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Broke in a Hoodie
Please check out my latest YT video. Broke, trying to figure out a way to make extra money for my emotional and physical health. & crafting. & rambling a bit. 😆
Thank you, Lovelies. 🌹
I doubt you’ll ever read this, but this isn’t for you. I thought I’d write as I enter a new decade. As I will see our son turn 21 years old this year. As I will celebrate with him, just as I have with his high school graduation, learning to drive, first job, taking pride in his physical and emotional strides. He boxes now. Did you know that? No, of course you don’t. He’s a runner. And a good one. And he is an amazing photographer and editor. More so, he’s just a person people want to know – handsome, charming, kind and funny.
I’ve said it many times and will say it until the end, the only good thing you’ve ever done is help give life to two beautiful children. I’m glad they are close and have one another, even though you have nothing to do with your son. I will never understand that. Unfortunately, that is my son’s burden to bear, though I hope he doesn’t carry too heavy of a load regarding your absence because he has had a stepfather who is wonderful to him, and he knows you only would’ve made his life worse. Though, knowing and feeling a thing are two entirely different matters sometimes, but all I can do is be there for my son for as long as I’m here on this earth. Because that is what being a true parent is. And heaven knows, the little you were in his life harmed him considerably.
You might wonder why I’m writing now. Well, I actually saw a film earlier today, and there was a scene that made me think of you. A simple scene, but sad. True. A young woman was trying to excuse her boyfriend of four years for forgetting her birthday. She said it was her fault for forgetting to remind him ahead of time. And I realized I used to have to do the very same thing. Remind you of upcoming Valentine’s dates, anniversaries, birthdays… I immediately reminded myself that those are decades old memories, and just that, memories. I don’t have to live with you anymore. Suffer at your hands. Endure you anymore.
Do you remember when you announced you wanted a divorce, and I begged, pleaded, and fought for almost a year for us to stay together? It wasn’t because I wanted to be with you. It was because I knew that without me there to protect our son, you would hurt him. And that you did. And that you allowed. But he is healing.
As for me individually, I never had the chance to say what I really wanted to say, because even divorced, I had to be careful for my child’s sake. What I wanted to say was that I was finally free. That I felt lighter. Safer. As if I might have a chance to be happy in life, thereafter.
You were abysmal from the beginning, but I was in no state of mind to see the truth. You knew what was going on with me; my circumstances, and boy did you come prepared to take advantage.
I want to say, all those times you cheated, like from the beginning, I knew. You didn’t “pull one over on me.” Did I actually know certain dates, certain women? No. But in my core, did I know? Yes. You became upset when I started gaining weight. I was “eating my feelings,” as they call it these days. Because something inside of me knew who and what you were. Are.
I want you to know that when you were furious I wouldn’t go to your friends’ parties and get-togethers, and I said it’s because I wasn’t feeling up to it, that was only partly true. I did not feel up to it, that’s for sure. It was exhausting pretending I loved you… pretending I liked you. But it was also because I knew how much you would drink and how you would insist on driving home anyway, drunk as you were.
Remember when you graduated from Basic Training when you joined the Army, and I was incredibly late? You were mad at first, just fuming, but our son was an infant, and so I explained I had to pull over for much longer than expected during our drive from Texas to Missouri. Then, you decided that was reasonable, and I was excused. Truth is, he was a sweet little baby who slept almost the entire way. Truth is, I didn’t want to be at your graduation ceremony. I didn’t want to see you.
You were such an awful boyfriend, husband, person… can you truly be surprised by any of this?
Do you remember when I began working part time to “earn extra money to help out?” I just wanted to get away from you.
Do you remember when your second (what are you, on number three or four now… I forget) wife insisted there was no way our son could actually be yours because he didn’t look like you? Do you know how I prayed you would listen to her and leave the both of us alone? But you didn’t. You actually took a paternity test. What would you have done had it come back as negative? Just stop loving him?
