Daily Archives: September 5, 2017

Last Meeting With Dr. Flaky

Yesterday I had my last meeting with Dr. Flaky.  It was sad, but satisfying in a way, to have a good ending.  I presented her with my handbook that I had made for her new assistant, and she was thrilled with it.  I was pretty proud of it myself.  We went over a few outstanding issues and I gave her my final bill.  Then she gave me a card, which was so nice and unexpected, and what was inside was REALLY unexpected – $300!!!  Boy oh boy was that nice of her.  Between that and my final bill, I was able to deposit over a thousand bucks into the bank.  That sure made me happy.  Dr. Flaky and I hugged and had a tearful goodbye.

I got to meet the new assistant and I went over the handbook with her and all of the basic tasks of the job.  I think she will do a good job for Dr. Flaky.  Not as good as me, but pretty good :).

Then I went home and I felt kind of lost with nothing to do.  I may get over my ambivalence about starting the new job pretty fast!

I used some of the $300 (a little less than half) to order some new clothes that I can wear at the new job.  It’s been a few years since I bought clothes, and I really need them!  I am excited to have some new pieces.  I ordered from a plus-size catalog, size 18!!  It is hard to believe that I am a size 18, but that’s where I’m at right now.  I think as long as I stay away from the pot, I won’t get any bigger, but I sure would like to shrink a bit.  This will require some exercise, which requires a willingness I haven’t had up to now.  Maybe all this free time . . .

I have a few errands to run today and then I’ll probably email the recruiter to ask her when in the hell I’m starting my new job.  What’s up with your week?  Hope it’s a good one!  Peach out, BPOF!

Filed under: Bipolar, Bipolar and Work, Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Fat, Mental Illness, Psychology, Psychology Shmyshmology Tagged: Bipolar, Blogging, Mental Health, Mental Illness, Psychology, Reader


In spite of a 24 hours respite from my child while she spent the night with my mom and I managed to do as little of anything as I could except clean the cat boxes..She returned yesterday with a vengeance and within 2 hours…drama. Running in and out. Not taking no for answer. Then came 3 teen girls declaring the cat my kid and her little friend were playing with was their cat and it turned into these teenagers picking on a 5 year old, my kid trying to defend her, but hey, the five year old was kicking and hitting the teenagers so…I just told them to go sort it out anywhere but my yard and made Spook come in. And guess what? She still went and opened the door for those brats were still in our yard feuding so my snowflake got right back into the middle of it and started screaming…At which point I grounded her for Tuesday night.

The kid is a jackhammer to my brain. She. Never. Lets. Up. She could stab you and then have a tantrum because you were busy getting stitches as opposed to giving her ice cream. I tried to explain why she was grounded. She kept blaming the other kids. No, if she had just stayed inside when I told her to, she would not have been grounded. But she just had to go back outside, against my orders, and get in the middle and start screaming like a lunatic at girls big enough to squish her like a bug. FFS. Most of my stress comes from my own child and her inability to just shut her mouth when told no. It’s not a matter of loving her or not paying her enough attention. There is no amount of love and attention enough for her, she will tell you so. She expects it, needs it, 24-7. “Alone time” and “quiet” are terms that sent her into a rage. I asked for 5 minutes of silence following all her screaming friend drama…And she wouldn’t give me even ninety seconds.

So every time she talked, I bumped her bed time 5 minutes earlier until she was in bed before 8 p.m. (coulda been the melatonin, too.) What I realized is, like everything else with my anxiety disorder, even just a 15 minute break from too much stimuli and noise, and I start thinking more calmly, more coherently. IF my child would just stop being a jackhammer to my brain and let me have that 5 minutes here, 10 minutes there, where I just get quiet…She may be a child but she knows enough not to talk out of turn at school which means at home she’s either just being disrepectful or she wants to see if she can drive me to a stay at the Rubber Ramada.

Other than that, it was uneventful holiday weekend, whatever Labor is celebrating. Unless it involves skulls and candy, I don’t much care.

Today I went to public aid to report the loss of child support income because, hey, in a few days I am gonna have no gas in the car and the school won’t let her ride the bus so what the fuck am I supposed to do? Not that I will get even a gas voucher, if you have any income at all or less than 10 kids, they almost never give cash benefits. Least not in my experience, not even after he walked out and left us with no food or anything. And it took 3 weeks for the food stamps to kick in so we were living off the freezer burned crap my dad gave us. Yay for the system working and us bilking it for all its wondermous luxuries.

