, surprise, I started weaning myself off of days ago. 30 mg every other day, a Prozac in between, because even though he says five days of weaning will be fine, no withdrawal…This is my second time coming off this shit, I know it can go either way and last time was…living hell. So for now I’m gonna take 600mg lithium twice a day, 20mg prozac, 200 mg lamictal, and my xanax. He asked about my sleep. I laughed at him. Not that Restoril did much, but since insurance won’t pay for it anymore…the melatonin has become “tolerated” so I need more and more and get less and less good results. I still wake up multiple times a night.

I even treated him to a mini tirade about how my brain and attention span have turned to tapioca since the insurance stopped covering Focalin. He expressed disgust with this aspect, as well, saying he spends a good portion of time on the phone trying to get meds for CHILDREN and insurance denies it.

I vented some of my personal disgust as well. ya know, family, R, this car, all the court shit with the donor. He asked me if I felt the child support money was going to help with our quality of life. I said it depends on how much of a pain in the ass the donor decides to be. Then he asked me what kind of person the donor is. I was kind in saying “pathological liar but so charming you don’t notice til it’s too late.”

What I SHOULD have said is, “I dunno, Doc. He snuck his shit out, had his new girlfriend haul it off, told me we were gonna work on things, had sex with me, then called two days later to break up with me and destroyed his phone so I couldn’t reach him. Then he doesn’t so much as send his kid a birthday card once in four and a half years. What kind of person do you think he is?” Seriously. Just stating it, as it happened, how does the donor NOT see what an absolute cretin he is?

Alas, my fifteen minutes of medical care was up and I had to go do the beck and call thing for R again. I am wondering how many hoops I will have to jump through before we are finally even for the fifty dollar tow fee.  Because I asked him last night how long I was gonna owe him my soul and he said we were square…then threw the fucking car thing at me a couple of more times. Is it any wonder these people make me nuttier? But if I am to be honest…Yesterday, while starting out rather iffy, ended up not being so bad. I was actually calm enough to, wait for it…WATCH COMEDY. Yes, I binge watched the entire season, thus far, of Superstore and my abs hurt from laughing. It’s not that the depression suddenly lifted. It was suddenly, I didn’t feel like the world would end if I deviated from my usual crime shows and had a laugh.

To be honest, I am starting to think tapering off this Cymblotto is the right thing to do. Not that the professionals will ever see it that way. The doctor didn’t believe that was causing the anxiety. Of course not, in their world, everything is situational and big pharma can do no wrong. Whatevs.

While I won’t say it was a “good” day…I laughed and any day where I laugh more than I rage against the machine called asshole nation…is a decent day. Today…Shark week arrived, bringing with it agonizing cramps. I mean, it was so bad, I came back home and climbed under the covers after dropping my kid off. This is unheard of on check day. I am normally putting gas in the car and buying myself that one special treat pack of smokes at 7:30 a.m. Not today. I couldn’t get warm, and I was violently shivering. And it has to be me, cos when I paid rent, the girl there was wearing a tank top and a crochet sweater so it can’t have been that cold…

But I lolled in bed for two hours before I forced myself up and about. (More servitude for the tow bill, ya know.) I paid rent and internet, did his bidding, and then grabbed cat food. Normally, I get household supplies or visit Salvation Army store for a new cheap book or some little “treat”. So not feeling it today.

I’m not feeling vile or anything. Well, except over this Sports Illustrated cover model thing. OMG, they put a beautiful woman who isn’t a size zero on the cover, let’s all panic about how it’s promoting unhealthy lifestyles. (Go fuck yourself, Cheryl Tiegs, and fire your plastic surgeon cos you look like hell.) Yes, I had to have a mini rant. Sue me. I could go on about the Donald but I hear so much about it from R and how Trump is the answer, I wanna drink bleach. Politics bore me. They’re all corrupt. They don’t give a fuck about anyone but themselves. End of subject. m BORED. Never registered to vote, never will, shut the fuck up about Trump, R-sole.

On a happy note…My kid brought home a letter today and she was selected for her classroom as “good citizen”. They took her picture, gave her a donut, announced her name over the P.A. Yay. She’s not satan. Yet.

I was pretty proud the other day when the doctor noted (because I’ve had to bring Spook to several appointments) , “Your daughter seems very healthy and happy and well behaved, you take very good care of her.” YESSS.  I got something right!

Now, let’s see if we can get me back to taking good care of myself because frankly, I really miss putting on make up and wearing a bra and ya know…LIVING. I miss caring about living. Now I am gonna curl up in a ball for a half hour then go fix salisbury steak for supper, something my kid will actually eat that isn’t made of sugar. The ovary oompa loompas have decided to radiate the pain into my spine    and for once, I wish I was a spineless wimp.

