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4.18.19 blog entry ~ Back Home

So, I’m feeling some better. I have a bit more energy, and I feel…well, I almost feel…like things are more manageable. That is definitely not something I believed a day or two ago. I guess going to the hospital with symptoms mirroring heart issues and being admitted to the hospital, coupled with the likes of nitro and potassium, would rock me to my core. My own dad died of his third heart attack at the age of 44, after all. I’m 42. And his dad died of the same issue at age 47. So, I went, I saw, and was stuck with tons of needles, underwent many tests, and lived to tell the tale. My heart is healthy. I’m stunned. Based on family history and medications alone, never mind our poor diet since I’m not able to cook all the time. But hey, a win is a win!

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I’m home now, but I am still experiencing the same pain. That part makes me angry.

I’m tired of physical and mental ailments. “Sick and Tired” – perfect description. Just gotta keep putting one foot in front of the other, I suppose.

A friend told me I’m an inspiration to her because, “You keep going, love.” Eh. To which I replied that I just continue breathing because of these sorts of invisible life support machines that won’t let me go. A large part of me still believes that, but I’m starting to come back round and count my blessings. Tonight, I even enjoyed watching and smelling rain and freshly cut grass. That was a nice Reset Button, if you will. I’ve been listening to my favorite playlists via Amazon Music – performers such as Halsey, Bruce Springsteen and Billie Eilish, and watching whatculture on youtube. I just love that channel with its discussion of films, comic books and gaming. And heck, I’m writing this, and I’ve chosen a new book to read. Those are good indicators of my better moods. Anything like that, as well as creating craft dรฉcor and reading/writing poetry are significant and usually mean good things, even if my poetry reads as “dark.”

Anyway, I’m managing. How are you guys? Anything new? Anything you need or want to share?

Take care of yourself, and when you can, each other.

 

(photo credit: guysandgoodhealth)

I Might Have Punched Him

4.10.19 blog entry

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So, I have internet access again. I’m outta food, though. I mean, my son has food, so no worries there. I’m in tremendous pain. Congestion in my chest, I guess, and maybe a little anxiety, too. Additionally, my right side and wrap around to right muscle in my upper and middle back is making it hard to breathe. I think I will see the doctor soon, and I’m having some sort of something that might need my psychiatrist’s input. Some sort of weird lucid dream/dissociation crossover thing.

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Weird thing, last night after a spell of it, I journaled that I just wished these problems could take the form of a person so I might punch him/her. And today, we wake to my husband having a black eye. So….. ๐Ÿ˜ถ

Anyway, I’m choosing to be vulnerable here to share what this disease encompasses and creates sometimes, and also to simply explain where I’ve been. I’ll attach a photo of myself because I’ve always said this blog will show the good, bad and all the crap and shades of gray in between.

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I’m better than I sound, and my husband knows about this. There’s a plan in place. I’ll update soon and hopefully share that I’m feeling better. Take care of yourselves and each other, as always. โœŒ๐Ÿ’›

At Least I Have the Marvel Tickets

So, I really jacked things up! I somehow have managed not to pay my internet bill, but… wait for it… I do have 4- 3D IMAX Avengers Endgame tickets purchased!

How did I do this, you may wonder.

Very simply, I wrote it down in my calendar incorrectly and thought I would pay it on the 5th when in reality, it was late as of the 3rd. Grrr. I called the service provider, and they wouldn’t extend it. Grrr. I’ll be looking for a new provider. Two days! They wouldn’t do a two day extension, but I digress.

So, tomorrow, which is Thursday the 4th, I’m not going to have any internet service but I will be back Friday. It’s really quite ridiculous!

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However, it led me to think, how many of the rest of you deal with memory issues, and organizational issues, and just sometimes spacing out and getting things jacked up issues? If so, why do you think that is? โœŒโ˜ฎ

3:33 a.m.

Okay, so I don’t sleep well at night. Started in early teen years – tried everything – routines and meds, believe me. Even if I do manage to fall asleep at a normal time, I wake. Almost every single night, I look at the clock at 3:33 a.m.

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(image credit: infinityexplorers)

I decided to look up the time 3:33 after seeing it again a few minutes ago. I Googled a question asking if there’s any significance to always seeing triple threes in the early hours.

Here’s what I found in the first hit.

https://willowsoul.com/blogs/numbers/4-reasons-why-you-are-seeing-333-the-meaning-of-333

I guess this is just a random post, not much about Bipolar, except for insomnia and jacked up sleeping patterns. โœŒโ˜ฎ

March 30th World Bipolar Day

“The life expectancy of patients with bipolar disorder is reduced by about 10 years, likely due to medical comorbidity, high suicide rates and adverse lifestyles.”

