What Makes a Psychopath

I am recommending an interesting documentary that I watched on Netflix.

“What Makes a Psychopath”

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It is about psychopathy – how to’s in early detection, backgrounds and upbringings, various treatment methods, etc. Some subjects are young and in juvenile facilities; some older and in prison. Details of their crimes are discussed. I did not find it problematic, but I’ll throw out this could be a *trigger. If you are able to watch this doc, just shy of an hour, you’ll learn that you probably do know, or have known, a psychopath. You’ll learn about the 20 Trait Scale used in diagnosis. You’ll learn about upsetting and tragic childhoods. You’ll learn of one test using an MRI and photos, proving psychopaths have 7% less grey matter in the limbic structure than does a non-psychopath. You will hear of a test in its infancy about seratonin drugs coupled with shocks the subjects were willing to inflict on other subjects, as well as being introduced to a juvenile facility working with teens who are showing lack of empathy and how a rewards system aids in anti-ricidivism.

I learned a lot, and it’s important and worth the time.

I hope you enjoy, and if you watch it, please comment below.

*Disclaimer, I’m not saying those of us with Bipolar or any MI is a psychopath. I just found this terribly interesting. Anything to do with the mind and brain fascinates me.*

 

Wicked Whisper (possible trigger)

This is one of those posts. The is honesty. This is transparency. This is terribly sad. This is triggering. This is heartbreaking. This is episodic.

This is not my end.

This is an absolute for me when I’m so utterly low, depressed and anxious.

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I’m furious with how much I hurt; how often I’m in pain and its intensity. I’m beginning to feel overwhelmed with having to continue in pain every single day, especially when considering how rapidly my body is breaking down, and knowing it will only get worse, according to doctors, but more reliably my experience.

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I’m starting to hear that faint voice again. I hate her. She’s very much the sexy seductress. I’ve heard her before. I’ll hear her again. She’s whispering to me, trying to manipulate me.

And so, I give my husband all of my medications for him to hide and protect in case she becomes wholly and completely convincing. That way I go to sleep knowing that tomorrow I will not swallow all those pills. ๐Ÿ’Š๐Ÿ’Š๐Ÿ’Šย And that takes a lot of strength right now because I really want out. A lot of strength. ๐Ÿ’ช๐Ÿ’ช๐Ÿ’ช

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Preventative measures and plans are important for those with any mental health issues during times they experience crippling despair. If you don’t have a plan, I recommend working with your providers, family and friends to put one together and to use while you still have your senses about you. For example, I give my husband my meds. I know to speak to my therapist straight away. We can make an appointment with my psychiatrist if need be. We even know which mental health facility I would be checked into if things became too far out of control. I’m held accountable to family and friends.

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(MY3 Suicide Prevention)

I urge you to consider putting together a Safety Plan in order to spare both you or your friends and family members a devastating loss.

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GONE

Just laying on this bed.
Thinking all sorts of things.
What I could have said.
Now it’s too late.
Like molded bread.

Just want to disappear.
Drag myself right outta here.
Hop in the car, slam the door.
Driving faster and faster,
Pedal to the floor.

Where am I going?
Exactly what is the plan?
Drive till I’m outta gas?
Change my identity in a flash?
Careful to throw every part of me in the trash.

By the time somebody figures out
That I’m gone without a doubt
Gone without a trace
Remembering tears streaming down my face
Too late for you with your clumsy embrace.
Gone, hoping to find a happy place.

By @jenm_curry – 2019

(Twitter & IG accts – @jenm_curry )

BP 1 and 2 Visual

Easy to read and understand core differences between Bipolar 1 and Bipolar 2. Any other questions about Bipolar, let me know. I’ll try to answer. Plus, the #bipolaruninvitedblog family might have helpful feedback. โœŒ

 

*It was pointed out to me that psychosis is not listed. Perhaps because psychosis only occurs in some with Bipolar? I’m super lucky (insert sarcasm here) to be BP 1 with Psychosis. Many can be BP 1 and not experience psychosis.*

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Dear Ruiner

(A sort of Letter to the Editor, if you will.)

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Dear Ruiner,

I’m aching tonight. I’m tempted to beg of you to cut me some slack. Please, just a break? You’ve had hold of my knees for years. Grinding, little pebbles in my knees. Pain while walking with insides made of gravel.

