I got your call while I was writing You forgot something important for work again You tell me that what I do isn’t work So now I shut off my computer and rush again.
Back at home later, working on my novel Getting in the flow and then You yell it’s not even a real job Why is the damn supper late again.
The local bars, they know you well And when you came in late tonight With perfume and lipstick on your collar Relief washes over me because I never do that kinda stuff right. (And now the night doesn’t end in a fight.)
If the living room’s not perfect The kitchen not a hundred percent clean If anywhere you can see a bit of dust I can expect you to be very mean.
With kicks to the stomach and fists to my sides Bruises quickly form of black and blue In the haze I think how stupid My friends are to want a guy like you. (And I think, that anybody’s better than you.)
I love cats, so you chose a dog Now he lives on a chain All alone in the yard And I stare at him and think You must enjoy inflicting pain. (Don’t worry pup, I’ll loosen that chain.)
You stole parts of me Broke me from a rocky start I gave you whatever you asked Jagged pieces of my shredded heart.
I’m singed and burned While you’ve endured no harm I keep setting myself on fire Just to keep you warm.
Years ago I was watching NBC’s hit show The West Wing, and an episode, or a particular scene from an episode I should say, has stuck with me for years. It was during an episode when the fictional President of the United States was running for re-election, and his staff was out campaigning and talking to “every day people.”
One gentleman was talking to a White House staff member, unaware of who he was, and was talking about the salary he earned and how he had just taken his daughter on a tour of the college she hoped to attend. He was saying he took pride in providing for his family, that he understood that to be his role and was happy to do so. However, he then began talking about how things were never quite within reach even though he had done everything “right.” He didn’t think anything should be handed to him, but that it just shouldn’t be quite so hard.
Yesterday, I went to the ER for the second time in one month. Two “massive” bladder infections with a mass found that is pressing on a ureter, and a lot more. Both times I was given antibiotics and fluids in the hospital, and after the first visit, I took the antibiotics they gave me. Within a few days of finishing, I was back in the hospital. Last night at the ER, I was told to begin taking the prescribed antibiotics this morning. But I am broke. Not just broke. Negative. A negative balance in my checking account.
Not only could we not pay for the antibiotic, I also could not pay for a medication I take for Bipolar. (Not to mention the pain medicine prescribed for me because my lower back is in such distress due to the infection.)
Listen, I began working at 16 years old, 30 hours per week. For years, I worked at an engineering firm, and my work week ranged from 45-55 hour weeks while I was a single mother with a two year old at home. I am not afraid of hard work. I loved it. I miss that job. I did not ask to have a break down landing me with a Bipolar diagnosis, and I was not at all thrilled when my back was fused. I tried for years beyond those two things to work, but simply could not and am on disability benefits. My husband is a minister, and though it is his calling, for most of his professional life it has not paid well. Now, he is a bereavement coordinator for hospice and paid a bit more, but still a fairly low salary. And he works hard and gives much of himself to his line of work and to the people who need him.
I cannot tell you how many times we have had to decide between groceries and medication. And now here we are again. I will be out of the medication for Bipolar until next Wednesday, as well as the antibiotic to help end this bladder infection. Instead, it will continue to get worse and worse.
In this, the United States of America, it shouldn’t be the case. It shouldn’t be the case anywhere.
But I’m hoping you’re up there, is that even right? “Up there?” Maybe you’re beside me? Maybe that’s why sometimes I don’t feel as alone, as if I could reach out and hug you, and maybe that’s why other times I have an overwhelming feeling of just wanting to go home? Happiness with you was my home. Anywhere, up there, beside me, whatever, I hope Heaven is a groovy place. I hope you’re watching the Cowboys and the Rangers, maybe playing Spades or a game of catch. The latter is difficult to think about because of the way and circumstances in which you died. Died. Passed on. I think I like “passed on.” Passed on to something better. It still rips my heart apart knowing you were playing baseball and enjoying life, no idea you were about to take your last breath. It seems unfair, in a way, the lack of a warning. No family with you. Just playing a game of baseball, falling… and gone. Just gone. People can say “passed on,” but you’re gone. That’s what I know for certain. Everything changed on September 8, 1992.
Sometimes, I become quite angry we didn’t get to say goodbye to you, but would I really prefer you to have had a longer type of illness, and wither away, seeing you in pain? No. It’s best to know you left doing something you loved. You were only 44 years old.
I’m 44 years old today, Dad.