Do you remember when I was almost 30 minutes late walking down the aisle at our wedding. I sat there unable to move, trying to decide if my nails looked okay, listening to inner dialogue. “Don’t do it. Don’t do it. It’s not too late. Don’t do it.” But when my best friend came to get me, even though I wish I would’ve confided in her, I stood up and smiled and said I was ready to go. I wasn’t ready to go. That dress weighed a thousand pounds. That veil did not provide cover or protection.
Now, though. Now, I’m ready to finally say goodbye. Those horrible memories, horrible times, horrible days, horrible hours, horrible minutes… they no longer haunt me. Because Ex-Husband, my life and my memories, just like this letter, are not for you. They are for me.
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it’s been quite a long time since I have updated you guys. If you are someone with bipolar or someone who suffers with depression you can understand why I have not posted in a month. I have been going through a lot. My family has as well, but mostly I’m going to be speaking about myself… my part. It’s just been a month of depression due to being out of meds for two weeks and then playing catch up and trying to mentally level back out after getting the meds back. But then on top of that there’s been a lot of physical pain and a lot of spiritual, mental health as well as physical health issues. Financial issues too.
lately the circumstances of my life seem keen to prove to me the legitimacy of the saying, “when it rains, it pours.”
one of the biggest issues – my pain management doctor’s office called me yesterday before my appointment to let me know that I had a $665 balance with them and that they would not see me until I have that paid… in full. At which point I asked does that mean no medication refills as well to which they replied, yes. They claim they have been sending bills to my address (I have not received a bill) but my main question was… if I’ve been a client of yours for 3 1/2 years, why in the world would you know that I would pay my bills and then just decide to stop all the sudden and not pay the $665. And when I was checking in for my appointments (almost monthly) why didn’t anyone ever flag me and let me know my outstanding balance was/is building up. So, I’m furious and angry and upset and just so downtrodden and worried and sad about that. I wanna scream and cry all at once. one reason I’ve not written many blog entries lately is due to the pain in my hand. I was supposed to receive an injection for it yesterday, but then I got that call.
as for the issues my husband and i are facing, we did have a date night a couple of days ago. had dessert at ihop and started some interesting and fun conversations using “conversation starters for couples.” it’s from gary chapman, and i love the devotional he did with his wife. we have had a few pitfalls already since deciding to stay together and work it out. in particular, there was a decision he made solely without discussing it with me, and it cost us a significant amount of money we just don’t have right now. he also lied to me. nothing huge, what kids would call little white lies (or is that grandparents who say that) and the white lie was done because he was fearful it would make me think I should go through with the separation. i get that fear, but now is absolutely not the time to lie to me. but we talked and sorted through it. and as soon as we are financially able to see a therapist, we will. i guess the the point is, we’re working on communication.
we’re doing a different thanksgiving this year for a few reasons. we’re going to have two or three papa murphy’s take and bake pizzas and their garlic cheese bread, as well as birthday cake and ice cream for my mom. we will do that wednesday, then hit a movie or two on Thanksgiving. what about you guys that celebrate? what are your plans?
do y’all do black friday sales? me – only online!
(image credit: LJworld.com)
Lots of energy has swooped in tonight. Actually, started yesterday. Being careful it doesn’t spiral me out of control the other way. Depression’s messy complete opposite, Mania. However, I did go ahead and take advantage and get some work done, such as laundry, cooking, adding pics of stuff to online garage sale, etc. Might as well do something instead of sitting there… not sleeping.
I think I personally have to make the most of the energy when I can to stay on top of things, even if everyone else is sleeping. Any of you guys do this,
*Special thanks to @halsey & @imthekngdm
(Image credit: randomhouse)
Why don’t people want to be in my life, I wonder. God, I wonder what’s wrong with me.
I just want to die. It’s the truth. Lots of people, especially with mental illness do, but I’m just sharing about it. Here’s my truth.
I have a loving husband who works so hard and lots of hours.
I have a mom who is disabled and we don’t always get along so well.