Wet Day

It’s raining some today and I’ve been out in it running errands trying to get ready for our trips.  I bought my middle daughter Dramamine for her trip to Europe.  Hopefully she can sleep on the plane so she won’t have so much anxiety.  She doesn’t like flying very much.  BUt hopefully she will enjoy the trip–she’s traveling through Amsterdam, Brussels, and Paris.  I just want her  to enjoy herself and be safe coming home.  I also bought her her contact lenses for the next six months until her doctor’s appointment. Then I went to the grocery store and bought for tonight and Monday morning breakfast.

I slept in some today so feel pretty well-rested. I dont’ have long until my youngest comes home from school this afternoon.  I hope she has had a good day.

I feel so much better than I did.  I wish I had never gone off my medicine and could have stuck with it the entire time. But I guess it was for the best because the hospitalization may have been what convinced the insurance to cover it.  I saw one of my readers last night at church and she said she had started wondering if something was going on once I didn’t update the blog come Monday.  So it’s good to know there is someone out there reading that cares.

Hope everyone has a good weekend.

“Anchored to the fate of my life” by Pieces of Bipolar

Such truth and pain in these words, and such strength. Unless you’ve been through this, you’ll never know. But then I’ll never know what you’ve walked through either. Life demands strength, we cannot be weak and wallow and expect to thrive. After everything, after the fall, after the storm, after it all, the one standing is the strong one.

Pieces of Bipolar

not normalYou will know no strength like that of a bipolar. It’s a force of will forged over a lifetime of endurance. Breath by breath, hour by hour, day by day, year in and year out, is her constant struggle to endure the pain that lies deep within her brain.

No single human can break her. For she has faced the storms of life, seen the light at the end and powered through to the other side, alive. She lives where angels fear to tread. Her mind, cast in duality, strives to kill her by coercion and subtle, whispered doubt, eroding her soul like a storm. Human judgment and stigma, shaped by ignorance and intolerance, violate her very life force.

But no bipolar worth their salt and lithium will go down quietly. She is born a warrior. She is born a survivor. She is born to face the dark and walk…

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Hike For Mental Health

Today’s post is by Leland McKeeman of Footsteps A Hike For Mental Health It was something I had to do. Sometimes, I just get a feeling of something I can’t deny. I’ve had it a few times before. I decided to live abroad for a year. To switch universities and programs. To live and work […]

The post Hike For Mental Health appeared first on Insights From A Bipolar Bear.

The 9th Time’s The Charm (A Writing Rejection Fairytale)

Me aewd my ghostwriter Lucy   Happy almost-Friday, my friends! This week life managed to surprise me in a good way. I’ll be honest with you…I liked it! Some of you may remember the plethora of posts I’ve written about my writing rejection, i.e. Let’s Play The Schadenfreude Game – A Writer’s 1st Rejection, Chopped Liver (A … Continue reading The 9th Time’s The Charm (A Writing Rejection Fairytale)

The 9th Time’s The Charm (A Writing Rejection Fairytale)

Me aewd my ghostwriter Lucy   Happy almost-Friday, my friends! This week life managed to surprise me in a good way. I’ll be honest with you…I liked it! Some of you may remember the plethora of posts I’ve written about my writing rejection, i.e. Let’s Play The Schadenfreude Game – A Writer’s 1st Rejection, Chopped Liver (A … Continue reading The 9th Time’s The Charm (A Writing Rejection Fairytale)

Briefly Me by Scott Martin

Well here goes,  my first attempt at a blog!!

This is me , im Scott 32 , from Lincolnshire Uk , Married  , 2 kids , a chef .. And one other major thing in my life .. Bipolar Disorder…

What brings me writing this ??

  • Maybe im imspired by others
  • Maybe after being in a documentry, seeing positive feedback i want to share more of my so called bipolar life 
  • Or am i just turning manic ?

 Have i always had bipolar? Hmm dunno they says signs show from the ages of 18 -25 .. So if i said one of one of my earliest memories is that i flew down my stairs ,( i can actually visually see myself floating down the stairs now ) my wife laughs when i tell her it happened, perhaps she humours me , but i can tell you .. It happened!! .fullstopPychosis ? Well i dunno ..

Caused by trauma?? .. My childhood was good untill i was 9 , my older brother at 16 was hit by car that flung him into a bus that he was catching on a wet night after his shift had finished. This had amassive effect on my life , not only did i loose my brother , but also nothing has ever been the same since. My family had depression written all over them, i can remember thinking then it should of been me , at one point i thought i was him or was that down to me acting like him , thinking about him to much , or wearing his clothes to try  and be him .. I dunno im rambling but guess i had a trauma

I guess the real signs of bipolar disorder came when i met my beautiful wife , my highs and lows when i think about them now was there , we had 4 houses in just over 3 years , i ran up so much debt with taking out cards thinking i could get away with not paying them , nothing was ever right, i had many moments of being horrible to my wife , i just couldnt find a way to control my thoughts which led to the only way for me to release them was to be  nasty and irritable i guess. Problem then i would sink into depression , laying on the settee while the world , my children grew .., but my marriage was failing ..