A while later, you grabbed the ankles. Crack. Super to shop in the shoe departments, and find shoes I like. Gotta buy double, though. Why? Because some days I wear a Size 8, and other days, when my ankles are especially painful and swollen, I upgrade to the same shoes except in a Size 9. On especially fun days, one foot requires the 8 and the other the 9. When I look down, I think of circus clowns. The ones with the sad faces. I’ve always hated clowns. They look demented.

Not so long ago, I began hearing noises come from my shoulders. Crunch. Choosing a blouse in the closet and removing it from the hanger, the pain is not only intense in my shoulders, but added to it?ย  The action, the movement, to slide the garment off the hanger shoots burning pain down my arms as if lightning had struck my neck and was sending electric currents through my wrists.

And now you attack my hands. Deform. Was it not enough when Fibro-Fog began snatching words here and there and stealing memories? Now you must also charge a hefty price in order to be able to type and share my thoughts, my stories. What a thing to do to a writer. I awake groaning for help. My husband grabs the Vicks or a prescription gel to apply to my hands. We then get the gloves on my hands and wrap them in a heating pad.

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All of that has caused many nights full of tears. All of that has made me sometimes want to hide under blankets all day and cry. I will admit, a few times I’ve almost lost faith, or questioned why this is allowed.

But, we need to clear a few things up, you and I. Let me tell you something. You will not ruin me. You will try, and you will continue to cause me much agony, and I fully believe it will be far, far worse before it is ever better. But you see, I have something you do not. I know where you reside, Ruiner. I know the one you call Master. I know of the darkness and despair. Here is something wonderful that I know. Your black void and even this place is not my home. Earth, this world, it’s not my home. My home is full of light and love. I will feel no pain. I will bask in peace and praise my Savior. I will spend time worshiping, singing, dancing, kneeling – all things you’re robbing me of right now. I’ll get through this, your vile acts against my body and mind, but ultimately, I’ll go on to my true home. My time here is but a blip. I will go on to meet the Creator, and you will remain a slave to something evil and perverse, forever enduring that same pain you inflict upon me.

Go on and give it your best shot!

You. Lose.

Jesus. Wins.

Not Even One

I’m so lonely. I’ve been in this quaint, picturesque, small town for almost three years now.

I do not have one friend.

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It’s not as if in the area back where we lived most of our lives I had dozens of friends I went out with, but I certainly had more than where I am now.

With my physical limitations, being a caretaker to my mom, a parent to a Bipolar teen and wife of a hospice chaplain, I cannot make plans and confidently, consistently meet penciled in dates because I hurt so badly one way or another. Back home, if I had to cancel, the people around me knew me and the situations well enough and understood. We just rescheduled. I don’t have that luxury here. I am just so, so lonely. Like crying buckets of tears alone kind of lonely, and I’ve no clue how to better my situation.

Hope you guys are doing well. Thanks for being part of the #bipolaruninvitedblog family. Take care of yourselves and each other when and how you’re able. โœŒโค๐ŸŒน

White Light

Warmth washing over me, inside me. What is this? I’m no longer of the world I know, but I’m somewhere; I exist. Here, there is no more pain. No more screeching headaches. No more manipulative, lying, obsessive thoughts. No more lying voices. No more roller coasters, though I must say as a child, I loved them. No one tells you that adult roller coasters are an entirely different organism than those you ride as kids.

No more bad. Only a fluidity; a new ability to glide instead of limp and stumble. Instead of plotting my way along, one knee giving more than the other; one hip higher than the other, cock-eyed, bones rubbing against one another, pain searing throughout.

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There are voices here too, but not the usual voices that plague me. Not the voices telling me that I’m not worth it. I’m suddenly feeling that I’m golden. No more telling me I can’t do it. Oh, I certainly can do it now. Go ahead, give me a thing to do. Ask me to display an unforgettable feat. Because right now, I can, and I want to show the world. I want to show family. I want to show friends. I want to say look, “Are you sorry for calling me pill-popper behind my back? Have you any idea the damage you did with that? The heap of scrap and garbage I felt like?”

More voices. I look, hoping I’m in the right place. The spirits I sense here are the ones with smiles and something akin to fairy dust that flies and bounces around in the air as they move. There are songs; must be similar to the sirens and what the men, proud of their ships, would hear just before their destruction and demise. I’m not going that direction, where I can only imagine how dark it is. How dank. How frightening. I wonder about that place. Are they all punished in the same way, or does each have to live their individual hell every day? Customized terror and punishment, I imagine.

Does that mean I will have a customized heaven? I’m going. I’ve been tired. I’m floating away. I’m listening to the voices urging me along, telling me happiness is about to engulf and transform me. I see the angelic white light. This is the stuff of Sunday School classes. And I know now, I’ve made it. My proverbial thorn in the side is about to be removed and healed. Removed by God himself. I finally unclench my fist, and let go in sweet surrender.

