Tag Archives: sanity

Not Sure If…

53124344I am rather unsure about the state of my mood at this time. I’m in a good mood, but I am feeling a bit more irritated. The line on the meme-picture came to my head after I got home from Stitch ‘n Bitch last night because I was feeling positively giddy. Maybe it was because I had a great time talking candidly about my life and times. Maybe it’s because I’m finally starting to feel comfortable in our new pub; we switched while I was off my meds and it was bad on my anxiety. I don’t really know, and with bipolar, there’s not always a logical reason to anything (as hard as I try to find one for everything!).

IMG_2363Still, things are holding together nicely enough. We’ve finally got a date booked for the removal men to come and take our furniture to the house, woot woot. Which means getting off our arses and getting the house packed up. I chose to start with my desk environs, as I figured that clearing away the stuff I use the most was the best way to cut into dithering and flipping through stuff. Everything else that I’ve packed has mainly been a shoving things into boxes without looking overmuch; we figure we can do any sorting on the other end. Really, I’m rather good at efficiently packing after some ridiculous number of moves across my childhood, and I’m doing a good job of doing it a bit at a time, so (children permitting) it’s ticking along. I hope to manage a good swathe again today after a few days of everything else getting in the way, but… we’ll see. I’ve got to keep reminding myself to take it easy enough that I don’t push myself into an episode.


A jar of spoons for the lacking-in-spoons me

And in that, I have a talisman reminder to take care of myself now! I’d seen a couple of disparate spoonie friends sharing their spoon jewelery on Facebook, and it made me decide to see what was out there. I found an independent shop here in the UK specializing in things to make chronic illness suck less, and fell in love with the little spoons in a jar necklace. So my husband and daughter, being the awesome people they are, decided to buy it for me. I’m never taking it off, hee hee. And really, even though I am doing rather well right now, I know how quickly I can push past the point of reason and end up destroying my sand castle self. No matter how practiced one is in the managing of spoons, we all get that occasional spot of doing well where we think that maybe, just maybe, we can push that little bit further, and nope. I’ve fallen into the drink without a spoon to paddle me out, miasma.

Anyways, I should try to get my day moving, as the hours are passing me rapidly.


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The Warning Signs

warning_pageThis week has been a bit rough, I have to admit. While I am still feeling mainly optimistic and cheerful, I’ve hit a few walls this week where I had to break down and cry from stress and frustration. I know that this is probably a normal healthy new parent thing, but. BUT. I know the spectre of postpartum depression and psychosis, and I am not going to let it shaft me if I can help it. And the best way to avoid that is to be completely honest with myself about feeling frazzled and worn and upset.

Still, that doesn’t make me any more able to handle the drain from getting that sort of upset; while an incident this week was well resolved (a communication mishap between my husband and my crap-at-listening self), it left me feeling really run down the rest of the day.

And, because lulzirony, it was the morning of my first postpartum psych appointment! I think I’m finally set up with my new main psychiatrist, which is yay. My primary fellow retired to write and do conferences and stuff back in December, and while I’ve been seeing a fairly nice lady, she seemed a bit alarmed dealing with me. Not so the new lady, Dr. K! She caught a big thing that makes some of the doctors nervous — do I always speak that fast? I chuckled, and pointed out that the boss doctor loves to use me for students, because American and Italians (there’s a high Italian population locally) speak a lot faster than the average Brit. I know the first person who diagnosed me as bipolar before all my paperwork vanished thought I was manic because of how quickly I spoke, ha ha. So that Dr. K thought to ask that question pleased me. She also made sure I took note of her name (I’m TERRIBLE at remembering doctors’ names), and that if I felt I needed to up my dose(s), to call her asap to get things adjusted.

