Back from vacation that I needed and loved for many reasons.
Hope to catch up soon. Take care.
Back from vacation that I needed and loved for many reasons.
Hope to catch up soon. Take care.
Share something you’ve personally experienecd, or a way you’ve helped, regarding mental health on Tuesday, 10.10. World Mental Health Day.
Me? I wanted to give up. To actively choose no longer having to face this agony called Bipolar Disorder, and all that comes with it. I chose to draw on my strengths and faith, and live for my son. Depression’s lies and beatings didn’t cause me to be the worst thing to happen to my son. I’m around, and not perfect, but I’m around. And I know what it is for a parent to be gone while you’re still a kid.
So, I fought, and eventually, even thrived. And it is something I actively choose to do over and over again.
All for my son.
I woke this morning with a sense of paranoia. Sense is just a plain old dumb word to use to try to relay what was going on when I woke. I was scared, horrified, felt the need to hide, every nerve on fire…..
This didn’t happen in conjunction with any psychosis. There were no hallucinations or loss of time…just an inner voice whispering, “Hide. Protect yourself.”
I’m doing better now, 12 hours later.
Now, I feel sad and heartbroken. I’ve scanned stuff in my mind (like if you have three consistent things that really bother and worry you if you don’t get them under control) and nothing clicked. Nothing revealed itself saying, “Yes, hi, it’s me. I’m the one that got you all worked up.” But then again, I have way more than three issues that I’ve got to keep under control at all times, so maybe I just haven’t met up with my current torturer.
I am so tired, which is not to say I’m sleepy. I wish I was sleepy and actually slept, versus curling into a ball under a blanket and feeling thankful I’m done with the day. A day of pretending I’m okay, done with keeping stress-inducers under control, helping my child who also works hard to manage his own anxiety and Bipolar Disorder. (disease!!) Knowing my mom is safe because she’s in bed sleeping, instead of up walking without all that great of balance and her pain killer-induced cognitive issues. (Yes, they are prescribed and she is medically compliant.)
Yeah, so anyway, paranoia gone, replaced by whatever this depression is. I’m going to speak to my psychiatrist at the end of October appointment and ask if he thinks medication should be reevaluated and/or dosages reconsidered.
I don’t have anything fabulous to say. Just checking in and saying hi, offering a brief update. As I’ve said before, when I began this blog, I promised I would try to write something when in each mood, and I decided photos are important because they can show visually what’s going on inside, as long as I take authentic photos. And for the purpose of this blog, I aim to be authentic.
This disease – and its malicious, pestering, kicking, screaming, violent friends – this whole gang sucks.
I want one day without it, but when I have that longing, the gang seems particularly hateful and cruel and knocks me down still further.
To the point I must lie even to myself at times.
One thing that is rough for me…..
When I am depressed and/or anxious, I cannot enjoy quiet. I must hear something and do something.
Example: listen to an audiobook and sketch.
Why? Because the quiet that others take for granted, that peaceful time, is a hell for me.
There is nothing to silence my mind and all the demons, with their electric-shock-like intrusive thoughts and obsessive self-hate lies taunting me. Ruling me.
There’s a fantastic movie called Only Lovers Left Alive in which one of the characters, Tom Hiddleston’s Adam, says he’s barely still there. At that point, he had surrendered and was resigned with meeting his end.
I have also felt that isolation and eventual resignation more times than I could count. Far too many.
I am so alone, so without hope, so far down, so gone. And no one knows because they don’t care. I can sugar coat it and say folks are busy, but truth is, when something is important to you, you make the time. I’m always there. Always trying. Always keeping in touch.
I’m trying so hard for results that I fear I will not see.
How long must a person suffer before they are allowed to say, “Hey, I gave it my absolute best, and now, I let it go.”
Am I destined to reach the point of destruction? My own personal, agonizing ground zero?
What is it I have done that others have not also done in spades? Why do I long for absolution and forgiveness when it seems fairly obvious no one would hurt if I were to cease all of my efforts? Like all of the slack, understanding and forgiveness I extend?