Attaching the entire article below for reading. Share any feedback you wish. Opening up discussion.

https://blogs.biomedcentral.com/on-medicine/2019/03/27/world-bipolar-day-controversies-bipolar-disorder/

 

Anyway

3.26.19 blog entry

Ugh. This won’t be a happy entry. Not a long one, either. Just feeling like such a loser and battling the whole, “why bother.” Feel like such an absolute, utter waste of space. Just really don’t think I can do anything more than breathe. I don’t feel like I can help my family or myself. I feel so alone. I fake it throughout the days just to cry at night. Anyway…..

Social Anxiety and Bipolar Disorder YouTube Link

3.19.19 blog entry

I stumbled upon some things Hannah Blum has to say about Bipolar Disorder and Social Anxiety. Please take a quick 3.5 minutes to hear as she shares her experiences and stories. This is motivating, and I will definitely check out more on HealthyPlace.

 

A Lot of Lemonade

3.19.19 – A Lot of Lemonade

I’ve been sitting here for a while now with my thoughts, and I’ve not quite figured out how to say what I want…what I *need* to say. So, I’m thinking I’m just gonna say it, and if anyone reading knows my mom, so be it.

I feel as though I’ve never been enough for my mom, and certainly feel she’s never really been proud of me. She did not attend my sporting events. She did not help me with Senior Year expenses or go shopping with me to find my prom dress. I’m 42 years old, by the way, so there is plenty of missed opportunities. (Wait, 42..when did that happen? Different blog post.)

Anyway, my mother has never been overly affectionate with me, and she’s not one to give compliments, say any ‘atta girls, give praise, and she doesn’t seem to recognize when someone goes above and beyond in order to help her.

Now, I’m using the correct terminology by saying things like, “I feel…” but it’s not just me that notices this. I will say that this only exists in our relationship, not in her relationship with my son. That’s important to mention because she lives with us and has to be taken care of after her last back surgery, and she gets along with my son beautifully, constantly thanking him, heaping on the praise and love. She hugs him. She tells him she loves him. The two of them have had a close bond since he was born.

So, one thing led to another, and I sat down to have a conversation with my mom today. Now, I’ve touched on this before with her…several times actually, but I’ve never just put all the cards on the table and asked her to please do the same. I told her I feel like…no, that’s not an accurate description…I told her I *know* I’ve never been good enough, done well enough, and that I feel unloved. I asked her if she has *ever* been proud of me. Again, 42 years worth of material there.

She stared at me and chewed her food – the dinner I had just cooked even though I’m disabled just like her. She said that there are things she’s proud of but couldn’t think of any at the time. Guessing she could make what she thought was a valid point, she asked if I could list things that I loved about my son, things that made me proud. I spoke for at least 10 minutes about him until I realized we had gotten off course.

Now listen to me. Don’t throw at me that she was taken off guard, blah, blah. As I said, some things led to this conversation, and she could tell it was coming today, and also recall that I explained we’ve had similar discussions in the past.

Look, even my son sees how she treats him better than me. Treats my husband better than me. Treats the caretaker who helps us get her showered better than me. She actually talks and laughs with this lady for half an hour or so, which is a big deal for Mom. The caretaker that we’ve known three months. She’s here maybe an hour, twice a week.

I’ll share something terrible with you. Sometimes, in what I guess is a dark corner of my heart, I think to myself that Dad died when I was 15, and he and I did everything together. He would often praise me and was affectionate. Even though they divorced when I was two years old and only seeing Dad every other weekend and six weeks in summer, my relationship with Dad was filled with such love, joy, comfort and a sense of well-being. Mom is not affectionate. She doesn’t even say good night, just disappears. Well, let me amend that. She says good night to my son.

Anyway, sometimes I wonder if I had to lose a parent, ‘why my dad who loved me?’ I feel terrible even thinking it. I told you it was bad.

It’s not me wishing my mom passed away instead of my dad. It’s me missing Dad, and it’s me wishing Mom could be proud of me. It’s really a little girl wanting her momma’s love, I guess.

What the heck does any of this have to do with Bipolar? Mostly, that I want to share that though it hurts, I put the pain to good use. I am certain to shower my son in even more love. I am sure to constantly tell him he’s done a good job, and we always joke and laugh with one another. We hug good night and pray for each other. He too has Bipolar and we help lift the other when we’re down low.

Plus, it’s my blog. I can write what I want…LOL! No, seriously, sometimes it’s good for us, healthy even, to vent.

So, am I squeezing lemons into lemonade, here? Am I endeavoring to be a better mom because I feel I don’t have a mother that communicates with me? A mom that doesn’t love me? Yes, perhaps I am doing just that.

lemon lemonade

And you know what, I like lemonade. A lot.