I also told her that I was going to restart my Zoloft. She was a bit hemming and hawing because I haven’t had any particular depressive episodes yet, but she also concurred that it was prudent to not let postpartum depression or the risk of psychosis get to me first. My husband felt it was especially prudent and said so. I take him to all my appointments to give that near, but outside point of view on my behavior. He feels very strongly that while the Seroquel went a long step, the Zoloft shored me up in a very useful-functional way, and that me going back on sooner rather than later was ideal. We’ll see. Hopefully, we’ll see continued cheer and functionality rather than some of the nastiest, soul-sucking depression a person can ever see (seriously, it’s extra bad).

I also understand that yes, it’s completely normal to be super-frazzled with a new baby. I’m not diving after pills because new parenting is ‘too hard’. I figure that I have tools at hand that can lower the difficulty level and keep me on an evener keel, and I would be foolish to deny myself ‘just ’cause’. Every day, we be doin’ Baby Science™®, and are learning to better understand Littlerbit, and that’s coming along wonderfully. :D


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Ask Me No More Questions (Tell Me No More Lies)

Allo from the land of… something… something. Dudes and Dudelettes, my brain has been converted to pure fluff, ha ha. But we continue to do fairly well on the whole. Having a baby in the house is tiring and stressful and my husband and I have both hit the point of frustrated sobbing, but yanno… par for the course. And honestly, it’s probably better than we CAN admit that we’re frustrated in such a way, ’cause it enables us to support each other better. And maybe, someday, we’ll understand Baby and be able to translate what each cry of complaint is, ha ha (unless it’s just crying for the sake of crying, which dear deity above is extra stressful!). But at least I’m getting good sleep compliments of the Seroquel, and depending on what my psychiatrist thinks when I see him/her later this week (not sure which one I’ll be seeing), I suspect I’ll get the Zoloft rolling again shortly too.

One thing that’s really stood out since the last entry though, in the realm of mental resilience, is tangential to the snippet of nursery rhyme I used for the title. You see, I abhor advice. I hate asking for it, I hate receiving it, and it frankly terrified me. Yes, past tense; I’ve figured out assorted chunks of why it was so problematic in this past couple of months. And yeah, ties into the abusive/narcissistic parent thing, quelle surprise. When one grows up being treated like they’re too stupid to live on their own (and has that reinforced in adulthood via parental bullying and their flying monkeys), ‘well-meaning’ help from people feels the same as the abuse laid down as a foundation for that premise. And really, what the hell yo. I know the bipolar triggered somewhere between 12 and 17 (I had to add a few more years to the front due to OCD things that started popping up that young), and that I made it into my 30s without going to jail, getting fired, or any other number of bad things that could have happened, especially with the total lack of support network I had. Oh sure, I had friends, good friends, but I was in such an isolated place before moving to the UK that I couldn’t really make use of what I had to me.

As a tester, I made myself ask for some advice on things. The one that comes to mind was a silly game-related question, but I couldn’t find a good answer and figured it was worth risking a chunk of my sanity to find out (and also, because it was innocuous enough to not require lots of pile-on follow-up). Not only did I get the answer I required, I had a good conversation with friends and was able to see their further suggestions related to the core subject (Minecraft) without utterly flipping my shit. This is big, ha ha. I’m not sure I’ll ever be happy with purely unsolicited advice, but I think I might be moving to a place where my natural response to it is not an abusive one. I own that — even if I have no desire to beat down my friends, my natural developed defense mechanism honed by that less-than-ideal growing up situation wasn’t a good one. And realizing this after reading a piece last summer about the isolating effects of having been abused, and unintentionally repeating it and wondering why nobody wanted to hang out with you, was definitely part of the unravelling to where I am today. I’d link the article, but I apparently misplaced it — boo! It was really useful though.

So yeah… as said, things are good, and getting better every day. For now though, I need more caffeine. xD


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The First Week (Like Night and Day)

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Lilbit entertaining Littlerbit

We did it, folks! We survived the first week of newborn yet again. Send more caffeine, quick, ha ha.