EPILOGUE: The character above who you’ve come to know is Nameless, and she had it all wrong. I’m here to tell you about Nameless because she cannot tell you the rest of her story. You see, Nameless had been in the hospital for quite a while, complaining of hearing voices, feeling extreme anxiety and having frequent, severe headaches. So, the doctors in the facility agreed and decided upon a miracle procedure to help Nameless. The nurses with their caring, nurturing voices, all dressed in gleaming white, retrieved Nameless from her room and told her how much better she would feel from that point forward. That she was lucky; that many of the other residents didn’t have the privilege of making their way down the long, white hallway with the magical door at its end.

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Nameless doesn’t recall much, and she can speak even less, but if she could, she would tell the other patients not to go down the white hallway. That down there, they will project an ice pick into your eye socket. Nameless would tell them her headaches are worse now, that she has permanently black eyes that never recovered, and that she couldn’t remember her husband or recognize her grandkids. That she no longer crocheted. However, Nameless can’t even speak.

The truth is, Nameless thought she was going to heaven, but instead came out having barely survived the depths of hell, only to live in that hell everyday, parked in a wheelchair in front of a window with a view of a parking lot drooling, and utterly terrified of what resides along the other hallways.

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Sever

Looking through old photos.

Dreadful, miserable, intolerable, draining, exhausting, depleting, frightening, life-sucking.

All of these words describe my Bipolar occurrences and my chronic illness/pain issues.

What else do these words describe? Reactions to me when I seek help. What’s worse, I experience this in my own home.

Yes, I’m sure I become a lot to listen to because there’s a lot going on; and honestly, I wouldn’t want to be me. However, I would like to think I would respond on some sort of meaningful level rather than receive a quick platitude and then watch the person I’m talking to go right back to looking at that phone.

I know I would behave differently than what I receive sometimes because I help my son with his issues of Bipolar and anxiety. Yes, he can be a lot. It can be hard, but it’s just what you do.

I don’t get why…..

I guess I don’t even know what else to say.

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I will sign off and look at faded, slightly torn photos and wonder if eventually they will tear and sever in two.

Looking Up?

Hey, #bipolaruninvited Family!

I’ve been really bad since switching to Cymbalta. I switched due to my neurologist’s request, and my psychiatrist was okay with trying. All had to do with my Fibromyalgia. It was a bust. Really bad. So, i called my psychiatrist and am switching back to Lexapro. ASAP! Score one for the good guys!๐Ÿ†

I got down pretty low but can tell I’m feeling some better. My son’s elation with being on track and field team and running so well is joyfully infectious.
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Also, I guess with money being tight, instead of curling up in a ball and hiding, it took me time, but Iย  realized there are things I can do to help make a little extra money. So, if one cause of this depression (besides chemical) is being tight on money, for example, I’m feeling better because I have a plan of attack. Started out with a general plan/goals, then had to break it down almost like a family tree diagram and list what smaller steps will help me reach bigger goals.
Point is, I’m seeing a bit of the light at the end of the tunnel because I can now see how to work my way out of it, if that makes any sense.
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And my son is helping a lot, so that’s much appreciated. I guess all that to say, I have hope, and when I’m down in deep, dark, desolate pits, I don’t have hope.
I’m climbing out, just taking it slowly. ๐Ÿ’ช
And how are y’all? Drop me a line. Take care of yourselves and each other. โœŒ๐Ÿ™๐Ÿ’™

That Day

This is That Day.

I hate these days. The day when I realize I’ve been apathetic and depressed for weeks and months. I don’t know exactly how I missed it. I look back and see that I’ve been sleeping a lot, hurting more than usual, not doing much in the way of arts or crafts, even just sitting and staring. I figured it out today because my cat was sad he wasn’t able to get my attention, and it occurred to me then that I’ve been telling him no a lot lately, that I didn’t want to play or have him in my lap.

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(Photo credit Google images)

Do y’all have something that flags you and waves ๐Ÿšฉ๐Ÿ†˜๏ธ boldly in the air telling you that you’re heading down and fast?

A Summer in the Cage

Hey guys! I would like to recommend the documentary, “A Summer in the Cage.”

If you have Bipolar, I’m interested to hear your take. If you don’t have it, you can learn a lot about a friend or family member, maybe even a co-worker.