It is difficult to tell exactly how much a depressive state in a Bipolar cycle influences how I feel about how the other issues are going in my life. Perhaps it is something different, though.
Perhaps, at least sometimes, it is the exact opposite. Perhaps, the way I’m treated (or not treated) brings about the depressive state and continues to feed it as if it were trying to satiate the “black dog,” as depression is so often termed.
I really am tired. Not a good situation. I am not in a safe place. I think God, myself and this tablet and keyboard are the only ones who know that, but not for lack of trying to share on my part.
Today, if I had not initiated conversations, however brief they were, I only would’ve chatted with my son for a few minutes because he sought me out.
Maybe I should just reciprocate and match what I’m shown…what I’m given. Maybe I should just be done and fade to black.
Maybe it’s too late.
So, these arrived today. This is an effort to work my way out of this cruddy depressive anxious episode.
My first attempt at drawing a comic character…go easy. As long as I have the energy and drive to at least try, I’m gonna be okay.
Just one-foot-in-front-of-the-other’ing type deal.
What do you guys try? Any special tricks up your sleeves?
I am realizing how much time I’ve lost lately. Do those of you with Mental Illness have trouble with this?
I cannot remember the time period or the goings-on, which can be hours or days. I seem to communicate very little during what I call my “lost time,” and I have no memory of most things during said time.
I cannot figure out if I’m really losing time, or extremely depressed and apathetic, or lack of sleep affects me…..
Probably (maybe) the answer is:
D) all of the above?
Everything is right. Is well. Family safe. Getting to know my sister again. Friends and I are talking. Household chores and errands are up to date. My husband’s new job pays a bit more. Mom is able to walk with her walker more often. My cat is health and full of shenanigans. My son is doing outstanding work at school. I’m going on a great trip in Oct.
So… why sad? Not just a little down or blue. Like sobbing, wailing, wanna give up sad.
Because that’s part of Bipolar, and the chemicals that seem delighted in saying, “Nope, not so fast.”
I feel so bad and want it over.
Again, I am left alone. Again!
My son just up and decides he wants a haircut and my husband just up and decides to take him. We were in the middle of watching a mystery show together. I was feeling a little better than I have been in the last few days and few weeks. I was not having any suicidal ideation and my muscles in my back and neck were feeling a little better.
And then they just decide and go. They don’t ask how I feel about it, if it’s okay, if I’m doing all right…..
I just want to go home. I have that feeling of wanting to go home. And as I’ve discussed before in this blog, feeling like I want to go home has been going on ever since I was first diagnosed with Bipolar and my psychotic breakdown in 2004.
I don’t know where that place is, the home for which I ache, because it certainly wasn’t a physical house I grew up in. I just want to go home. And I’m sad and tired and extremely angry now because I’m just ignored and disregarded.
Basically, I’m experiencing a Mixed Episode of Bipolar, and though I can hear myself and read these words that sound nonsensical, I still feel furious and hurt.
Please, families take care of each other and love each other. Please friends extend a hand and let your friends know you’re with them and you’ll do what you can, even if it’s just listening.
Listening is a huge thing and loving gesture.
Do you think its easier on you and your health – both physical and emotional – to live by yourself? If you’ve experienced both, maybe you have thoughts?
I wouldn’t trade my family for anything, but sometimes, I wonder if we had something like connected houses, with me down the hallway in my own wing, would that help.
I should point out, my son who is in his late teens, is also trying to manage Bipolar Disorder just like me, and that makes for an interesting dynamic, not just for he and I, but all of us in our home.
I get lonely quite a bit, so I find it difficult to describe why I think sometimes it might be smarter to live alone.
Does anybody feel me on this? Have any clue what I’m so poorly articulating?
If I’m gonna talk the talk, I gotta walk the walk. Something like that…..
I encourage that others, when they feel as I’m about to share, they speak up. Speak loudly. Speak urgently.
So, that’s what I’m doing.
I feel awful, just miserable. Plus angry and sad. Possible mixed episode (Bipolar).
I need help. Not sure what kind even. Just know it’s time I reach out.
A friend sent me this article. I am thankful she did. I have been through these exact scenarios.