Really though, it’s been a good week all in all. Nights are hard of course, but my husband has been handling most of that and letting me sleep. Oh deity, glorious sleep it has been; the return to Seroquel has indeed been like being KO’d by the Zzzles Faerie. Bliss. And I have found that I CAN wake up and help if need be, so that’s been useful as well. It also led to an hilarious (to me) dream wherein I threatened to kill myself if I wasn’t permitted to get more sleep. Which is to say — I am ecstatic that I am in a healthy enough mental state that my brain doesn’t feel bullied into staying quiet about its distress, and thereby permitted me to get a whine out in a healthy fashion. It’s a silly/strange thing to be amused and pleased by, I grant you, but I reckon that unless you were subject to constant denial of the validity if your emotions, you’d not particularly understand. And really, that’s awesome; I am quite happy that most people cannot empathise with some of the stickier parts of my growing up life and times.

As of last night, I am back up to my therapeutic dose dose of Seroquel, being 400mg. I’m suppose to take it as 200mg twice daily, and compliments of my GP, I’ve got the script set for extended release. I need to figure out the best times to take it to get the most of the knock-out effect, while insuring a minimal of morning zombie-tude. I saw someone somewhere suggest taking the doses at night, but staggered (like, one at 5pm, and the other at 9 or 10pm//an hour before bedtime). This is what I am likely to try tonight, though I might try morning and night tomorrow. If any of you out there have suggestions, I would love to hear them.

I’m still intending to hold off on the Zoloft until after I after I see my psychiatrist, but as that is next week, it’s not a long slog. I know it will take a month or so to kick back in, hence reason to delay it — while I am mainly holding up right now, I’m not in a rush for that month of feeling mega-weird while dealing with something as engulfing as a newborn. But that is balanced against a very real concern with postpartum depression and/or psychosis, and wanting to give the Seroquel time to do its initial brain rewiring, and and and… definitely better to consult on timelines, hee hee. I’m certainly not for dropping it, as it very much helps bring up the lower ends of my mood atop the Seroquel foundation.

So really, I can’t complain overmuch. Yes, I am tired. Yes, I am still rather sore and I miss having full usage of my arms (I need to see if I can find the one baby wrap we have). But it’s like night and day as compared to the first week(s)/month(s) with Lilbit. I am happy. I am enjoying myself. I can admit that I don’t feel great through and through, but at least my hurts aren’t a soul-destroying black pit of disquiet agony.



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Any Day Now

[[Bif Naked - Any Day Now (Lyrics)]]

Whelp, we’re in the last official week of this pregnancy thing… woo? Woo. I’m just trying to keep busy, but not too busy; as the last day or two have shown me, I am still massively lacking in physical resources and I do myself more favours by staying at home as I can. I’ve been trying to get out a bit more in general, and yeah… just not enough there to handle it. Not that it’s going to be much better directly after the kid is born if last time was any indication, but I’ll handle that when it comes.

And that future handling should go better for one salient reason — having my bipolar diagnosis, and meds waiting for me on the other side of the birth. I’ve already got my first week of Seroquel measured up; my psychiatrist recommended I start at 50mg and go up by the same each day until I get to my old dose of 400mg. It’ll use up most of my odds and sods, but seeing how they’re there to be used, I cannot complain (and I’ve managed to save most of my stash of 25mg tabs as emergency top-up, not that I’ve needed them that often). That first week is going to be glorious, ’cause sleeeeeep. The husband will have the World Cup to keep him company, so he’s planning on handling most of the night things as possible so I can actually get a few nights of sleep while I get used to that medicine again. And ’cause, yanno, I’ve not slept the night through much since I came off on my birthday back in January, ha ha.

‘Oh but that’s not how it works with a newborn you don’t get to sleep!’