And I’m scared. Honestly, I didn’t even expect to make it to 44. Now, here I am, and I have this dread. I’m scared of 44 because of your early death and that of your own Dad’s. Maybe you tried to be a great Dad to us because you lost your Dad far too early as well? I wish our youngest sister remembered you better. She was only 4 years old, though. I’m glad our other sister, closer to my age, has day to day memories of you as well.
I’m scared of being 44. I’m scared I’ll leave my son far too early. And who would take care of my Mom? I’m afraid of the pain, I’ll be honest. Mostly, I’m afraid of the unknown. Whatever fills that vast unknown, I know that someday, many days and years from now, after I see my son marry and have his own children, I know you’ll be there waiting for me, welcoming. And if it should be sooner that I show up, please be there to hold me and tell me everyone I leave behind will be okay.
I can’t wait to hug you again.
I miss you. Send me a sign if you’re able. Love you.
Some say that it’s a gift this Bipolar, but it is most certainly, and without question, a curse. And the thing is it’s only a gift (a perk, if you will) because apparently many of us with Bipolar are creative, artistic and quite intelligent. Additionally, according to some tests, because they’re always doing tests, and who the heck is they… one of zillion tests bouncing around out there, we’re spiritual, empathetic and resilient. I guess I could agree with resilient, at least for myself, if for no other reason than I wanna piss off all the voices that say it would be really simple to down all of those pills, blah, blah.
Anyway, I digress.
I was thinking about how important sleep is, not only to help heal our bodies, but also to allow our minds a respite, rest, sleep and healing. Yet, there are many, many nights when I have my best revelations and inspirations at 2:00 in the morning. I think of different art pieces I’d like to attempt, or different ideas for my two YT channels. And this can 100% be separate from racing thoughts. Sure, I deal with racing thoughts, obsessive thoughts, and the really fun nights when they melt together in a gooey oozy thingamajig, and you know you’re not gonna get one second of sleep. Yes, I’m kind of rambling, but I also kinda have a point. An observation, if you will. I’m saying that some nights it’s not hypomania, it’s not racing or obsessive thoughts, and yet I still have the best of my creative ideas pop into my head when the sun goes down and the moon comes out to play. Then, I wake up and I manage and function throughout my days and they can be good days, but where are the freaking magical, brilliant thoughts and ideas that visit me in the dark?!?!
Curse you Bipolar! (oh…wait…)
Thanks to you all for reading, and please feel free to check out my videos on Jen Talks Bipolar and Pain & a booktube channel Jen Talks Books. The fun is just getting started!
What are you guys up to these days? I’m so glad to be back!
Hi, there. I’ve missed you guys. Just wanted to let everyone know that I’ve not abandoned this blog. I’ve just been dealing with untreated carpal tunnel and a shoulder injury. I’ve begun treatment for it and am feeling somewhat better. I hope to be back to a more consistent writing schedule soon. In the meantime, please feel free to check out my YouTube channels & follow my social media.
I don’t think the term “ghosted” is an accurate description for those unfortunate times when someone you love just cuts you off. Not for me anyway.
Family members – I’m certain I’ve wronged them. I accept this. I apologize for this. I own this. I’m equally certain they’ve wronged me. Yet, my apology and attempts at the most minimal of contact are ignored. And most of the time, I can accept that because I have hope that later down the line, maybe, just maybe we can forgive and get to know each other again.
A friend of 30 years, however… A friend who felt more like a sister than anyone else. The person I thought knew me more intimately than any other person on Earth… That friend who decided to ghost me and cease all communication with no explanation over a year ago, the loss of that relationship haunts me the most. The thing about loved ones suddenly no longer talking to you, no longer wondering about your days… your life, no longer caring about you, is heartbreaking and tragic.
(photo credit: bing images)
It’s tragic in the way that death is tragic. You don’t know the last time you’re seeing that person that it will, in fact, be the last. You don’t know to count the blessings of every moment of that last time spent together. You cannot go back and say things you wish you could have said… would have said. You can’t go back and do everything just right so that you don’t question yourself a thousand times in the future… Did I say this correctly? Did I not respond in the way I should have? Did I mishear something? Did I accidentally ignore something that should have been addressed? What did I do wrong? What did I miss? If only I could go back.
So no, for me the term “ghosted” is not correct. I miss my friend. I question and blame myself, even if I don’t necessarily deserve it. It’s haunting.
I am not ghosted. I am haunted.
