Daily Archives: October 14, 2016

We All Need a “Thunder-Shirt” Now & Then

Today is what Winnie the Pooh would call a blustery day. The wind and rain are quite heavy and it is supposed to be that way all of today and maybe into the weekend. This morning the power went out … Continue reading


SO I slept in this morning before going to therapy.  I just didn’t want to do anything at all.  But I did have a good session.  I talked about how angry Bob had made me so she had me map out a way to talk to him about it that wasn’t accusing him of anything, just asking for his reasoning. So I called him from leaving therapy and asked if he could wait for me to get home and us to talk before he went back to work from  Iunch,. So we did.

I got him to say that if I went on the Atlanta trip and didn’t have problems that I could go to Columbus for school .  But he also said that if by February I wasn’t doing a lot better, he wouldn’t make me go on the Atlanta trip.  SO we will just pray that I keep improving  and know that there is a plan in case something goes wrong.

I have an appointment with the adult Sunday School pastor and a counselor about setting up a LifeGroup for  women dealing with mental illness on Tuesday.  SO we will see how that goes.


My First Blogversary!

Ready. Set. Sail! Hey there. It was a year ago (two days ago) that I started blogging and I just wanted to say that I’m super super happy that I did. It has really opened my eyes to the community of bipolar bloggers and their friends and family. And of course the supporters of mental … More My First Blogversary!


img_2274The series of events continue, sad and unbearable almost. You think you have your life under control, you get educated, you get married, you have children… but in the middle of all that you develop bipolar 1 disorder. Your husband is affected by it, your child is certainly affected by it, your life is affected by it. You feel you’re doing fine, but in the early days after diagnosis, you are anything but fine. Things get better but still you have major mood swings. Your husband is an adult and can more or less handle it. Your child, your precious baby doesn’t know why his loving mom turns into a raving banshee sometimes. Your precious son suffers and is traumatized. He is also extremely sensitive and has anxiety. How could he not have anxiety? My mother had and mother in law has major anxiety disorder, as does my husband and lately my anxiety is off the charts. So not ony did my son have the genes for it, he lived in a stressful environment. I loved him as much as anyone possibly could have and still do. But sometimes, as sad as it is, love isn’t enough. The effect my illness and my husband’s stress had on my baby was bad. He is angry at us and has a lot of anxiety. And recent events in his young life have made things worse. Everyone has told me that I visit him too much, so I am staying away. I am allowing him to learn from the adverse events and handle them himself. It is one of the hardest things I’ve done. My instinct is to jump on a plane, get to him as quickly as possible and give him lots of hugs and comfort him and tell him that everything will be alright. I cannot stop crying at his unfortunate circumstances, BUT I also know that he will handle it, learn from it, and be stronger for it. He doesn’t need his mommy to hold his hand, he needs to know he can handle life. So in his best interest, I’m staying away. Not easy, but I’m doing it.

Again, dear readers, send me your positive thoughts. My family needs them. Love and hugs for all of you.

F*ck This Sh*t

Missing the light: Chatsworth, Autumn 2015

Missing the light: Chatsworth, Autumn 2015

Warnings for: Anger; lots of feckin’ swearing; brief mention of suicide; PIP

This is a blog about being a bipolar writer. Or a wannabe bipolar writer. Or a wannabe writer who happens to be bipolar.

Make up your own goddamn minds. I don’t bloody care.

Or so I am telling myself, in an effort to get myself going, again. I’ve managed to drag my sorry arse back out of bed, despite feeling like the veritable bag of useless, despairing shite. This is known as fueling the Muse with anger.

It’s cheaper than chocolate.

Cat tray with obliging fake cat. With thanks to Stephanie who gave me the cat.

Once more into the cat tray of life, elusive readers/listeners, once more

Cutting to the chase: I died last night, at a spoken word gig. You couldn’t see the beer for the tumbleweeds which went rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ past, as I read an allegedly comic, admittedly surreal, story.

Honestly, it was the longest 646 words of my life. I got more laughs talking about suicide to some students at a mental health event earlier this week.

In a previous blog, I asked whether I could be an author pimp, writer, or both. Well, at the moment, the world and its literate dog is telling me that I should stick to author pimping, shove my writing in a drawer, and spending spoken word nights in front of the telly.