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This documentary is interesting in that it began as something else entirely, and the director met the subject in the course of it. They became friends and agreed the documentary should be about Sam and his Bipolar Disorder instead. Mania and depression are documented. Aggression and hospitalization. Really interesting stuff and depicted well, with brave honesty and truth.

If you do watch, or if you’ve already seen it, please let me know what you think.

I related to Sam in many ways. Additionally, I feel I would’ve learned a great deal about the disorder if I didn’t already have it.

Stigma. Still.

This was found on FB.

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What are your thoughts?

I’m thinking we still have a long way to go regarding Mental Illness Stigma. Even my own husband laughed when reading it, and he’s seen me go to a mental health hospital three times. My point?

Is it that ingrained in our minds? Even minds that should know better?

Ain’t Feelin’ It

Not feeling it today, guys. Again, I ask you to please care for yourself; love yourself. Treat yourselves as kindly as you would treat your best of friends. ๐Ÿ’›๐Ÿงกโค

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Maybe you would like to share that goal with me today and tomorrow? I’m trying. Today has been up and down for me, however. ๐ŸŽข๐Ÿ™‚๐Ÿ™ƒ

Ariel Winter Article Medication Weight Gain

Quick article about Ariel Winter citing her anti-depressant for weight gain, the switch she and her doctor made, as well as taking a stand against haters on her social media accounts.

The article goes on to mention statistics related with other kinds of psychiatric medication, such as mood stabilizers.

Personally, I gained a lot of weight on Risperdal years back.

What have been some of your experiences?

 

https://www.yahoo.com/lifestyle/ariel-winter-cites-weight-gain-235432451.html?.tsrc=daily_mail&uh_test=1_13

 

Hope you’re all well. Take care of yourselves and each other, and show kindness. โœŒ๐Ÿ™๐Ÿ’›

Oh How Quickly I Forgot

So, some of my psych meds ran out a week earlier than my scheduled follow up. (Still not sure how that happened.) On top of that, I’ve been significantly ill. Now, I’m experiencing days reminiscent of the past. The Bipolar-Unmedicated kinda life, and my freakin’ gosh. I had forgotten just how awful that is!

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Bipolar can be a deceptive (sorry, not sorry) bitch and lie to you, telling you that you were great before meds.

Lying torment of a disease, it is.

If I Could Send a Letter

Sometimes, I have these thoughts. Things one might see when watching The Twilight Zone.

I see two photos of me when I’m younger and it’s Christmastime.

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And I ponder –

If I could send a letter back in time, a letter to my younger self revealing something very significant ahead –ย  my father dying when I am 15 years old, and hey even better Little Girl, you won’t be there when he literally drops dead – nevertheless, a letterย  giving myself the chance to do things differently, say things I wish I would have said, would I do it?

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Because the bonus round includes strapping a bomb on that naive girl’s back, the smiling brunette, weighing her down,ย  cursed with knowledge, clock ticking. Tick tock. Tick tock.

Waiting.

God, I miss my Dad.

Joy

12.23.18 blog entry – Joy

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How are you, guys?

I ask because the holidays can be a challenging time for anyone – wonderful things like family and preparing a Christmas feast, but some sad times too like missing someone long gone, celebrating in Heaven.

Besides missing folks, sometimes people don’t have anyone joining them for the holidays, sometimes shopping can spike anxiety levels because of the crowds and loud noise and the rush.

So, I just want to say Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. I hope you’re doing okay. I hope you find and feel JOY and love. I hope you chuckle at something cute and silly.

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Again I ask, how are you? Please reach out if you need help. Please don’t isolate. You are NOT alone. Not because of your circumstances and not because of your feelings.

God bless you. Take care of yourselves and each other. ๐Ÿ™โœŒ๐ŸŽ„

It Is Time

12.16.18 blog entry It Is Time

It tries to escape my eyes in the form of tears. It tries to escape my mouth as a scream. It tries to escape my body as blood. But I have yet to release this demon.

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For years, I could not. I had no choice. Now, in this battered, bruised, broken shell, I need to sob. I need to wail. I need to help this cracked patchwork body heal. It is time to finally grieve for what was done to my son.

Yes, we are here now. He is doing well. Feeling well. He actively works to maintain a healthy mental and physical state; whereas, I suffer because for so long I had to be brave in front of him. He is a remarkable young man now and an excellent photographer. And I need to let fly – my fists pounding pillows and my throat screaming at the bottom pools.

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It is time to process. To feel. And I’m scared to death.