Well said, simply articulated and thought-provoking.
(credit: Bonnie Gray, Relevant Magazine)
Let me know what you think.
So, today is Sept 10, World Suicide Prevention Day.
Clear and simple point – one reason, one thing, one person that stopped me from committing suicide several years back…my son.
I didn’t want him to see me like that. I didn’t want him to wonder why I did it. I didn’t want to increase his chance of committing suicide, as statistics prove would happen. I didn’t want him growing up without his mom.
#every40seconds #WorldSuicidePreventionDaySeptember10 #TalkAboutMentalHealth
I honestly don’t know what to say. Just checking in here on the blog. Appointment with my therapist tomorrow. Maybe that will help.
I stumbled upon this image, which is dead on.
Trying to feel better. Doing the stuff I’m supposed to do. Well, trying to do the stuff. Basically, I sat. I read. I thought about coloring or writing. I did do some stretching and grounding exercises, along with prayer. Can’t sleep.
Why I am suicidal ~~~
First, people need to understand, many who struggle with being suicidal, don’t have a bad day, a bad week, even a bad month with suicidal ideation, then poof!! it’s gone. It is always there.
Good days, still suicidal.
Bad days, you guessed it…..
The problem is that, at least for me personally, it’s viewed as an *option* that will eliminate the pain. Never mind hurting family, and children having higher percentages of suicide after a parent does so.
It feels like an option. Just like therapy, meditation and grounding, and medication.
If it gets too bad, I can always swallow all those pills and at least a half dozen other ways to successfully, ultimately be done with this.
“This,” you ask. Yes, THIS.
This pain, this battle, this heartbreak.
So, I can have THE best day and at its end, in the quiet, I still think, “You know, that’s one way I could commit suicide, it’s not too messy, and seems doable.” Then, automatically, it’s locked away. Saved on the hard drive.
Scarier than that? It usually no longer upsets me when I think about it. It is a part of me.
I wonder if it will ever feel like a foreign and dangerous idea.
Pic for Today (trying to snap selfie with each blog entry)
I need to say something more than what I’ve said here, or express it more eloquently, but I just can’t right now.
I lost a friend of 10 years.
I met her through an online support group, as she and I both have Bipolar Disorder. Today, I’ve just found out she died while sleeping on August 15, 2017. There was no immediate, obvious answer why, so more testing is being done to figure out the cause of death.
She had attempted suicide at least three times prior that I know of, and apparently was drinking some again recently, constantly struggling with sobriety. That, mixed with her medication, and maybe she accidentally took a bad combo. She also seemed to be physically ill quite a lot, often times doctors couldn’t give reasons why. She and I bonded over that pain as well.
My hope and prayer is she fell asleep peacefully and went on to life after hers here on earth and is no longer hurting. You can call it struggle, or something in need of management, several terms and descriptions, but bottom line, she was hurting.
That’s the only good thing…she is not hurting now.
But I’m disappointed in myself because I had to detach myself from my friend in this past couple of years because we mirrored each other so much, and I felt we often brought each other down even further than we had been feeling when we’d first begun a chat. And I was worried she would eventually succeed with suicidal attempts and felt I couldn’t handle it. That sounds so selfish. I made it a point to speak and catch up every few months, and send cards on holidays, etc. But I feel I let her down.
I’m just shattered. Actually, not the final result of being shattered, but the cracking, splintering, ripping parts that combine as a whole to register you down and out…shattered.
She was caring, loving, generous, and loved her cat Millie. She encouraged many people on the online support group, even when she felt low. And she could be wickedly funny. I’m going to post a photo of Millie. I don’t want to post a photo of my friend without family consent. I never even met my friend in person, as she lives on the other side of the world.
Reach out, folks. Either ask, “Do you need help? How can I help you?” Or reach out and say, “Please, I need help.”
Hug and love the people in your lives, guys.
My long-time friend, R, I pray you are dancing in delight, and am glad you’re relieved of the burden.