 

(Image credit: cartoondealer)

The Opposite – a story

2.21.19

The Opposite

Story by @jenm_curry – possible trigger

I imagine a few at the service. A service sprinkled with an occasional photo of her looking happy.

Looking.

I imagine a couple of kind words; maybe a story or two. I imagine a child in anguish, wondering why more people weren’t in attendance, and then the sadness that will overcome his face when he realizes she was alone, followed by a brief moment of terror on his face. After all, what if this is his fate down the line, he thinks. I imagine a couple of acquaintances, or someones who knew someone else.

They might take a few minutes after they’ve left the service and are back home changing clothes, readying themselves for dinners with families and friends wondering to themselves, what did people do to her.

The reality being quite the opposite really.

Because in fact, it’s all about what people did not do.

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(Photo credit: Google images)

Black Mirror – Crocodile and Why the Heck It Reminds Me a Bit of My Bipolar

2.19.19

Crocodile

So, I have often tried to figure out why it is that certain stories and their characters resonate with me. I have found that even though the show Black Mirror on Netflix is about technology and some pretty damn serious repercussions, it could be in our very near future. I have found that there are characters in most episodes I truly seem to care about whether they acted in a positive or negative fashion. After all, so often, we act like the humans we are, and frig things up pretty badly.

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So, I took a look at Season 4, Episode 3, Crocodile.

Hold up. Let me just say that what I mainly want to do with this entry is just talk about why I like the show. In general, this particular series is a winner for me, even if not for the characters, because I identify with some of the emotions that really screw up Mia’s life, and those around her. Crappy decisions, actions and living with the consequences. Ugh. I’m not really critiquing the show. I’m certainly not saying that Black Mirror is about Bipolar, but I see parallels.

It makes me feel. It makes me contemplate. It makes me slap my palm to my forehand because I want better for these people, just as I have in my own life. I’m just a person who likes to watch TV and films, listen to music, and sometimes it reminds me, “Hey, you like what you’re hearing or seeing because it reminds you of something about yourself.”

So, as I said, I checked out Crocodile again, with lead character, Mia. When the episode starts, we are 15 years in the past, and Mia and boyfriend accidentally hit a young man riding a bicycle after they had been out all night clubbing, full of drinking and cocaine. The rider is dead, so instead of calling the police, they throw his body and bike into a nearby freezing river. Flash forward to current day. Mia is successful as an architect, with a nice husband and son. She travels to the city one weekend to give a speech at a forum. The boyfriend from all those years ago has shown up at her hotel room with news. He has decided to turn himself in; only it won’t be just himself he turns in because everyone, by law, will now have their memories extracted through a small sensor applied to their forehead while a device projects the memory visually for on-lookers, in order to see exactly what happened, all in efforts of divulging the truth. In effect,ย  memories can and are being harnessed. Well, poor ole Mia has to go and kill the ex-boyfriend; she has a son and husband, but he refuses to stand down. Now, unfortunately in the mix of killing this guy, there was a small accident outside on the street while she’s cleaning up her mess in the hotel room. Now, an insurance adjuster begins work on the claim of the person hit, but only slightly injured on the street, and low and behold, by looking through a series of people’s memories of the accident, Mia is seen. Facial recognition is done, and a very sweet, kind, soon to be killed insurance adjuster sets out to get Mia’s visual memory in order to close the claim. Unfortunately, once Mia is hooked up, the adjuster also sees Mia has gone all Patrick Bateman, American Psycho on her ex, and now the adjuster, her husband and her toddler must be eliminated. Had there been anything visual depicting the demise of the toddler, I wouldn’t have watched, and actually, this is all quite watchable. Black Mirror manages to do that, but it leaves you with lots going through your mind and a bunch of raw emotions. Anyway, back to Mia, it looks like at the end that maybe something good can still come from all of this when she’s watching her son sing in a school play. However, Mia didn’t realize that next to the toddler’s crib lived his pet gerbil, and there again, all CSU had to do was attach the censor to see everything that gerbil saw. And so in file the police, and we know that in mere moments, Mia will be arrested. (I do wonder if part of her won’t be relieved, as all throughout these murders she feels to be necessary, she violently vomits and cries.)

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You might ask what I relate to in this. Have I thrown someone into a freezing river? Of course not.