(For more interesting content, check out my latest YouTube video upload:)
I know I haven’t been around much. I’ve been quite low. Depressed really. I might have moments some days of feeling a bit better – peppy, more productive. However, as a whole, I’ve been down in the pit. I’m sure if you’ve suffered with depression or know someone who has, you know the pit well.
Anyway, quick update. I’ve begun therapy again. Tomorrow is actually my second visit. My husband’s rotator cuff is probably shot after the hit & run. We’ll have an MRI and find out soon. So thankful we have comprehensive auto insurance, short term disability, long term disability, “accident and hospital extra fees” insurance (whatever you call the latter there, I do not know). Boy, am I glad now that we pay for each of those policies a bit out of every check. I learned a long time ago when my back troubles and first surgery began at age 21, when I felt invincible and felt I didn’t need insurance between jobs, then ended up having back surgery with no coverage, that no matter what, as long as we could manage it, it’s best to have as much insurance and coverage as you are able.
People helped us with a GoFundMe campaign, and these beautiful souls were so amazing and generous. We were able to pay the rent and cover rental car fees and groceries until we could receive the check from State Farm for the totaled out car and buy a new pre-owned car. So again, thank you.
Now, my husband and son are back to work, because my son delivers for Doordash in the evenings when the car is back home. My husband received a promotion at work. We will be moving into the city of San Antonio instead of being an hour away. Cuts down on gas. My son and I are probably going to alternate days, and I may pick up a couple of shifts a week through Doordash or Grubhub and just earn a little extra money to tuck away. He and I are both excited and eager to have more social opportunities in the city as well.
Rationally, I know all I mentioned is good news. I’m not a dummy. I know we are blessed. That I am blessed. I ask about people on my youtube channel – how are they spiritually, physically and emotionally. I unquestionably know and would answer that I am blessed. At the moment, however, I don’t feel overly elated. I’m rather apathetic. Weird because I know that I am happy and thrilled for clean slate, fresh start and new experiences, but I’m not feeling much of anything. But that goes for several topics and situations right now.
As I said, tomorrow I’m going to therapy, and I’m going to go for a walk and spend some time at the river, I think. I’m also going to take my laptop with me to a diner or coffee shop and do some writing. See if I can help pull myself up a bit.
WARNING: UPON EDITING, I REALIZED THE FOLLOWING PARAGRAPH IS 100% A RAMBLING STREAM OF CONCIOUSNESS. SKIP TO THE LAST PARAGRAPH IF YOU DO NOT CARE ABOUT THYROIDS AND SALADS AND SUCH AND omg!!!! EVEN THIS WARNING HAS BECOME MORE RAMBLING…
I’m also going to make an appointment with my physician and check out my thyroid, which is eternally whacked – sometimes hyper, sometimes hypo and sometimes stable. I actually have the autoimmune thyroid condition that starts with H. I forget the name. After a while all the diagnoses run together and you just gotta roll and laugh. I’ve all of the sudden gained about 10 lbs. Might be because I’ve been hurting so badly and was very chair-restricted and haven’t been very active. I blew my back out getting into a jeep (uber) because I had to attend an appointment, and there were no other options. I knew it the second I did it. Now, sciatica and all that fun stuff have come back to visit. I told it to kick rocks and keep on going, but it settled in. Typical. So, I’m going to hopefully have enough money out of this paycheck to join a gym here in town that has an indoor warm pool. I feel like that’s the best – no, let’s be honest – only way for me to do any exercise that’s going to beneficial. I’ve begun eating more salads. (Mostly spring green mix and baby spinach. Grape tomatoes. Turkey. Croutons. Olive Garden dressing. I’m trying to use a very small amount of dressing. It’s one of the reasons I bought OG. A little goes a long way.) Salads are replacing at least one of my usual meals per day. Then little small things like leaner proteins, olive oil, limiting sodas to one per day, drinking wayyyy more water, and, for now, when I’m craving a sweet treat, having animal crackers. I’m almost to the point that I’m not reaching for those anymore. A while back my doctor suggested if I want to snack, choose a cereal such as Cheerios that is high in iron and snack on it as a dry snack. My point is, I’m starting with small changes and will implement more as I go, but I feel I’m making progress. Just deciding I want to change and then actually pressing go and moving forward is HUGE. Sorry, I’m rambling.
How are you guys? What’s going on spiritually, physically and emotionally? Please feel free to ramble. xo