Much love, strength and “peach.” (Inside joke.) But I certainly wish you peace along with the “peach.” I will smile when thinking of you. 💙💙💙
Nothing much different from yesterday. I’m trying to follow the check-off list of stuff that keeps me going and eventually helps me feel better. I feel like a fraud right now, though. I don’t feel better. In fact, I’m mad I have to follow a stupid to-do list in order to feel okay. I wish Bipolar Disorder, Anxiety and all their best friends would manifest themselves into a person, vile and grotesque as it would be. Then, I would like to beat said horrendous figure until it breathes no more.
For now though, here’s my pic of today. Going to try to post a pic of what I look like and what’s going on with each blog. I think it’s important there be a visual.
8/30/17 Me Today ~ notice I am still in the same shirt as yesterday’s photo/blog. That’s a vulnerable point I’ve just shared with you, but this is a truth of mine when battling mental illness. Personal grooming can become a war within yourself – I want to do it, of course, but I feel I don’t have the energy. Too fatigued.
Also, things are getting behind, such as household chores. I’m managing to keep up with bill payments, errands outside of the house, and helping my mom get her shower today. After that, my mental and physical reserves are gone, vanished and out of sight.
Pictures of my dresser where things are just landing for now, and unorganized bathroonm vanity ~
The thing I’m going to try in my bag of goodies is color, but I am not looking forward to being creative, it feels forced. Yet, I know from my history, I have to “fake it till I make it.”
So, coloring ~
Peace, friends. ✌ Wishing you good mental health.
So, if I was advising any other friend/person dealing with Bipolar Disorder (and any mental health issues) who was suffering and feeling alone, I would advise them to seek out their support system.
What is My Support System: (most I’ve read are similar & I’ve worked this out with a few medical professionals)
With all of that being said, I’ve been dipping really low lately. Dangerously low at some points due to physical illness and pain, and there have been family issues arise that I will address at the appropriate time. Steps 1-6, that I listed up there, for and about me, seem quite reasonable and sound.
So, why did I struggle to reach out to my therapist a couple of weeks back?
Because it still makes me angry that I get so low I have to seek out the help.
~ Me Today ~
I feel weak.
And if I feel weak, even after having dealt with this (including education) for decades, then someone new to this madness could most definitely be terrified to seek help, and have no idea where to begin as far as how to cope.
So, my bottom line. No matter where you are in this process, seek help. Yell it out! Type it out! Go to a doctor, clinic or psychiatrist. See a therapist or try a support group. Or hey, all of the above!
Credit: Every Day is a Mental Health Day via FB
DISCLAIMER: *Possibly Triggering, suicidal ideation discussed*
I feel so alone. And well, I’ve decided to be honest. Its my blog, after all. I feel like I am the one in most relationships having to constantly be the one reaching out to the other, asking them how they are, about their needs. Maybe when I don’t feel so low, I’ll view that differently, but honestly, I’ve felt this way a couple of years now. If I just dropped out right now, went off-grid, how long? How long till it’s noticed?
I just want to be gone.
I want to sleep… and sleep.
*And I know people have things going on with them that are far worse circumstances than mine,* but I am still stuck with my own cruddy experiences, pain (physical and emotional) and exhaustion.
I need help, some thing, some one. I don’t know.
I can’t keep cohesive thoughts. Instead, I have all these scrambled pieces that won’t fit back together just right to complete a puzzle. You know the ones. Christmas, with snow and cardinals, or Monet looking stuff.
I’m just shattered. When people are excited to eat egg omelettes, I’m not even the yolk or egg whites. I am the cracked egg shells getting stuffed down the dark, deep pit, then pulverized with the flip of a switch.
A therapist once asked me, “If you could write a letter to the girl you were when the bad things got going in life, how old would you be, and what would you say?”
I wrote a long letter and felt I “completed” my assignment oh so well.
I lied. I was a liar in that moment. I think, without intending to do so, I lie a lot still today.
“Oh, yes. I’m fine, thanks.”
“I had a nice day at work.”
“Gosh, that traffic I sat in on the way home from work was the worst.”
Liar! You Are Lying. Real answer, “That extra 30 minutes in the car in the traffic that I spent alone, I cried… and cried… and cried.” I needed that 30 minutes, and I wish it had been 45.