Ugh so, I’ve had more than my share of ‘That’s not how it works!!!!!’ people cropping up when I celebrate that I might actually get some sleep. I just sort of rub my eyetwitch away and try to not get facestabby. No shit Sherlock, I know that’s not how it usually goes. I do have a child already. I also know that the lack of sleep and lack of meds and lack of treatment last time meant that I’m still amazed I didn’t go completely off the deep end (I also made the mistake of trying to maintain an exercise regime, which I now know triggers mixed episodes and super-duper rapid cycling in me, ’cause so much hatred and OCD for it).I know it MIGHT not work out that I get to sleep, but at least what sleep I get will actually be of some depth, and hopefully, somewhat restful.

But really — what is it with people default assuming if someone is making a statement about something that they don’t have a lick of information that they’ve based that statement on, or are completely lacking in intelligence on the whole?! But blargh, I guess we’re all guilty on that count here and there. And, I admit, I’m a bit overly sensitive to being ‘treated stupid’ ’cause of my… charming… narcissism-laden upbringing. *cough* At least I’m starting to understand this, and find that my reactions to such triggering things are sloooooowly mellowing out. So that’s yay, especially since I’ve been doing all this work while off my meds and pregnant. I think most people would agree that is not the ideal combination for doing significant self-discovery, no matter how stable one is in pregnancy, but ah well… I’m awesome at going about everything ass-backwards? *grins*

Anyways, just checking in to say — tl;dr, I’m fine, we’re fine, things are fine. I might try to get another post out before the kiddo shows up, but we’ll see! Hope everyone out there is doing well. *gets back to knitting*


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*Doinks Brain*

There’s a lot going on up there. A fair amount of it is unapologetically polemic, and some of it is scattered, and all of it is buried under a layer of fatigue. While I’m still doing pretty well on the whole mentally, I keep having to remind myself that I don’t have a lot of reserve for dealing with people. Soon? Soooooon. I’ve got my ramp-up doses of Seroquel measured out in a pill caddy for after this kiddo is born, and I have a dearth of words to express my joy for that. But anyways, there’s stuff in my brain, and I hope I let it out here in the near future. If I can make it make a bit of sense. *nodnods*

Past that, kiddo is baked enough to be called full term, though there’s still a few weeks until the due date. The midwives agree that childling will probably come near to said date due to the fact Lilbit was exceedingly prompt (I knew my dates yo, ha ha). It’s strange to think this rather uncomfortable body trip is almost at an end, but I expect the transition will be smooth enough. Or something. *waves tiny flag of optimism*

Right, I should like… try to sleep or something. Emphasis on something; sleep is not a convenient or easy thing in this particular evolution. This too shall pass, I remind myself. And yanno, the passing of this phase is pretty close, so. Woo.


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Slowly, Slowly Onwards

I’m at home today. That’s often the case, especially at this rather late stage of pregnancy. We’re in the last month, woo! A few more days, and I’ll be absolutely and fully cleared for home birth, which is a relief. It has been wonderful how supportive and understanding everyone has been — the midwives, my psychiatrist, the psychiatrist at gyno wing, etc. Everyone understands that this isn’t some sort of crunchy earth mother thing for me — home birth is absolutely about my mental health. It was the first time, years before I got my bipolar diagnosis as well. I just knew that three things are very big anxiety triggers for me, and to be avoided at all costs.

Those are:

  • Noise
  • Lights
  • People

Now, as an exercise — what are hospitals full of? Yeaaaah. While I accept that if something goes wrong, I will have to go to the hospital, everyone is pretty understanding that overnighting is to be avoided at all costs. While I’m going back on my meds the very second the childling is born, the last thing I need after the stress of birthing is to be on a strange ward, alone but for the newborn… and upwards of 11 other ladies and their newborns. But everything looks pretty good — childling is tiny and sprawled like a starfish (one of the midwives extended her arms to full and flailed, which meant I got to introduce her to the fact yes, I refer to this child as a starfish), and childling is spinning like a top (gah), the head is pointed downwards and everyone is feeling pretty positive about things going my way. So yanno, fingers crossed that kiddo continues to cooperate for my mental health and ease of shtuffs. :D