Out

12.14.18 blog entry

Watching an HBO documentary called Out of Mind, Out of Sight. It is about mentally ill patients who have committed some sort of crime and are now in Forensic Psychiatric Hospitals. (These were once called Asylums for the Criminally Insane.) They interview patients and staff, get into stories of how these folks ended up where they are, and how some patients have even gone missing or been killed in these type settings. It’s a must watch because mental illness and the justice system are a community issue, not just that family’s down the Street problem.

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And for myself, mentally ill as I am, it scares me that I could end up in such a place. Does that ever scare y’all?

Christmas Mexican Feast

12.6.18 blog entry.

Hello, everyone. Hope you are well. I’m feeling quiet these days. I’m not depressed…I don’t think so, anyway. I am certainly struggling with chronic pain and illness, but I’m getting through it. My son has really stepped up and is helping us quite a bit.

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Looking forward to Christmas. We’re thinking Mexican food.

Does anyone else do something that’s not exactly traditional for Christmas Day Meal?

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We usually open gifts Christmas Eve night, attend a church service, and then on Christmas Day have tacos, taquitos, chips & salsa (you get the idea) and then hit a movie or two. Anyone have a film recommendation?

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Holidays can often times be very difficult for those of us with mental illness. How are you guys doing?

Take care of yourselves and each other. ๐ŸŽ…๐Ÿ™โค๐Ÿ’š๐ŸŽ„๐ŸŒฎ๐ŸŒฏ

Oh What a Difference

11.28.18 blog entry ~ Oh What a Difference

Twenty-four hours ago I thought I would get nothing accomplished today and just prayed I would be able to get out of bed this morning. I was dealing with depression, anxiety and paranoia was trying to set up shop in my mind. Today, a totally different person. This version got things done, got above and beyond bonus type stuff done and feels well.

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With Bipolar, I always know what goes up must come down and all that jazz. I know 24 hours can make all the difference, and oh, what a difference…problem being that it cuts both ways.

I get done what I can on the good days and take the win.

Take care of yourselves and each other. โœŒ๐Ÿ’›๐Ÿ™๐Ÿ’™

 

(Photo credit: Google images Health Magazine)

Common Denominator

11.26.18 blog entry Common Denominator

I’m not sure why. I have spent hours upon hours in days among days trying to figure it out. My mom once told me not to bother wasting time like that because after all, is the person or persons I’m thinking about even giving me a second thought. Possibly, but even so, they definitely don’t waste time on me with a third thought. And I’m actually not blaming all these people I’ve lost in my life because there have been LOTS, and what is the common denominator? Or rather, whom? Answer is simple. Me. I equal common denominator.

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I think I feel too intensely and describe too deeply and possibly even make others feel guilty about being overwhelmed with and by me. So, now they’re gone. Friends. Family. Even a first middle school aged boy that I liked – and who I believe liked me – even he and his wife won’t accept my friend request on Facebook. Really? And a friend of years has totally quit me. A friend since middle school and who was there for all the important wonderful new stuff, as well as the rough times, and vice versa.

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I think it’s the Bipolar and the intensity that comes along with it. Even though I’d never wish it on my worst enemy, I have often thought that if people could spend a week inside my mind, my body, they could sorta understand. But I can’t do that, obviously, so people seem to continue slipping away instead. I even fear the folks I have left will soon be gone. I’ve deleted my meetup groups. I don’t have it in me to make new friends, only to lose them. Damn. I’m exhausted. Just so tired of it. Actually, I’m just plain sad. Sad and broken hearted. ๐Ÿ’”

Thinking About Dad

I’ve been thinking about Dad.

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For years, I’ve heard friends talking about their dads attending their high school graduation and walking the brides down the aisle. I’ve listened to stories about how much dads love their grandchildren.

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This and so much more wasn’t in the cards for me, as I was only 15 years old when he died.

On top of that, I heard some disturbing things about him after his death, which I now question. Not certain I believe what I heard based upon the source and that person’s past. Or maybe I just want and need to believe that person lied to me.

So, I’m left with a lot of questions. I was also thinking about what I did in the days, weeks and months after he died. How did I cope? Because I know I certainly didn’t cry much. Had I, I think I would have never stopped. So, I threw myself into sports and listened to a ton of music. One song I repeated over and over was Cold November Rain by Guns N’ Roses. I could probably sing you every lyric from memory. Like right now, if you’d so wish.