In other shitty news:

1) The Personal Independence Payment (PIP) people are on my tail: oh, be joyful.
2) A recent team meeting was more packed with drama than your average soap
3) An author who’s far more successful than me (1) told me one of my stories was “nice and inoffensive” (2)
4) Got yet another rejection from the Daily Science Fiction (3)
5) I’ve apparently pissed off a dear friend, probably by being overly needy
6) I cannot afford a feckin’ day out, let alone a bloody holiday, because my house needs more work than could be completed or paid for in one averagely paid lifetime, plus my paid work continues to look shaky
7) I do not deal well with dark nights.
8) Or cold in a house with no central heating.
9) A presidential candidate has been boasting about a) assaulting women, and b) not paying tax. Plus, someone actually asked me if I support that arse! Oh endless, endless floods of tears from sweet baby bejesus!!

Oh, and I’m worried that one of my favourite bipolar bloggers is dead. Which, after all, is not outside of the range of possibilities.

Brief, thankful pause: If you are one of the 60 or so people who took advantage of the free offer of my e-book, “Koi Carpe Diem“, thank you! 

Brief plug which may sound arrogant but isn’t: if you like Terry Pratchett, and Jasper Fforde, you may like my stuff. I am *not* claiming to have anything approaching their talent, or wit. If however you prefer your fantasy served up with more surrealism and humour, than shiny swords, and unicorns, I may be your woman.

Although, so there is a unicorn.

Lance the unicorn, from "The St Jude Care Home for Mythical Creatures". Art by the fabulous Tom Brown

Lance the unicorn, from “The St Jude Care Home for Mythical Creatures”. Art by the fabulous Tom Brown

(1) Aren’t they all?
(2) A friend says I shouldn’t be discouraged or upset by this comment. Huh.
(3) Not that bothered, to be honest. I’ve had almost as much short fic rejected by them as poetry by “The North”.

Tagged: anger, bipolar, Donald Trump, fantasy, humour, Jasper Fforde, Koi Carpe Diem, PIP, surrealism, Terry Pratchett, Tom Brown, unicorns, US presidential election, whinging for Britain, worry, writing

When a Loved One Doesn’t Understand Mental Illness – Fallback

This Fallback Friday was originally posted on August 1, 2014 When a Loved One Doesn’t Understand Mental Illness The other day I posted an article suggesting ways you can tell your family and friends that you have a mental illness. What do you do, however, if they don’t understand? I’ve been in enough support groups to learn that many people,…

The post When a Loved One Doesn’t Understand Mental Illness – Fallback appeared first on Insights From A Bipolar Bear.

Shit I am sick of hearing

First and foremost, I am sick of people saying if stuff sucks, you can just go and change it. I can’t make my adrenal glands start working again, and the majority of my problems are caused either by this or by the medications for this. I am very sick of people saying you just need a positive attitude. If you’re in pain from the minute you wake up until you go to sleep at night, it can be somewhat challenging to be cheerful all the time.

That being said, I am also sick of people telling me I probably complain to people all the time. I can’t remember the last time I complained, out loud, to another person. I avoid human contact if I am not in a good enough mood. And then, at the same time, people tell me I should talk to people about myself and then I’d feel better. [*facepalm*] In any case, I don’t talk to people about myself much at all and have very much crawled up my own asshole and died, to paraphrase Vonnegut.

I’ve also had numerous people tell me that I can’t possibly be suffering from things like impaired cognition, poor executive functions, short term memory loss, and attention problems, despite these being listed as side effects or symptoms from my meds and health problems. I’ve done things like making lists, but writing things down is a poor substitute for being able to think clearly and remember things. My former therapist suggested maybe I would benefit from ADHD-type meds, but I have not tried this or discussed it with my regular doctor yet, and I have enough trouble as it is remembering to take the pills I’m on and dealing with the side-effects of those.

I also think about parallels with dealing with grief. People often say that it is work, that you need to do it and get through it rather than repress it and remain in denial. That tends to be how I think about negative feelings in general: that they are often valid feelings and maybe you shouldn’t repress them 100% of the time. If things kind of suck, I think it’s probably ok to acknowledge that they suck now and then.