Now, I did find out from the midwife-psychiatrist that, in her opinion, I didn’t need to come off the Seroquel. The Zoloft probably (she rated it more likely to have negative effects), but not so much the Seroquel. I sigh at this point — what’s done is done, and there’s only a month to get by without it now. Perhaps I pushed myself too hard to come off, or perhaps I felt the midwives themselves were not sure about their ability to monitor effectively based on what they could bring to the home birth. Mind, I believe a woman should do what she sees best for her health while pregnant, and after — there is no shame in taking your meds and not breastfeeding, for example. If I had been diagnosed before Lilbit’s birth, it would have been a non-choice, as it is this time. I’m going to do a lot better for my children being back on my meds instead of ‘doing it right’. After all, the most recent studies show that breastfeeding isn’t substantially better than bottle-feeding based on comparisons within families; there is a degree of inherent classism in ‘breast is best’ that ignores the fact that most mothers who are able to breastfeed have jobs that enable them to pump, or can afford to stay home, etc. Of *course* there is going to be a ‘better’ result in situations where a parent is able to spend more time with their child, and that’s going to come whether or not there’s a boob in the equation. But eh, the mommy wars… this is an area of existence that I made a conscious decision to avoid. I am all for treating women as if their agency is valid at all times, and I try to leave it at that.

Anyhoos, as I keep forgetting that I was working on this (I’m accompanied by a sicky-bic Lilbit today; she seems to be doing pretty well), I should probably wrap it up. I continue to be tired, sore, and counting down the days until I can get back on my meds. I’m still holding up fairly well mood-wise, especially considering the pain and discomfort factors (and it’s ridicul-hot here right now, especially at night). Mind, I expect things to go a bit to the depressive side of things once the kiddo is born… but we’ll see. I’d rather try to be optimistic that getting back on my meds will catch things before they get too far gone!


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Coming Out Acon

Hello, my name is Raeyn (well okay, it’s not REALLY, ha ha), and I am the adult child of a narcissist.

I’ve been trying to find the right words to encapsulate this concept for long years now, you see. I’ve known for a very long time that my relationship with my parents was problematic and abusive, but I didn’t have the framework to express it. And then, going around Wikipedia, I found two relevant articles:

Narcissistic Parent:


I realized fairly young that my mother only seemed to treat me as if I existed as an extension of herself. I found this problematic, especially coupled with the fact I was told at age four (yes, four, the same age as my baby girl) that I had to be a grown-up to help raise my (then) two siblings (later three). So not only did I end up having to fill in as the parental unit from a young age, I also was expected to be the emotional support for hell, both parents. So ‘technically’, I’ve been an adult for 28 years. But you know, I’m not supposed to be my own person. Yeah, doesn’t make sense to me either.

Now, I’d initially thought about coming on here with a laundry list of all the crap I’d been put through, to make some big denunciation… but I changed my mind. For one, why do I want to give her a list of things for her to claim I’d made up to hurt her? You know, like I’ve apparently made up my diagnosed bipolar; I’ve been reliably told she is claiming (or at the very least, implying) this. I don’t know why I’m surprised — this is the same woman who would loudly tell people I made up my sexuality, who told me to quit making stuff up when I begged in high school to get checked for ADHD because I was doing so poorly. Who, well… as said, it’s easy to get listing. Suffices to say, I am 32 and in poor health because it was established early on that I was ‘making up’ anything and everything about my health. I feel that here, in my health space, I should state that much though. Y’all know I’m busting my butt to turn that around though, and I hope that 2015 or 2016 will see things on a much better keel. :D

I had chosen back in February to go no contact with my mother/parents. I won’t get into the specific chain of events (once again, no fuel for the fire), but I finally hit a point where I couldn’t take it anymore and started blocking her everywhere. I hadn’t even heard the phrase ‘no contact’ then — I just knew I had finally (rather belatedly) gotten long past the point where I should tolerate having my exceedingly clearly defined borders violated. I wasn’t even mad, and I’m still not mad — I just had to accept that no matter what I did, I was going to be treated like I was wrong, and that I deserved better. I do deserve better, and asked myself the simplest of questions — would I let anyone else treat me like this? The answer was an emphatic no. I would not, and had not for a very long time. So why should blood excuse it? Simple answer — it doesn’t.

