Hope

So, talking of books about Bipolar and other mental health issues, two are by far my favorites, as they present the facts, but in a funny, we are in it together, self-deprecating humor sort of way. As well, wonders never ceasing, the author is even right here in our very own galaxy. We don’t have to go far, far away. I’m so happy she received a posthumous Grammy for narrating Princess Diarist. Please check out Carrie Fisher’s Wishful Drinking and Shockaholic.

 

What are your go to BP and MI books? Which do you recommend? Please feel free to share.

Take His Hand

I think the hardest part of being a mom to a son, both of us with Bipolar Disorder, is the utter inability to take away his pain. All that pain I know has existed, currently resides and will strike in the future.

s-fba838b5a9829b36312781f71716a6f32dcc2ba5

So, I resign myself to knowing that holding his hand as he makes his way through is the best I can do. I hope he feels that love in my touch, and I thank the Lord that He is carrying my son through all he has faced and ever will encounter.

Down In It

I’m not good. Something’s not right. Won’t sleep for a couple of days, then go to sleep not remembering a lot of the time I was awake. Thank God I have my husband and mom to be sure I don’t do something off the grid ridiculous. I’m convinced that’s the only reason why I’ve not done some really crazy stuff in the past that I know I’m capable of when hypomanic and manic. And the added pressure of my son seeing me off my game and emotionally turned upside down weighs so heavily. Because, you see, now he’s feeling down. I tell you, we’ve been doing this long enough, he and I, mom and son, Bipolar and Bipolar, I know my emotional absence and far out, screwed up head the last few days (which I know has been at least hypomania) affects him. Then, I get scared for him. Anxiety builds. Snowball, snowball, snowball… & there’s an expression about a snowball’s chance in hell. I better pull it together soon.

24 and Counting, Face of Bipolar

Twenty-four hours plus (24 hrs +) with no sleep.

A Face of Bipolar ~

20180120_130151

The fabulous ideas I had last night but could do nothing about because everyone else was asleep, now appear to me as insurmountable and unrealistic for sure. I’m reminded of something a friend said recently in response to one of my blog entries. Paraphrasing, she said she’d forgotten she once had hopes and dreams. I’ve heard so many friends with BPĀ  (met through a support group) that, despite every effort, have fallen short and not achieved what they wanted. I hope God points out to us that we’re in a different place than we planned for a reason, though we may not understand, or even want it. For those of you reading who are not Believers, I hope you can figure out with the help of friends and loved ones that something positive came, and continues to come, from something crummy and awful.

Because to me, if we can’t find or help develop the good, then what the heck are we even doing here.