I even picked up a “work” program pamphlet related to food stamps beneficiaries, thinking maybe they could help me find something that wouldn’t drive me to a nervous breakdown or exclude me because of that shoplifting thing over 13 years ago. But then I read that the doctor would have to sign off on ending my disability first, and sorry, I am not there yet. I want to be, but I am not. It’s not unwillingness to work,it truly is inability to maintain stability and be reliable because hey, a trip to Dollar Tree (or yesterday, Aldi) sent me into a panic meltdown and I had a grinding stomach ache the rest of the day. At this point, holding a job and dealing with the jackhammer child, I’d probably beg to be hospitalized. IF I didn’t go bonkers and start shooting people with a nail gun. (Not a threat, just…people do snap, and for a lot less than what I am dealing with.)

So here I am at the shop in an effort to get the magical credit card privileges so I can put gas in the car and feed my kid til the state luxuries are approved or rejected and snail my way. I had a rough night sleeping, waking every two hours, and as it grows colder, it gets harder and harder to get up, let alone function. Hello, seasonal affective disorder, I have not missed you. I will muddle through this barter system thing with R for as long as I can, but again…if he can’t even pay minimum wage for part time help, I really AM doing a bigger favor to him than he is to me. But hey…

My dad tells me once was a time if a family didn’t have money but needed a doctor to see their kid…they’d swap eggs or chickens for services. You do what you have to do, whether it’s fair or not. Life isn’t fair, Sometimes, though…you just roll with what works for the time being. Because I am betting that old country doctor ended up with more eggs and chickens than he ever did cash from the poor people in his town. No way to thank for all the education and training but a show of good character when people are willing to give something rather than expect services for nothing.

Guess that means my character is strong, even if my mental stability isn’t.

I suddenly want Kentucky Fried Chicken for lunch….


I am waiting to go to my cholesterol check so I haven’t eaten today yet.  I am hungry and I miss my Coke.  That means I’m sleepy too.  But other than that, today is going well.  I have already done most of my work for my W class and will get work finished for my class I teach soon too so my week will be easier.  I have a teleconference on  Thursday night that I am not looking forward to.  Two hours.  So we will see how that turns out.


Family members perspective matters 

I was having a conversation with my sister, Shelley about my journey with mental illness.  I’m not going to lie and say it was a pleasant discussion-it was tenuous.  Why?  Because neither one of us were appreciating our different perspectives.

She was coming from the place of a family member of a loved one with mental illness. The position which says, “If you had only taken your medicine nothing bad would have happened.”

I was coming from the place that said, “Bipolar disorder is a bit harder to manage than you think.  And by the way some of what happened wasn’t my fault.”

After a few days of letting the conversation sink in I came around to seeing what she was trying to say, “Mental illness is a family disease.  Every disappointment, every hospitalization, every tragedy is felt deep within the soul of family members too.”

I understood.  I have sat in the chair as a family member-my mother and another sister have bipolar disorder.  It was a long and arduous journey until they found wellness, until they recovered.  But when I look at them I don’t see bipolar disorder, I see a person.  I see a family member.  I forget about all the times it was difficult.  

Family members who don’t have a mental illness have a right to their perspective.  But the problem arises when policy decisions and laws are made for people with mental illness without our perspective too.  Problems arise when we are blamed for our mental illness.

I also realized how much I had moved forward and let go of the past.  But the conversation we had brought back all the memories and flooded my brain with difficult times, struggles and nearly insurmountable challenges.  I was taken back by all I had to process.

Then, I began to think about others who haven’t spent every waking moment reading and advocating for mental illness.  It has provided me with an avenue of healing.  In my mind I’m no longer the distraught bipolar victim-I am a strong mental health advocate.  I challenged my sister to speak up for mental health and bring another family perspective into the light.

I realized all perspectives are important.  I try to understand the pain and sorrow family members feel when remembering what we went through.  

But tomorrow is here.  I am alive and well.  And so are my family members.  What we do with our knowledge and wisdom, time and talents to help other people will not take away the pain of old memories, but will make us stronger in how we deal with them.

  Giving a gift of understanding to each other is the first step in the process.