Daily Archives: April 16, 2016

I Don’t Think He Gets It

"Real" Women
“Real” Women

As much as I love my boyfriend, I don’t think he gets one pretty vital part of me. I was really traumatized during my marriage by my ex-husbands love affair (I call it that because it was) with internet porn. He watched daily for hours on end not caring that it left me feeling unattractive, not feminine enough, not as much of a woman as I should have been, etc. His addiction left me feeling very vulnerable about how I looked. I am not considered an ugly woman, but his constant consumption left me with raw and open sores in that department.

What my boyfriend doesn’t get (and this was demonstrated last night) is that if he initiates a conversation about some actress or model that is paid to be a sex symbol, and starts going on about how he has this one picture of whoever in lingerie, it just gets him going. This turns me off to no end. You can literally forget having intimate relations with me at this point as I am now feeling all those lovely feelings of insecurity left by my ex-husband. Why would I want to be intimate with a man who is singing the praises of another woman who is paid to look good; looking good to men and inspiring women to look more like them is what they do. Normal, everyday women typically do not have professional make-up artists, personal trainers, and the like. Most of us are lucky if we get some makeup on our faces, and the bare minimum of exercise. Many of us “normal” women are what they call “plus-size” which really offends me. I am 5’10” tall, and have the larger frame that goes along with it. Not to mention, my medications make it very hard to maintain my weight.

So, I said all that to say this: If you are a man, and you have an attractive female, don’t ruin it by talking about women who earn their living by looking good. In my case, if it keeps up, there is going to be a long conversation about spousal emotional abuse that isn’t obvious. The type of abuse and humiliation that I endured (like a dumb ass) at the hands of my ex has left me scarred and hesitant and incredibly sensitive about how I look, and whether I am truly feminine. The line of thinking goes something like this: If I were better looking, wore skimpy clothing, acted like a whore on steroids, and a whole host of other delusional thoughts, then my ex wouldn’t be watching porn 24/7. Of course, I realize it’s an addiction, but even that understanding doesn’t “fix” the damage. So, guys, if you have a good woman (even if she isn’t the paid to be the perfect type), treasure her, and make her feel loved and sexually attractive to you. And, the same goes for women.

Filed under: “normal”?, acceptance, beauty, being okay with one’s self, relationships Tagged: Beauty, Emotional Abuse, Humiliation, insecurity

I Don’t Think He Gets It

"Real" Women
“Real” Women

As much as I love my boyfriend, I don’t think he gets one pretty vital part of me. I was really traumatized during my marriage by my ex-husbands love affair (I call it that because it was) with internet porn. He watched daily for hours on end not caring that it left me feeling unattractive, not feminine enough, not as much of a woman as I should have been, etc. His addiction left me feeling very vulnerable about how I looked. I am not considered an ugly woman, but his constant consumption left me with raw and open sores in that department.

What my boyfriend doesn’t get (and this was demonstrated last night) is that if he initiates a conversation about some actress or model that is paid to be a sex symbol, and starts going on about how he has this one picture of whoever in lingerie, it just gets him going. This turns me off to no end. You can literally forget having intimate relations with me at this point as I am now feeling all those lovely feelings of insecurity left by my ex-husband. Why would I want to be intimate with a man who is singing the praises of another woman who is paid to look good; looking good to men and inspiring women to look more like them is what they do. Normal, everyday women typically do not have professional make-up artists, personal trainers, and the like. Most of us are lucky if we get some makeup on our faces, and the bare minimum of exercise. Many of us “normal” women are what they call “plus-size” which really offends me. I am 5’10” tall, and have the larger frame that goes along with it. Not to mention, my medications make it very hard to maintain my weight.

So, I said all that to say this: If you are a man, and you have an attractive female, don’t ruin it by talking about women who earn their living by looking good. In my case, if it keeps up, there is going to be a long conversation about spousal emotional abuse that isn’t obvious. The type of abuse and humiliation that I endured (like a dumb ass) at the hands of my ex has left me scarred and hesitant and incredibly sensitive about how I look, and whether I am truly feminine. The line of thinking goes something like this: If I were better looking, wore skimpy clothing, acted like a whore on steroids, and a whole host of other delusional thoughts, then my ex wouldn’t be watching porn 24/7. Of course, I realize it’s an addiction, but even that understanding doesn’t “fix” the damage. So, guys, if you have a good woman (even if she isn’t the paid to be the perfect type), treasure her, and make her feel loved and sexually attractive to you. And, the same goes for women.

