Tryin’ But Ain’t Firin’

Hey, y’all. I’ve been trying to come up with something to write. I’m sorry. I just don’t have it in me. I’m tired. I just don’t have anything to say.

I woke this morning, mouth bleeding, because I had bitten my tongue in three places. I’m in extraordinary pain in hips, knees and back.

My son had a rough, emotional day, and when you have two Bipolars living together, that can be tricky. By his biological father and bullies/staff at school, for so long he was like a puppet with someone else pulling his strings. I’m so glad he finally cut those ties.

“What Happens When Someone With Bipolar Is A Caretaker For Two?” Coming soon to a screen near you.

Anyway, I’m tired. I know things will turn around. But damn. Hurry up. 😜✌

 

Sick and Tired and Sick and Tired and…

I’m very sick.

I’m very tired.

I’m very sick and tired.

I wish for physical pain relief.

I wish for emotional pain relief.

It is all unrelenting. And while I don’t have any suicidal plans, I must say that sometimes I wonder to myself if it would be nice to sleep for about 30 years. I mean the kind of quick snap of your fingers that allows you to be gone while having surgery. Then, I would awake for a bit of time with family and friends, and then head on out one night in my sleep.

Running Running Running

6.4.19 blog entry

I am doing something that I’ve come to understand as the only means I can do what I need to do in life. What is it I’m doing? I’m on the go, go, go! Move your ass mode! πŸƒβ€β™€οΈπŸ‘©β€πŸ’»πŸ³Β Writing, chores, cooking… stuff that piles up when you have days during which you can do nothing.

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Hypomanic, trying to steer clear of full-blown mania. I have family watching to tell me if I’m rocketing out of the stratosphere πŸš€and letting me know it’s time for PRN meds.

For now, I’m good, but coming down hurts. It hurts mentally, emotionally, spiritually and physically. It’s true that my mental health affects my physical health affects my mental health affects my physical health. πŸ”

Here’s the deal though, when I’m physically and mentally down for at least half of my days, if not more, then those days that rarely come along when I can just dial it up to 11, I have to do so. It’s the only way I survive and keep my household flowing and family taken care of, even though it’s also breaking me down at a faster rate. Do I need a better plan? Yes. I’m not a fool. However, I haven’t found anything else that works, and I’ve tried for decades, even with help from doctors and therapists.

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Feel free to comment on how you make it work if you’d like. I always welcome respectful comments and conversations with me and among you guys if you wish to talk to one another. Love to you all. βœŒπŸŽ—

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)