Here’s the authentic letter, as opposed to messaging my middle school self and telling her all the reasons why she should be secure in herself and future, which I had lifted from some magazine, or counselor.
“Hey, Jenny. Hold on tightly to your pillow and run.” Keep it simple for her because she’s only three, maybe 2, no convoluted message, no opening for misinterpretation.
“Just run little girl. Run.”
Hey guys. I’ve not been around a lot. Thanks for sticking with me, though. I try to write an entry while in every mood. That’s the point of this blog, telling others what it’s like to be in a certain mood because of the cruddy Bipolar cards I’ve been dealt – maybe help educate folks, and hopefully help others going through this to know they’re not alone.
Bipolar consists of, for me at least, being run through so many moods and intensities of those moods. Mania, Hypomania, Psychosis (not all Bipolars), which include hallucinations and paranoia, Depression and Anxiety.
Right now, I’m in depression and anxiety hell.
I have family suffering. I mean, agony. Something awful happened to them…a hit and run accident, and someone far too young lost his life. He did something incredible and helped 81 people because he was an organ and tissue donor, though. God bless his sweet heart and soul. ❤💔
Regarding myself, I have found out a lot of troubling, really devastating, information about my dad. He’s passed. He passed away when I was 15, (40 now) so I can’t really talk to him about it now, you know. Or say for example, slap the hell out of him.
My physical health…please. I hurt so badly. Things are aching, inflamed, can’t get over a virus/bug/cold/allergy/whatever that I’ve had for the last three, almost four months.
So, what am I trying to do to get through these days? Grounding work. Be outside. Read comics. Scrabble online. Writing. Spending one-on-one time with my son, who made me Blueberry muffins last night – so cool! And prayer. Also, taking PRN med – anxiety med if needed, and booking some therapy sessions.
I’ve also found a fitness center that has several arthritis classes, warm pool free swim, warm pool aerobic classes, sauna, nutritionist and massage therapist. Hello, right! Help for many issues – inflammation and fibromyalgia being two heavy hitters. Weight loss, too. And time on my own. Another homerun! Outta the park! ⚾⚾⚾
I’m tired. I’m sad. So sad. So confused. So angry. But hoping it will soon change. Doing the stuff I know to do. And breathing.
Just keep swimming…just keep swimming 🎵🎶🎙🎶🎵🎙~ Dory, a smart little blue fish
Peace and love, guys. xx
Remember, always reach out if you need help.
Please consider signing up to be an organ donor. My Dad did this, and I was so proud. This was roughly 25 years ago.
Sadly today, I have family who have lost someone, and when I last read an update, his organ and skin tissue donations had helped 81 people. Amazing!
What an Amazing Gift and Blessing. What an Amazing person.
God bless him and his family. I feel pretty confident from what I’ve read, he was a kind soul and servant.
Last several days.
Sometimes, well often if I’m being honest, I have trouble distinguishing between being tired due to autoimmune and chronic pain health issues VS being tired and not wanting to move or interact because I’m slipping into deep depression.
What I have come up with so far is this. If I am just tired and sleepy and in need of catching up, I still find things to be interesting. I still want to feel better soon so that I can re-engage sooner. I still have creative ideas. I still care about how my friends and family are doing. I still care about my appearance.
When it is the darker and uglier thing, I am apathetic and I don’t care about things as much. I hardly even care about myself, if at all. I feel lonely and alone, which are, in fact, two different things. I feel ignored and tossed aside. I feel like none of my goals and dreams can come to fruition. I feel hopeless, and I know that The Black Dog has me cornered, snarling, looming larger and larger.
It is then that those nagging, passive suicidal whispers move from the inaccessible and hidden depths of my mind to the front of it, full-on sc, with guns blazing.
Guns. Guns? Or maybe pills? Pills tonight? Or walking into a river with heavily weighed pockets, all in an effort for escape and relief.
I’ve been taught that there are passive suicidal thoughts, as well as active suicidal plans. I’ve learned this information and terminology from healthcare providers, books and friends who suffer from the same bully that is Bipolar.