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So yeah, anyway, where am I going with this?ย Well, it’s more of a rambling tonight, I guess. I did realize a connection between my 15 year old self and my 42 year old self. Both of us turn(ed) to music and physical activity (even though mine is limited now due to health conditions). And I suppose that’s a good way of coping. And I’m learning to forgive, as well as asking to be forgiven. I find it a shame that so often it’s easier to forgive once the person has passed away.

Thanks for listening. Take care of yourselves and each other. โœŒ๐Ÿ™๐Ÿ’›

Hug your Dad. ๐Ÿ’™

Nothing

11.11.18 blog entry ~ Nothing

I got nothin’. Nothing really to say.

Preparing for my mom’s birthday, Thanksgiving and the holiday season. In quite a bit of physical pain. Have to go see a neurologist. Another specialist. I’m tired of them. I suppose, well I KNOW, I should be thankful that I have health insurance. So many don’t. Long ago, I heard someone say, “There will always be someone longing to experience your worst day.” I know that’s true. And hey, my son is doing well. My family is well. Hell, the cat is well. My friends are experiencing some struggles.

I think a lot of people experience medical and mental illnesses with more grace than I do. Many, many more. Way more grace. All I want to do sometimes is isolate, and that’s not because I don’t want to be around people; rather, I just want to feel free to feel like hell. I do not feel like I should do that in front of my family.

Anyway, I’m not bad off, but I’m not great. Living in the in between, as I just heard in a show last night called Picnic at Hanging Rock. Novel and movie before this Amazon series, yes. Australian folklore.

Anyway, one character mentioned to another that they need to live in the world of in between. Sounds exhausting to me, quite frankly.

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Anyway, I’m going to see the pain management specialist tomorrow. That will help a bit. We plan to see the latest version of The Grinch this week. The one with Benedict Cumberbatch. Do a little Christmas shopping, maybe.

Guess I had a little more than nothing, as it turned out.

Take care of yourselves and each other, guys. Love & Peace always. ๐Ÿ’™โœŒ๐Ÿ™

11.9.18 – God Knows Where I Am

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I just watched a fascinating and tragic documentary on Netflix called God Knows Where I Am.

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I recommend that anyone watch it for a better understanding of mental illness and how, even in what is supposed to be the best country in the world, a seriously ill woman could be released from a mental health facility and ultimately allowed to starve to death in an empty home in the middle of a brutally cold winter.

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As a person diagnosed as Bipolar with psychosis, it is terrifying.

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Three Identical Strangers

I’ve just watched a documentary called Three Identical Strangers, about triplets separated at birth who found each other at the age of 19 years old.

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I had no idea where the documentary was going, but it delved into nature vs nurture, and twins and triplets whose biological parents had some mental health issues, and their children studied years after. I should mention the kids were placed in completely different households – blue collar, middle income, affluent –ย  not even knowing they had identical siblings, all within a hundred mile radius. A set of female twins were in the documentary a bit as well.

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Bipolar and Schizophrenia were discussed (surprise), as well as suicide, all supposedly in the name of discovering, what is truly hereditary, what do we decide for ourselves, and – what I wonder and read about quite a bit – nature vs nurture.

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You might want to check it out, but please know it’s emotional.

Cathartic, I Guess

October 25, 2018 Blog Entry ~

Just bawled for 20 mins.

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Sobbed for family lost. Wept due to worries about friends. Cried because of unrelenting physical pain. Then, just let loose because of everything already mentioned and so much more. I wailed. You know what? I actually feel better. Going to listen to my @Halsey mix playlist and sleep…I hope.

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Here’s to all of us who keep putting one foot in front of the other and try to do some good along the way. Share love.

#cryingisnotweak #cryingiscleansing #cathartic #endurance #strength #love #forgiveness #blessed #bipolaruninvitedblog @ Kerrville, Texas

Ice Pick Lobotomies and More

*Trigger Warning*

My husband is watching Lore, S1E2 – Echoes.

Discussing everything from heinous Bedlum asylum history, such as allowing people to pay admission to walk through and watch chained *patients* be beaten and to marvel at others’ screaming at inner demons (guess after that the attendees went and had dinner at a fabulous restaurant) to ice-pick lobotomies (took 5-10 mins) to Rosemary Kennedy (park her elsewhere; she’ll be fine).

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I often think, “There but for the grace of God, go I,” and I tremble a bit while feeling the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up, wondering if in sixty years, people will read about things done to me, things done to my son, and use the word barbaric.

God help and bless us, gang. Let’s discuss when/if we wish. Let’s take care of each other. Let’s take care of ourselves. ๐Ÿ’™๐Ÿ™๐Ÿ’›โœŒ