Since then, I talked to friends who had undergone similar decisions, as well as combing the internet for those right words to frame the situation for me. I figure that the name of my blog alone gives a pretty big clue to my desire to label and compartmentalize things, hee hee. And of course, finding useful blogs and resources to double-check that my instincts on things were on the ball. For anyone else who thinks this sort of stuff sounds familiar, here’s some good resources:



As for no contact, it’s what it says on the tin — you don’t talk to them ever again. End of. You don’t respond to their emails or calls, you don’t acknowledge mail that comes, and that’s that. Yes, it’s a nuclear option, but the fact of the matter is that we set our own damned boundaries. If someone, parent or otherwise, cannot respect them, then they should not be in your life (exception: small children. They’re still learning, obviously). If going no contact is something you have considered, here’s a couple of good reads:



and unfortunately:


Both of those blogs are pretty darn solid on the whole, and are great resources. I’ve already taken care of contacting family members that I wish to preserve relationships with, so they knew that I had gone no contact and why. I’ve also let friends know that I have gone no contact, and asked them to respect their access to me, and my privacy. So far, it’s been an overwhelmingly positive response, because my friends know me to be a competent, confident person who knows and respects herself. And I do — in spite of the massive amounts of damage growing up in this situation has done to me, going no contact was so ridiculously freeing because I could start picking apart some of it.

And sure, I’ve got a lot of work yet to do, but I can see that I am pretty darn awesome and worthwhile. That I am not a malicious person, that in spite of constant gaslighting and minimizing, I am sure of myself and my actions. I accept that I cannot have a relationship with my mother or her husband, and I am at peace with it. And with this letting go into this space, I am free. I am free. I am free. I am free to live my life for myself and my family. I am freed of the weight of my past, and can finally make the most of the fresh start life gave me… seven years ago. Ah well, better late than never, am I right?

Mind, I still am going to be a bit quiet about some of my life stuff for the time being. I refuse to be budged from my established public space, but I continue to make use of my private word spaces on the daily to fill in any gaps that I cannot express here at this time. So no, I’m not denying myself any writing need, hee hee. I can say that the depressive spell has passed though, and my sleep has been a bit better and less pained! I’ve had a pretty high level of functionality in the past week, which I’m not counting on lasting, but I’ve certainly been enjoying. My family is well, and my life can only be classed as awesome and fulfilling. This is definitely an amazing year for us all.


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Taking Stock

I was poking through my Livejournal a bit today; that’s where I daily post, ’cause locked down and ‘safe’ and ‘private’. I’ve also got a 750words.com account I use for brain dumping, but that’s just that — brain dumping in its purest form (which is actually incredibly useful for helping me converse about things that annoy me after the fact, and just to get things out of my head that I didn’t realize were there). But yes, the LJ is my daily log, and I had been going back through it to backtag some posts relating to a continued incident with a person to make it easier to reference for myself, and just general scanning of things.

What have I learned?

Well, turns out my chronic fatigue has totally been getting worse. I saw that I was reporting a sharp decrease in energy in September/October, and I know that’s been getting worse. I thought that was the case, but I hadn’t been completely sure either. You know how it goes — when you’re looking backwards, unless it’s a specific flashpoint of bad, you sort of half-convince yourself that maybe you’ve been exaggerating to yourself. Turns out, nope, ha ha. Things have been pretty crap, and while I hope that it picks up and I can manage to say, do dishes on the regular, I’m not counting on anything.

