Only Took One Scene

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)

A Better Day

7.15.19 blog entry

Better 🌞

Today has been a better day. I wish that I could tell you it’s because of something special I did. Something specific. However, I have done the same thing today as I do every other day, which is trying to do my strengthening exercising and cardio for the sometimes crippling, and most of the time debilitating, fibromyalgia.

Emotionally and mentally I’ve done better today – again I don’t know why. I didn’t read anything special. I didn’t create anything special. I didn’t listen to anything special, or even watch anything special. The best I can remember I was actually in a trance yesterday, and every once in awhile come to and wonder what I had been sitting and doing. I’m not saying I dissociated. I’m simply saying that I totally checked out. Is it possible that that’s what I needed?

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Did I need to just check out more often – give myself that permission – and take care of myself emotionally, mentally and physically!? I don’t know maybe it just all boils down to the damn chemicals just like it always has and always will with Bipolar Disorder. I don’t know.

I do know that I’m thankful that I feel a little bit better this evening. And I know that I’m about to do some drawing and listen to some music, and hopefully continue to enjoy my evening before I fall asleep.

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I hope that all of you guys reading this are doing well and/or getting better. Love and light to you all.🙏✌

Continuing To Try

6.25.19 blog entry

Just a quick note, I’m hurting everywhere. Pain is so, so intense I’ve considered the ER. Fibro flare-up. Arthritis flare-up. Thus, I’m not sleeping, which makes things worse, and I hurt more. So, I’m anxious and depressed about all of the above. However, I looked over the editorial comments I was given for an article I submitted to an online publication last week, and though I am scared shitless to fail again, I changed some things and resubmitted. So, at least I tried, and I know I did the right thing because my son is super proud of me for doing so.

faith

Anyway, as I said, brief tonight, but I just wanted to say I’ve not given up on any front, and I continue to try. Good luck to all you fine folks as well. 🌱✌🍀

(📸:allaboutseniors.org)

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?  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.

Oh What a Difference

11.28.18 blog entry ~ Oh What a Difference

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

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

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

Take care of yourselves and each other. ✌💛🙏💙

 

(Photo credit: Google images Health Magazine)

World MH Day

Mental Health IS Medical Health. Just because mental health, and many chronic illnesses and autoimmune disorders for that matter, cannot be seen, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

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Let’s take care of ourselves and each other. Let’s share our stories with others. Let’s insist on being treated for medical issues that can and *cannot* be seen.

Mental-Health