I have a beautiful, talented son who is doing what he shouold be doing, which is growing and living and moving on.
I have sisters who will not speak to me. Not for years.
I had a best friend of decades stop speaking to me last year, and I still have no idea why.
I have one long distance friend. We are very close. But I don’t see her. And she and I don’t talk nearly as much as we used to.
I have another very good friend who I talk to a few times a week, and sometimes I see her when passing through my hometown.
I have a few supportive, lovely, online friends who understand Bipolar.
Beyond this, I’m alone. And I’m very lonely.
And of course I know I have God. But I want people, too. I want phone calls and hugs and interaction. There are so many people I’ve tried to befriend. I genuinely care for these people, and I truly don’t think they give a toss about me.
It’s getting bad. I’m feeling so low. Considering my old ways of self-harm. Feeling desperate, and there are moments of feeling suicidal.
This is not all to do with Bipolar, but it certainly doesn’t help.
Why am I sharing this? To be accountable, on the record, and in order not to do something bad to myself.
Thanks to you few who truly care. I know who you are.
8.26.19 blog entry
Hey, guys. How are you? Please comment below. I sincerely wonder and care about you, and I would love to cultivate some friendships, and I always want this to be a place where people can reach out for help. ✌🤝💛
If you know me in real life or have been a long time online friend, you know I think a lot about nature vs nurture. I’m not obsessed with it, but I’m close. I think if we could figure out a few key things such as emotional/sexual trauma, physical trauma, and if we could map brains to locate the gene (misfiring of synapses…whatever brains do) to find that kink that predisposes us so that we’ve ticked off all the boxes and ding! ding! ding! we develop Bipolar Disorder (or whatever MI plagues you), maybe we could kick Bipolar’s ass. If we could find the correct connection. Crack the flippin’ code.
All of that being said in order for you to understand I think about it a lot. My writing isn’t all that technical tonight because I was forced to take a pain pill. My knee pain… I couldn’t stand it anymore. So, hopefully you follow this BS I’m putting out there. If you don’t, please don’t give up on me. Read some entries before and after.
So, what got me thinking about this for the 500th time is something I saw in a movie. It involved a young girl, maybe 10 years old, and her dad. He was telling her a nighttime story, totally making it up. They laughed and also had a bit of a serious talk. It looked lovely. As we watched the movie, I paused it and told my husband that I wasn’t told bedtime stories, nor were books read to me. Not with my mom. I lived with her 90% of the time, especially when she moved me over four hours away from my own dad.
Anyway, I didn’t have the picturesque house with the cute fence, a dog, conversations about what I learned in school that day, no happy “please pass the potatoes” moments during dinner. Dinner was filled with yelling and screaming. Often dishes were broken. Sometimes, when Vodka was involved, things got worse. I had to stop decorating for Christmas because my step-father would destroy the decorations. I had a cat I adored. Step-dad didn’t like cats. Kept scaring her, and she ran away. My step-father did give me a dog, it’s true, but within a month it was his dog.
So, when I saw this scene in the movie, I told my husband that I felt robbed.
However, I then recalled having the best talks with my dad when I visited him. Funny, encouraging, inspiring, sad… just something real, and definitely love.
My mom hates that my dad treated me better than he did her. I only have her story to go by as to their lives together. They divorced when I was two years old. I don’t remember them together. And yes, I saw him treat my step-mother badly sometimes, but he and she worked it out. My dad was good to my sisters and myself. I guess sometimes you can be a better parent than spouse, especially when dealing with MI. And to be fair, I didn’t live with him, but I loved him and our relationship. My mother recently told me she wishes my dad would’ve lived longer so I could see his true nature. There are so many things wrong with that. F**k you.
He died when I was 15 years old, my sister 14 years old, and the baby sister had just turned 4 years old. He died of a heart attack playing baseball with his church league. And something broke inside us that day. Sadly, my two younger sisters would sustain even more painful losses, and though we rarely communicate, I think of them often, and I pray for them. My step-mother as well.