Not yet. ๐Ÿ˜‰

My first thought went to the title and the probable correlation to crocodile tears. I mean, I think it’s a safe bet most people might think it a possibility that that’s why it’s called Crocodile. I was wondering about Mia – if her tears were real throughout this nightmare of a scenario, or if they were, in fact, crocodile tears, and I wonder that often myself, even when I’m in the middle of crying them. Over the years, somehow something has developed, most likely a defense mechanism, where I can cry, but not really feel emotion attached to those tears. The program’s events unfold due in large part to her bad decisions with drinking and a bit of drugs, which is something that often times you will hear people with Bipolar discuss. We self-medicate, especially before we even are diagnosed and know that we have the freakin disorder. And it can really wreck our lives and the lives of those around us.

But the overall driving force as I see it in this particular episode is Mia not wanting to lose her family, with her son specifically mentioned, and I have one son who I have feared losing in the past, so that immediately reached out and grabbed hold of me. It seems to take her very little time to decide to take the life of a toddler later in the show; however, and I don’t know if that in my opinion is more of a statement on a mother wanting to do anything she can to stay with her child, or a statement saying that society has basically lost its ever-loving mind and sense of decency, even if you fear losing your loved ones. Probably both.

What I am saying is this. The predominant theme and what truly reached out to me and grabbed me… what I really related to with Mia… is that she has this history and current day issue of bringing alcohol into the situation and making things worse by not thinking things through (I mean, of course she’s gonna get caught! how will that affect her family? allow these people to live!) and with making very hasty decisions, with lack of attention to detail (that gerbil again) with not slowing down and just taking a damn breath, with an ever-dwindling moral compass, and most importantly allowing her fear to dominate and dictate, she has ruined everything for herself and her family.

Like, it was gonna be ruined, but on say a 1-10 Scale, maybe a 5 kind of ruined if she just would’ve fessed up about the bicycle boy 15 years earlier (she wasn’t even driving) versus the rating of 11 now on the 1-10 scale because, after all, she’s killed like, everybody.

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Exhale.

Anyway, being overly emotional can destroy lives, and it can destroy relationships. It can destroy goals, and it can create a tremendous amount of upset and upheaval and that’s where it got me, because I have done that. I am 100% certain that just due to the nature of the beast, I’ll do it again. Then, that ending, when we think maybe just hopefully despite all this carnage, at least if Mia can be happy with her family, maybe there’s some sort of something resembling good still possible. Ah, but the lyrics. Listen carefully. She hears her son singing, “we could have been anything that we wanted to be” and later, “the decision was ours” all while police officers were filing into the back of the school looking to arrest Mia.

I have to say even though she did all she did, my heart went out to her, because I know just how far south things can go, and how fast they can do it… that’s often what Bipolar is, and does, to me. I can see both sides, even if I don’t want to be able to do so.

“It’s a blessing and a curse.” – Adrian Monk from Monk. But that’s a different show.

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Still. True that, Adrian. True that.

 

(Photo credits: Google Images)

Black Mirror Episodes Rated

2.19.19

Have you guys watched Black Mirror on Netflix? I fell in love with the mostly bleak (that’s putting it mildly) and dark show, that had a few episodes sprinkled in that ended happily. I think this show is very entertaining, but I also think it’s pertinent as hell because, as shown in this series, we already have a lot of the technology that can cause serious problems, and if we don’t have it now, it’s just beyond our reach, and the idea of exploring whether or not we *should follow through with these advances of which we’re capable is intriguing to me.

I also see a lot of mental health issues to discuss in these episodes. Really, off the top of my head, I can’t think of one episode that doesn’t dive into the human psyche. Think: Arkangel, Be Right Back and White Bear!

So, I’m saying Black Mirror is a smash-up of human psyche, tech advancements and the Twilight Zone? Yes. Yes, I am.

Anyway, attached here is a YouTube clip ranking the 20 episodes. I agree for the most part; however, I think the Metalhead episode is easily the best, hands freakin down!

In future entries, I’m going to try to dig into a few of my favs and share where my head is with each, but I can’t promise. I’m in a sort of survival mode right now, so sometimes writing sounds good; sometimes not so much.

If you watch Black Mirror, what do you think of my ramblings and the ranking piece below? I would love to hear.

Obviously if you watch – spoiler alert!

YouTube Mind

2.18.19

Lately, I’ve done nothing. Well, I’ve survived.

I mean seriously, I’ve been watching YouTube clips with people explaining movie endings, or the top ten most secretive, yet oh so fantastic, horror films on Netflix. Ugh.

I’ve not written. I’ve not created. I don’t know that I’ve had an original thought.

But, thus far, I have survived. Maybe that’s enough for now. โœŒ

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. Ice pick lobotomy. 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 now, 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 can’t remember her husband or recognize her grandkids. That she can no longer crochet. However, Nameless can’t even speak now.

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 while 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 listen to me, either. 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?