I’ll say this – passive or active – suicidal ideation is an ever-present threat for me, a sort of co-morbid illness that tags along with my Bipolar, wherever he goes.
I loathe them both and long for the day I’m free of them. Just gotta keep holding on and using all the coping strategies I’ve been taught.
That’s tiring, though. Oh, and look!
Now we’ve gone full circle, back to talking about being tired again.
And does it really matter if I’m tired due to fibromyalgia or depression? For me, no. Because they both catapult me to the same place, and I’ve got to claw my way out every time.
Monday description & sum up via “feels.” Figure I can get away with this since Bipolar is all about extreme emotions.
‘Cause sometimes you just need to chill, and you’re never alone if you’re jamming your music.
#music #chill #smile #BabyGroot
No. Just no. Bullying and Shaming must Stop. Everywhere.
(credit below: FoxNews, Google feed)
Let me start by saying that I am blessed, and then let me tell you the rest.
I have a nice home. I have a nice family. And yes there are struggles. Some minor, some a little more urgent at times than perhaps what some other families go through daily. But overall I am blessed. This is my temporary home, and I look forward to the day of being in my permanent home with my Lord and Savior, and my family and friends.
Having said that, if you asked me to tell you the worst thing about having Bipolar Disorder, I would say it is a LIAR.
It just flat lies. You can try to fancy up some sort of elegant sentence that eloquently and precisely states that synapses over-fire, mis-fire, under-fire; damage to nerves in the brain; chemical imbalance, blah & etc, all absolutely true, by the way.
But what that boils down to is that I am being lied to, and often.
Tonight, I feel utterly and completely alone in this world, and I feel weak, vulnerable and raw. I could even possibly be a danger to myself, but if I edge my way further to that point, I will get help from my family or BP support friends.
Tonight, I could tell you that no one cares. That people respond only if I reach out to them first. That people don’t seem to have a hard time missing me, as I miss them. That a loved one doesn’t mind sitting in the same house, or even in the same room, and doing something completely and utterly different and having nothing to do with me for days, even weeks in a row. I could tell you no one in this house knows what I’m feeling.
That’s completely ridiculous of course, because my son also has Bipolar Disorder, so right there I can rationally see that this Bipolar venomous gas is creating the dense fog that lies to me. The thing is, it’s convincing, and it’s manipulative, and it is hard to work my way free of it; to breathe in clean air and replenish my burnt, withering lungs. This is one of those nights, and right now the only thing that is working is the asthma inhaler.
This is me. Real. Being lied to and feeling crummy.
I’m irritated. Badly irritated. Why does this matter, and what is there to discuss about it in a blog? Why is this irritability I’m feeling classified as a symptom of Bipolar VS a “normal” person who feels irritated.
Well, sadly the answer is because my irritability, can quickly change to extreme agitation, and then to even more extreme destructive acts that lead to dangerous places.
Why is this happening? Well, in June, my husband was told he was out of a job at the end of July. Just today, 8/2/17, did he receive an offer from a new job somewhere in the area. So, that’s settled, and really, thanks to God, but it’s been hard not worrying that the worst could happen, because believe me, it has happened. And it will happen again. Second, I have been physically ill. I had to take a Medrol Dospak, which made things all the more intolerable because steroids really mess up most of us with Bipolar. Like have a Manic Episode and buy a car you can’t afford because for a couple of hours it truly does sound like the most logical and necessary choice in the world. Or you might find *some* with Bipolar Manic Episodes having indiscriminate sex and/or extramarital affairs. Hypersexuality is part of mania…(again, for most). Then there was last night, my son, who also has Bipolar Disorder, pushed and hit me. There were also a couple of hours of verbal/emotional abuse and threats.
Do you understand how a person who does NOT suffer with this disorder is irritated and could just slam the drinking glass onto the kitchen top VS Bipolar Irritability, turned agitation, turned stimulation, turned overstimulation, turned outrage ~ all in less than a minute ~ do you understand how the Bipolar’s Irritability can be dangerous? Can you see how it fits in the grand scheme of enhanced, amplified, exaggerated (and by the way, often times lying) emotions of Bipolar? If you can’t, it’s okay, I get it. Sometimes, I don’t even understand it, and I LIVE it. I also live with someone else who has Bipolar.