Filed under: “normal”?, acceptance, beauty, being okay with one’s self, relationships Tagged: Beauty, Emotional Abuse, Humiliation, insecurity

It’s All Good

We are “supposed” to be having an epic snowstorm right now. Fourteen inches was forecast.  Oh, the hype!  Hide yo’ kids!  Lock up your pets!!  Your tree branches are going to break off!!  Don’t drive!!  Stock up on groceries!!  Jesus Christ, it’s like Snowpocalypse was coming.  Instead, what we have are gently falling flakes that melt when they hit the ground.  This is a bullshit storm!  It’s just like what I do in my head!  I create these great big giant stressful scenarios that rev up my motor and make me think that life as I know it is going to end, and then *blip* nothing or close to nothing happens.  THAT’S why it’s good to be in the moment.  I’m preaching to myself here.  Because the present moment is pretty damn good.  I’m home, I’m warm, I’m safe, I have this uber-comfy environment, I can watch tv, read, do a creative project, text someone, tweet, even write a goddamn blog!  It’s all good!  I am thankful for the “all good” times.  I’m fine. It’s fine.  Let the snow fall.  Nobody’s getting hurt.  I’m just going to sit here and say “Thank you”.


Filed under: Bipolar, Bipolar Gratitude, Bipolar Happiness Tagged: Bipolar, Blogging, Hope, Humor, Mental Illness, Psychology, Reader

It’s All Good

We are “supposed” to be having an epic snowstorm right now. Fourteen inches was forecast.  Oh, the hype!  Hide yo’ kids!  Lock up your pets!!  Your tree branches are going to break off!!  Don’t drive!!  Stock up on groceries!!  Jesus Christ, it’s like Snowpocalypse was coming.  Instead, what we have are gently falling flakes that melt when they hit the ground.  This is a bullshit storm!  It’s just like what I do in my head!  I create these great big giant stressful scenarios that rev up my motor and make me think that life as I know it is going to end, and then *blip* nothing or close to nothing happens.  THAT’S why it’s good to be in the moment.  I’m preaching to myself here.  Because the present moment is pretty damn good.  I’m home, I’m warm, I’m safe, I have this uber-comfy environment, I can watch tv, read, do a creative project, text someone, tweet, even write a goddamn blog!  It’s all good!  I am thankful for the “all good” times.  I’m fine. It’s fine.  Let the snow fall.  Nobody’s getting hurt.  I’m just going to sit here and say “Thank you”.


Filed under: Bipolar, Bipolar Gratitude, Bipolar Happiness Tagged: Bipolar, Blogging, Hope, Humor, Mental Illness, Psychology, Reader

Messy Box April 2016

April Messy Box has arrived!  It’s a Paris weekend theme.  The large papers and tiny squares are single-sided.  All the other cards have a different design on the back.  The roller stamp says: FUN TIMES, DATE NIGHT, POSITIVE VIBES, COFFEE BREAK, YES,YES,YES!, BRUNCH!, I LOVE, THE WEEKEND, ♥♥♥♥♥, WEEKEND TO-DO LIST, SUNDAY, SATURDAY.  I don’t […]

Messy Box April 2016

April Messy Box has arrived!  It’s a Paris weekend theme.  The large papers and tiny squares are single-sided.  All the other cards have a different design on the back.  The roller stamp says: FUN TIMES, DATE NIGHT, POSITIVE VIBES, COFFEE BREAK, YES,YES,YES!, BRUNCH!, I LOVE, THE WEEKEND, ♥♥♥♥♥, WEEKEND TO-DO LIST, SUNDAY, SATURDAY.  I don’t […]

Sometimes I’m Ashamed Of My Mental Illness

Someone asked me recently what the most difficult part of my psychiatric hospitalization was. While the uncomfortable bed, tedious group therapies, and general lack of freedom were all stressful, it was life after hospitalization that was the toughest.

More specifically, the urge to hide from the people in my life, to self-isolate.

They saw me when I was losing my mind. I let them see me in my most vulnerable state, when my grip on reality was tenuous at best.

And all I could feel about that was shame.

When I say that I’m ashamed of my mental illness, it surprises people. I write about my struggles for a living. My history with mental illness is plastered all over the internet, easily uncovered with a single Google search of my name.

I have unapologetically owned my trauma around mental illness and, further, used that trauma to affirm and validate others who share those struggles.