Anyway, I don’t think my current situation is the result of mental illness alone. I think I coped with things quite well before getting seriously physically ill (adrenal crisis can kill you quit rapidly and I’ve come close more than once). If I am sometimes in a shitty mood, it is because I am sick and I do not see a way out. I only see things getting worse. I’m subscribed to various groups for adrenal and pituitary-related diseases, and am bombarded with “in memoriam” posts about people with the same and similar illnesses dropping dead before they are 45. That and the medical literature also makes it seem like I don’t have a very long life expectancy, and that all that remains of that life expectancy is going to be miserable most of the time.

Anyway, though I am sure positivity has its uses, people telling me to deny that anything is wrong with me physically or that my meds have a very negative psychological affect does make me want to say “fuck your positivity.” Unless your life is perfect, you probably can’t be positive all the time. I have seen my entire life turn to shit and all my dreams and goals in life as well as my health crumble within the past 10 years.

I used to at least enjoy things like writing or painting, but the brainfog has impaired any sort of creative urges to the point where I find myself unable to write, no matter how much I push myself. Some might consider this unimportant, but it tends to mean that there is absolutely nothing in life that I am able to enjoy or feel good about, so I consider it a great loss. I didn’t even let people see or read most of my shit, I did it for myself, but I enjoyed it, and I don’t have that anymore, either.

It is possible that someday in the distant future, I will be able to get off of the corticosteroids. The endocrinologist said it will, at the very least, take years. I’ve also read that the negative side effects of long term corticosteroid use can persist for years after stopping the meds, and it’s quite possible that 10 years of high doses of steroids has really fucked up my insides and lessened my life expectancy, and yes, that bums me out sometimes. And I feel like it’s ok to be bummed out about that sometimes, especially since I only mention it on the internet and no one is forced to read it.


I am blown away.

Mañana Will Have To Do

Oh, it has been such a time of ups and downs and confusion all around!  My brain overfloweth.  Time has shifted into hyperdrive and every time I think I’ve got to a place where I can finally write, there goes something else and I’m blown away again.

Or perhaps I’m all sharpened up and set to go, but no internet, no cell signal, no connection to the WordPress world except perhaps the little previews from y’all that show up on the emails.

Or like the last couple of days, when my mood has been savage and it’s a wonder I’m not locked up somewhere, crazed with pain and raging against the neighbor’s stupidity for leaving their TV blasting with the door open and all I wanted was to listen to the remnants of hurricane rain pattering through the oaks.  Why do people go to lovely state parks if all they want to do is watch their damn TV?  They can do that at home, or at least shut their door so I don’t have to listen to it.

Yesterday the cause of my most recent volatility revealed itself: I have a viral illness.  Fever, chills, sweats, aches…my eyeballs feel like they’re trying to explode.  What a mess that would be, but since I’d be blind, I wouldn’t see it.  My head feels like Rocky’s punching bag.

Funny thing is, I still have an appetite.  Strange.  In fact, I find myself actually cooking.  Unusual, for me.

And I don’t want any cannabis, which is downright odd.

But before this all came into consciousness, that I am sick, I went to the health food store and stocked up on my winter supplements, the ones I use on a daily basis so as not to get sick, and the ones to abort sickness at the first signs.  

So, as soon as I realized my present state of illness, I began gobbling Chinese herbs and homeopathic remedies.  Better late than never, I suppose.  I’m hoping it will ward off the usual case of pneumonia that follows any sort of respiratory badness, since I have shit for lungs.

I was to have gone to visit my mother tomorrow.  That was my plan, until the fever, etc, hit.  But she is almost 90 and I don’t want to expose her to my germs, so I had to call that off.  I admit to feeling guilty, since I really didn’t want to see her in the first place, but I had every intention of doing so.  When I called to let her know I wouldn’t be coming, she didn’t sound too disappointed.  She also didn’t sound too disappointed that yet another of her cats has disappeared (this must be #7 or 8, minimum).  Oh well, plenty more cats at the shelter.  And plenty of coyotes that also have to eat!

I have settled in at an “old friend” campground, where I hope to rest and recover and finally write for you the story of the events of the past month, more or less, and I hope that as I write, things will untangle and perhaps I will feel less confused.

Hasta mañana, hasty potato…

The Visitor

This morning, as I was waiting for the delivery guy to come down the path with my groceries, I saw through the glass of the screen door that I had a visitor. It was a squirrel and he was looking … Continue reading