I reckon I’m babbling. But that scene in that movie brought out so many things. Then, once I experienced the entire movie – wow! Extraordinary film written and directed by Casey Affleck. He also stars in it. “Light of My Life.” Check it out.
Thanks for listening. I’m sure you’ve all been there. Something you see or hear or even touch brings back a ton of memories. Or maybe they’re just right there under the surface begging to escape. I felt better after crying, and I feel even better after typing this up. Maybe if I did this more often, I wouldn’t be as ill. Hard to say.
So my thoughts on nature vs nurture. Both. Both can suck it up and combine with being “predisposed,” and here come the mental illness.
But we’ll get through it. Love and light to you all. 💜☮
(📸 credit: Google images)
8.2.19 blog entry
I’ve been having trouble writing lately.
I am so depressed. There is no reason I ‘should’ be. Nothing newly bad or upsetting has popped up. Things are status quo. Even a few big, fun things on the horizon. Doesn’t matter though. I can barely get up. I’m sleeping a lot. I am starting to feel that paranoia biting at me.
Just gotta keep trying.
Recommending for relaxation, distraction (the good kind), focus or sleep. Epic thunder and rain. White noise. Hope it helps. 10 hours roughly on youtube. So, you’ve got your visual and audio.
7.8.19 blog entry
So, I could lie, or try to act outwardly more positive, but this blog is supposed to tell the truth of day to day life as a person struggling to survive Bipolar. Here’s the truth. I’m doing what I’m supposed to do such as art and writing. I’m listening to music. I’m doing strengthening exercises for my knees. Household bills. Cooking.
Trying to write a blog entry. However, the truth is the truth. It’s just scary to tell the world sometimes. It’s frightening to say that today I understand why people with mental illnesses lose the fight. I get it, and that’s not good. And I feel so incredibly alone.
So, I just want to congratulate everyone who keeps moving forward and surviving, as I am these days. I’m not accomplishing much more than that, but there is effort. Also rec’d new medical info about my knees that I’ll describe more later…basically my kneecaps aren’t staying where they should and are slipping. Has a fancy name as these things do but ultimately ends up with me wearing tailor-made and fit braces and probably a walker, and surgery(ies) down the line.
How are you guys doing? I’d like to know. ✌ Sharing photo below as I promised to do when I began writing this blog. The good, the bad, ugly, all that jazz.
Check out In The End (Mellen Gi Remix) [feat. Fleurie] by Tommee Profitt feat. Fleurie on Amazon Music
Check out Spectacular Now [Explicit] by G-Eazy on Amazon Music
(📸: Google images)
Question. What’s the worst experience you’ve had with another person because you have Bipolar Disorder or any mental illness? What form of stigma? Was it from a friend, family, co-worker, etc? Was it a hurtful remark, someone undeserving being promoted over you at work? Was it due to ignorance or just plain gossip or even cruelty? Have you moved passed it? How did you stand up for yourself? Did you? And if you managed forgiveness, how?
A study of comorbidity of bipolar and headaches & yep, yep, I figured they were running buddies. I hate the headaches I have like right now when I’m clearly on the edge of hypomania and highly irritable and agitated.
Good study. Good article.
(Image credit: Google images)
(credit: YouTube video post: Luke Alexander channel)
(photos: Google Images)
(Images: Google Images)
(photo credit: guysandgoodhealth)
I wrote this on FB a little over three years ago. While the last Star Wars film featuring Carrie Fisher is out at the theaters, and going into 2020 and trying to focus on taking better care of my mental health, I’m reposting this here and discussing it and her books on my YouTube channel. Let’s have a healthy, beautiful year.
“Carrie Fisher died today on December 27, 2016. She died a Bipolar Sufferer and Survivor, due to a cardiac event. And that tears at my soul. I can actually hear it ripping apart and shredding.
When I was 15 years old, days away from turning 16 actually, my father died of a cardiac event.
I’ve talked with people in my family, and some believe he also suffered with Bipolar Disorder. (By the way it is a Disease, not a disorder. Ask someone who has it. They can tell you why.)