So why would I be ashamed?

Well, that’s easy enough. The same reasons as everybody else.

Because underneath my “social justice warrior” armor, there’s just a scared little kid. One who spent years trying to hide his illness from everyone, fearful that he couldn’t be both mentally ill and lovable. Scared that if people saw how deep his struggles ran, they might leave.

I could tell the world that I was crazy, to an extent; it was empowering because I presented myself as the protagonist of my own story.

But what happens when everyone sees that you’re really broken, broken in ways they never imagined?

What happens when they look into your eyes and realize, fully, that you are the kind of crazy they’ve been warned about?

Because truthfully, my kind of crazy doesn’t inspire. At its core, it terrifies.

Every day I am biting my tongue until it bleeds, because I haven’t been able to admit that I’m scared.

I’m scared that this breakdown has rendered me less valuable, less likable, less worthy.

Every day I am pretending that my recovery is pleasant and easy and simple — I swallow what hurts when they ask if I’m okay — because maybe if I prove that I can be normal again, they’ll forget that I was ever psychotic, that I was ever paranoid, that I was ever delusional.

Maybe they’ll forget that I’m mentally ill.

Maybe they’ll forget what I looked like in a hospital gown, an IV stuck in my arm, trapped in a room on suicide watch.

I was so small then.

In that moment, waiting to be transferred to the psych ward, no one cared about my articles or my speaking gigs or the ways that I changed the world. In that moment, none of it mattered.

In that moment, I was revealed as the one thing I really was — crazy. And I had nothing to hide behind.

I find myself wondering, on the other side of this, if my breakdown will eclipse everything that I am.

Because none of us — not even a mental health blogger like me — is exempt from the feeling that our illnesses make us less than, make us unworthy.

The hardest part of being hospitalized wasn’t being in a hospital. The hardest part was letting the people in my life see that I am not, in fact, a success story, someone who overcame his struggles.

I am still fractured, still fragmented, still grieving, still human. 

And now, I’m exposed.


What I Learned Last Week

Here are a few things I discovered over the course of the past ten days or so.

…I learned that I really can be a gracious hostess, even in the middle of hypomania. Two of Will’s brothers and one of his sisters were here, and even though I was waaay overstimulated, I was able to subdue it for the most part and act like a rational human being. Which is why I’m resistant to screwing around with my meds, despite the fact that Sarah, my psych NP, wants me to at least think about trying lithium.

…I learned that I’ve been diagnosed bipolar 1 again. Twice, actually: once by Kathy, and once by Sarah. I suppose that means I should start believing it.

…I learned that if I’m feeling like I could jog all the way to Texas and back, I’d better double up on the Zyprexa for a night or two. (That’s per Sarah.)

…I learned that being greeted by four Pomeranian puppies in the mornings is worth getting out of bed for.

…I learned that their sharp little barks echo VERY loudly in the hall outside my bedroom, which is what wakes me up in the first place.

…I learned that pumpkin pie doesn’t taste nearly as good in April as it does in October. I’m ready for key lime pie and peach cobbler. And strawberries, and watermelon, and apricots…

…I learned that I may be developing a serious Coke Slurpee habit. I don’t know why now—it’s not like they haven’t been around for most of my life—but it seems to meet a need other cold drinks and sweets don’t. It could be worse…beer and cigarettes come to mind. But why don’t I ever get cravings for broccoli and Brussels sprouts?

…I learned that I’m not the least bit interested in the lives of the contestants on Jeopardy! and Wheel of Fortune. Just get back to the game already, will you?

…I also learned that watching someone you love fade away little by little is like Chinese water torture: it’s hard to endure, it messes with your head, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.

Every week seems to bring another symptom, another indignity. Every day he loses a little more of his vitality, and we both know it’s not coming back. He remains optimistic and even cheerful most of the time, but he sleeps for longer and longer periods and moves more slowly with each passing day. He’s still got a ways to go before he begins the active dying process, but it could happen at any time and even though I know what’s coming, it’s going to shock the hell out of me when it does.

I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready. But I can’t let myself think that far ahead. For now, all I can do is let him sleep when he wants to, and enjoy him when he is awake and alert. And always, always thank God for every moment I get to spend with him in this final season of his wonderful life.


I Just Want To Scream!

I am going to start this off by saying I am not looking for sympathy; I just need to vent, and I am feeling comfortable here so those of you who want to read on, let me thank you for … Continue reading