I’ve also been able to note that my mental health has totally and utterly crapped out in a massive way since coming off of my meds — big surprise, that. It wasn’t so bad coming off of the sertraline (Zoloft), mind. Yes, I was a bit wibbly, but no real harm done. Coming off of the quetiapine (Seroquel), on the other hand? Jaysus, there are no words. Mind, I’m still doing better than non-pregnant non-medicated, but my anxiety is climbing back through the roof, it’s harder to ignore my OCD, and jeez, my sleep. My poor poor sleep. That’s sort of getting better, but my husband continues to park himself on the couch to be on the safe side. I’m also wondering if my combination will be nearly as effective after Pregnancy Roulette finishes rampaging through my body, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there; I figure as long as I get back on the Seroquel immediately, that should head off the worst of potential postpartum mood drama.

But yeah, spoons… I’ve heard of spoons. I’ve not seen one in awhile though. I’m annoyed ’cause I would like to be of vague use, but that risks too much of a vicious cycle ’cause getting annoyed at being annoyed at being mad at being angry, and I’d rather not get on that ride. I’m too tired for any rides. So instead, I just try to take a deep breath and be easy on myself. If I can manage to do more than drool on my desk, then I celebrate that. Otherwise… well. I don’t need to go pushing myself off the deep end when I’m already dangling off the edge of the diving board, I reckon. I’m okay, as long as I don’t really do anything or deal with anything. It’s not ideal, but it’s better to accept the status quo for what it is and hope that better will come.

Hope everyone has a lovely weekend.


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What, Again?!

Maybe it’s just me, but often? It feels like having bipolar (or any other sort of invisible illness) is a lot like being on trial forever. You’re on the stand, over and over again, repeating the same damned thing to different people, or maybe the same person two hundred different ways. It’s hard — you want to make your situation make sense. You want to help someone understand, so they can be a better ally and friend as they might wish to be. Or perhaps, you just want to break down a stereotype because you’ve seen a person using it to the detriment of yourself or those you care for. Whatever the case, it’s freaking exhausting. So is tilting at windmills, which let’s be fair — sometimes isn’t much less productive than trying to explain an invisible illness, mental or physical.

This is, of course, triggered by a real life happenstance! Thankfully, it’s not been too taxing a one, considering. And I am trying a new tact that might be a useful one to recommend around.  You see, the person in question has had a history of gaslighting me when I bring up my personal experience because it is not one this person has not personally had the displeasure of experiencing. So while I often feel that trying to explain things not only is to an unreceptive and uncaring audience, it’s still one that I would love to get the point across to. So I drafted friends in to say their piece. I don’t know how it is for everyone else in dealing with old friends and family who predate diagnosis, but it’s been my personal experience that many of them are incredibly dismissive because they chose to ignore how poorly I was doing by default. I don’t let people do that anymore, obviously. *grins* But I figure — if they won’t listen to me, perhaps they will listen to people who aren’t me who are saying things I personally would say (and in the vast majority of cases, more cogently than I could because hey, not pulling hair out trying to find yet another way to phrase the damned thing I’ve said a million times before!). While I am not sure what the final outcome of the discussion might be, I feel that applying this ‘trick’ has moved the person of contention into a place where they are more amenable and willing to consider experiences outside of their personal realm. If that personally benefits me too? This is the face of me not complaining. Plus, I think most of us can agree that it is a thing of sheer joy when we can help someone understand something new!

Beyond that, I’m sort of feeling better physically. Had my 20 week scan yesterday, and everything is where it should be on Yon Fetal Invader. And understanding YFI’s positioning in the womb better helps me translate the assorted movement, which is always exciting; I’m not one of those ladies who can tell you precisely where the baby is and what limb is doing what second to second, hee hee. My sleep is still terrible after coming off the Seroquel; my brain wakes at the end of sleep cycles when it didn’t used to, and it’s very annoying (and keeping my poor husband on the couch so he doesn’t disturb me). The irony of feeling sort of human is counterbalanced by the fact my nose is streaming snot, but ah well. I guess I can’t have it all in the feeling good department right now, and better to count the tiny blessings… like pretty much always.

Hope everyone is doing well!


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