I think i have this bipolar thing i said .. It must of been 3am in the morning when i woke my wife , this was back in 2009, the whole stacy slater bipolar eastenders storyline had been on, i sat going through the symptons and guess there and then diagnosed myself.

4 years passed.. I didnt do anything about my new discovery of bipolar disorder , infact i was in denial , in them years we once again moved , i had bought cars in middle of the night , i started to believe i could draw the dead, like a spirtual artist , i was still having highs and lows but more extreame. I did try medication , anti depressants from my gp but no referal , i was a mess.

Jan 2013 .. A breakthrough came after my ever supportive wife came with me to my GP , i got referred , with  cyclothymia being mentioned as a reason for moods
I didnt really recongise myself i was 17 stone plus , unhappy but new that this referal was key , 2 trips over a period of 3 months to the people of ill brains , mood charts and conversations  , i was given the diagnosis of Bipolar 2 Disorder with further assements.


May 2015 .. So my diagnosis had been well over a year well 2 , in Jan that year  , i thought i was well , i had tried medication, they made me gain weight , made me feel numb , i decided to stop taking medication, self help and manage bipolar myself , even discharging myself from psychiatric care , 5 months later a new women came into my life

Annie Lennox .. I was stupid not to reconise a manic episode, but to me i was well / ish .. When i go high i control rapid thoughts via music , for some reason i fount my love for annie, she was there to block my thoughts and for the first time i had not knowing developed pychosis type symptons , the more i listened continuously to her songs i new i had been chosen, the lyrics , the videos , the way she looked at the camaras in the videos was for me it all came in place for I was not scott , well i was but not in 2015 , i was meant to be in the 80’s living my life , if i went in shops her music would be on , it was just her sign to show she was with me , at work on the radio again with me, after a good few weeks i decided to tell my wife about my discovery

Back to the mental health unit , my wife new i had became unwell , my boss got told and i was signed off work, thinking back now i was a danger to myself , and should of perhaps been sectioned or at least gone in voluntary  , thankfully  like a jigsaw my wife pieced me back together , but also said to me you need medication or find away for it to not happen again , she was frightend i was still high , but it hit home

The time off work  i managed to get myself down a few levels , i had a new appoinment back in place to discuss medications , i also fount myself being given the chance to take part of a follow up stephen fry life of a manic depressive documentry , i owned the first one , it helped me and my wife so much and being part of the new one was very important to me , if my story gave comfort or awareness to one person it would make me feel happy

The filming soon  came around and at the time i had chosen lithium as my choose of medication to control me. Still with the diagnosis of Bipolar 2 , after blood tests i began my lithuum , starting on 400mg i started to feel a lot better , my mind felt clear , no zombie feelings , a month later i had it increased to 800mg as the levels were not quite high enough to work as it should. The 2nd part of filming had finished , being more well i new i had done the right thing in trying to end the stigma of bipolar, the producers , filmcrew was such nice people.

Present Day .. Im now on 1200mg of lithium daily , the documentry has been aired and the supportive feedback blew me away being on tv was very surreal  , at this moment i feel really high and have been told to stay off work for 3 days to try and get rest in , i still believe in lithium , but one thing i am now passionate about making mental health more aware , deciding to write daily mood blog i feel will help me and hopfully give others comfort too.


Check out his BLOG and Twitter page

How Walking in Nature Changes the Brain (hint: it’s good!)


JULY 22, 2015
A walk in the park may soothe the mind and, in the process, change the workings of our brains in ways that improve our mental health, according to an interesting new study of the physical effects on the brain of visiting nature.