I chose to write about this because so many people think Bipolar is feeling up and happy for a few hours, then sad the next few hours.
I get so tired of hearing that someone’s dog is Bipolar, because after all, one day he likes that treat in the yellow bag, and one day he does not. It insults those with Bipolar Disorder, and it insults the dog! (As far as the poor hound, give the poor thing a treat from whatever color bag he wants that day. They, like us, only live once!)
I’ve just gotta keep my head down and stay quiet until this passes. That is a discipline you must learn in Bipolar ~ when to retreat, when to hide, when to stay quiet, when to speak up, when to take a stand, and when to take a seat.
At least, that is My Bipolar.
Learn. Love. Peace.
Well, it has happened. Worse has come to worst. I’ve been sick for three weeks 🤧🤢🤒 and finally had to acquiesce, and have begun taking a Medrol Dose Pack. Now, steroids can mess up even the sanest among us, but for me it can cause some really adverse, not-so-fun reactions. So, we (family, friends and I – takes a village) are watching closely, and I am monitoring how I’m feeling both emotionally and physically. Just praying and using grounding techniques to make it through this part of my Bipolar experience, which is sometimes difficult.
Take care all, and thanks for continuing to read! xo
Here’s a thing about my Bipolar. Sometimes “difficult” times are beyond difficult, beyond dark. They are black. Though it’s not popular to say in most crowds, sometimes I would like to disappear in that blackness, that dark secret release, wash away in the current of a beautifully obscure river.
Just fade to black.
So instead, I’ve gotta cry. Find a different release for the time being.
Cries because of stress-induced migraines, sick with a virus for almost two weeks, not knowing where I’m going to be living, sleeping for a while and then nothing at all for days, chronic-physical pain that often makes me think I cannot go an inch further…not one step further…not one moment further.
The river. The black. The peace. The quiet, save the gentle sloshing of the water. All on hold.
I am not yet going home. I cry. I sob. I wail. I scream into the pillow. I beat that pillow when I see every single thing wrong splattered across that fluff.
Eventually, I feel better. I know it will come, even during the bad times, which is why I float, but do not allow myself to drown.
What do you think? Certain foods can affect Bipolar or other mental illnesses in a negative way?
My thoughts? Why not? Sugar, fried foods – I know those worsen my arthritis and fibromyalgia. The latter is all about nerves and wrong signals in the brain, after all.
Check out the following articles. As always, would love to hear from you.
Toxic people and the damage done. Extremely interesting article below from Talentsmart.com, Travis Bradberry, Ph.D
Any thoughts or comments added would be great! Thanks, guys.
I read this on my Twitter acct. @JenM_Curry
( credit @WeMHNurses & @EndTheStigma_ie )
I hadn’t thought much about Type 3. Interesting.
Any thoughts from you guys?
There is help.
There is love. There is kindness. There is empathy. There are those who care. There are those who have been where you are right now. Just reach out. Just talk. Just believe you are important. Just believe you have the right to be happy. Just know you make others happy.
Just know you matter.
Earlier tonight, I was concerned why I hadn’t heard from friends or family in a couple of weeks. I screamed at myself, “What did you do! Stupid! Useless!”
I looked at the dates/times of text conversations, emails, Messenger, etc. I realized I have, in fact, recently communicated with these people, the very ones I felt I had upset. The very ones I legitimately thought had not been interested in talking. As I mentioned, I approximated two weeks of no communication, not two days, which was the most amount of time had elapsed since I heard from them. Two days felt like two weeks.
I feel time creep by, and that description doesn’t do it justice. No where near close. Time can slip away from me, and quite fast. Yet during every hour of this time, every minute even, feelings and emotions are so intense and amplified, I would swear to you there are a thousand years of mazes and deep waters to work my way through just to get on to the next minute, the next hour, all the while trying to make my way through the maze.
What’s at the end? I don’t know. I haven’t made it yet.