I don’t know if my dad had Bipolar Disorder, but I think he did. I believe I can remember him self-medicating, though he probably didn’t know why he was doing it. And I know he died from said “cardiac event.” He had survived two prior heart attacks which he called “spells,” and the third heart attack is the one that got him. He was playing baseball, and the doctor said he was dead before he hit the pitcher’s mound, as he fell.
I often wonder if he was internally tired and distressed, and just in need of peace. I have no other explanation for why he would not have gone to the hospital, or why he canceled the ambulances heading toward him for the first two heart attacks.
He was a guy who could make you laugh, and he was charming.
But looking back, even though I was 15 years old, I think I knew him well enough and recall enough to know that there was unhappiness and uneasiness there. And something that plagued him. I wonder if he didn’t want to feel peace, and was therefore overly passive.
The psychiatrists call that “passively suicidal.” I remember one time in one of the mental hospitals I’ve frequented that they would not stop labeling a patient as passively suicidal when she had taken eight Xanax in order to try to sleep. People, she was Tired. She told them she was tired. She told them she needed sleep. She needed respite. She needed peace for a couple hours. She absolutely was not passively suicidal. She just needed to sleep. We don’t always sleep all that much, those of us with Bipolar. That’s why I’m writing this at 2:50 in the morning. That’s why an hour ago, so very upset by Carrie Fisher’s passing and the questions and feelings that it brought up inside me, I had to get up and do a 20-minute hard work out to get some manic rage out of my system.
Miss Fisher’s death has infuriated me as much as saddened me. I believe her unchecked self-medicating drug use before a proper diagnosis, and then later prescription drug use for the Bipolar (because yes, they help us mentally and emotionally, but they take their toll, and with most, it is not even understood why or how they work) and her need for ECT treatments, led to a physically weakened heart that caused her eventual cardiac arrest. I’ve begun research online, and doctors are already floating this theory about the cause of her death. And in efforts to be transparent and maybe reach someone through all of this, I too self-medicated in high school for a time. Alcohol and Cocaine.
This I know for certain, whether it was the direct or indirect cause of her death, I can tell you that her heart was both physically and emotionally scarred. I can tell you that her heart was both physically and emotionally affected and altered forever. I can tell you that she had to take one day at a time for not only her sobriety, but also to survive Bipolar. We often have to take it daily, and sometimes even on the hour every hour in order to survive. I am not talking about being happy or finding joy in the day. Of course, that is the goal. I am talking about days of just surviving.
So usually, I make more sense when I write. I have a better flow and fluidity to what I am saying. There are several thoughts coming from every direction in this writing because that’s what mania feels like. And I’m in that kind of a stage.
Because she was not only Princess Leia. She was so much more of an advocate for those of us that die a little bit each day because of this horrendous thing we have. Followed later by weeks or months, sometimes years, of stability and the ability to enjoy life. And then boom, we’re back down. The boom is pretty ugly.
Mostly I just want to know why my dad had to die of a “cardiac event” when my sister was 4 years old, loved, and cannot remember him. And I want to know if he had Bipolar and was hurting, struggling inside, in secret.
Silence is a difficult thing. I have family and friends who know of my disorder and occasionally read things like this that I share, and they have never even asked questions about what this thing is, or what I feel… what makes it worse, and what makes it better. There’s just so much Damn Silence. And assumption. And Judgement.
I want Carrie Fisher to have never known ECT treatments and what that does to a body, what it takes from you. I want her to never have had the need and experience in order to be a fantastic and appreciated Mental Health Advocate.
I wish she was just Princess Leia.
At least I know that like Leia, she fought, and fell, and gained ground, and always moved forward with Hope.
Bipolar is a struggle for me every day. And every day, I have to start again, build and construct a foundation for that day to find some joy, or at least survival.
Carrie Fisher taught me that every day, there can indeed be A New Hope.”
(Image Credit: amazon)