Most of us today live in cities and spend far less time outside in green, natural spaces than people did several generations ago.
City dwellers also have a higher risk for anxiety, depression and other mental illnesses than people living outside urban centers, studies show.
These developments seem to be linked to some extent, according to a growing body of research. Various studies have found that urban dwellers with little access to green spaces have a higher incidence of psychological problems than people living near parks and that city dwellers who visit natural environments have lower levels of stress hormones immediately afterward than people who have not recently been outside.
But just how a visit to a park or other green space might alter mood has been unclear. Does experiencing nature actually change our brains in some way that affects our emotional health?
That possibility intrigued Gregory Bratman, a graduate student at the Emmett Interdisciplinary Program in Environment and Resources at Stanford University, who has been studying the psychological effects of urban living. In an earlier study published last month, he and his colleagues found that volunteers who walked briefly through a lush, green portion of the Stanford campus were more attentive and happier afterward than volunteers who strolled for the same amount of time near heavy traffic.
But that study did not examine the neurological mechanisms that might underlie the effects of being outside in nature.
So for the new study, which was published last week in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, Mr. Bratman and his collaborators decided to closely scrutinize what effect a walk might have on a person’s tendency to brood.
Brooding, which is known among cognitive scientists as morbid rumination, is a mental state familiar to most of us, in which we can’t seem to stop chewing over the ways in which things are wrong with ourselves and our lives. This broken-record fretting is not healthy or helpful. It can be a precursor to depression and is disproportionately common among city dwellers compared with people living outside urban areas, studies show.
Perhaps most interesting for the purposes of Mr. Bratman and his colleagues, however, such rumination also is strongly associated with increased activity in a portion of the brain known as the subgenual prefrontal cortex.
If the researchers could track activity in that part of the brain before and after people visited nature, Mr. Bratman realized, they would have a better idea about whether and to what extent nature changes people’s minds.
Mr. Bratman and his colleagues first gathered 38 healthy, adult city dwellers and asked them to complete a questionnaire to determine their normal level of morbid rumination.
The researchers also checked for brain activity in each volunteer’s subgenual prefrontal cortex, using scans that track blood flow through the brain. Greater blood flow to parts of the brain usually signals more activity in those areas.
Then the scientists randomly assigned half of the volunteers to walk for 90 minutes through a leafy, quiet, parklike portion of the Stanford campus or next to a loud, hectic, multi-lane highway in Palo Alto. The volunteers were not allowed to have companions or listen to music. They were allowed to walk at their own pace.
Immediately after completing their walks, the volunteers returned to the lab and repeated both the questionnaire and the brain scan.
As might have been expected, walking along the highway had not soothed people’s minds. Blood flow to their subgenual prefrontal cortex was still high and their broodiness scores were unchanged.
But the volunteers who had strolled along the quiet, tree-lined paths showed slight but meaningful improvements in their mental health, according to their scores on the questionnaire. They were not dwelling on the negative aspects of their lives as much as they had been before the walk.
They also had less blood flow to the subgenual prefrontal cortex. That portion of their brains were quieter.
These results “strongly suggest that getting out into natural environments” could be an easy and almost immediate way to improve moods for city dwellers, Mr. Bratman said.
But of course many questions remain, he said, including how much time in nature is sufficient or ideal for our mental health, as well as what aspects of the natural world are most soothing. Is it the greenery, quiet, sunniness, loamy smells, all of those, or something else that lifts our moods? Do we need to be walking or otherwise physically active outside to gain the fullest psychological benefits? Should we be alone or could companionship amplify mood enhancements?
“There’s a tremendous amount of study that still needs to be done,” Mr. Bratman said.
But in the meantime, he pointed out, there is little downside to strolling through the nearest park, and some chance that you might beneficially muffle, at least for awhile, your subgenual prefrontal cortex.

Does Pain End?



Slightly better times are here, but not in permanent way.  I am still experiencing a tremendous amount of hopelessness, suicidality, despair, depression, overwhelming sadness, non-stop crying spells, mind-blowing anxiety.  What I have now that is different, is each day I can sometimes find a little pocket of time that is not destroyed or taken over by the monsters in my mind.

If I am really careful, I can stretch that little pocket of time upwards of an hour before the lows inside of my head start to drag me back down.  The past week, I have been able to get lost in some jewelry projects, good quality time with LarBear, entertaining online chats, Kizzie snuggles, and some magic in the kitchen.

Now that I have these pockets of positive time, it almost make things worse.  It’s like a tease — oh, here, you can feel semi-decent for an hour, but then it will be snatched right out of our hands and you will be back to fearing your own shadow and crying off all the makeup you so carefully applied and choking back sobs until you feel like you could vomit.

So I have my hour here and there, and I force myself to do things, creative things, hands-on things, fun things, in those short stretches of time.  Because they aren’t long pockets of time, the don’t always come everyday, and I may jump back and forth out of a “good pocket” several times in the course of one day.

I am lacking in the area of my brain where hope is created, and really do feel like this is probably going last half past forever.  Or really, that it will change, but only change inasmuch that it will be just a different version of Hell.  So, I posted the HOPE sign at the top, because that’s what I’m clinging on to with my shredded fingernails.

Pain ends, pain ends, pain ends.  I repeat it to myself over and over.  I don’t buy in, I don’t believe it, but I repeat, repeat, repeat.  Because deep down inside, there is hope that things will be better, and that itty bitty, tiny shred of REAL hope is all I have to hang on to, as far as thinking my mental health will some day ever be in “recovery” or “remission.”

Because really, I just don’t believe it.  I don’t think “recovery” or “remission” can be applied words to what is happening to my brain, and I’ve never been able to understand the use of those words on this particular disease.



Filed under: Collection of Thoughts Tagged: anxiety, bipolar disorder, depression, hope, hopeless, mania, no hope, self harm, suicidal thoughts, suicide