Where I Rip the Heads off Something

I haven't written much lately. I haven't read either. Well I have just not the Noonday Demons book or the Courage to Heal book. I have felt uncomfortable in my own skin which is pretty much an everyday thing but the last few days it's been worse than usual. For whatever reason these days come and go. There is no explanation for their arrival and I never know how long they will be. They just come. Play with my so called life and when they get bored, they leave. I am just a toy for them.

I have been extremely aggitated the last few days. Pissed off at the air for being air. For filling my lungs. For blowing my hair. For touching me. I just wanted to be alone, but everywhere I went someone was there even if it was only me. It pissed me off. Days like the last few days,  I hate my life, and feel as if I want a different one, but have no energy, want, or desire enough to actually change my life. Except that I don't really want a DIFFERENT life. It's just a fleeting moment where I suddenly decide "ugh fuck it and throw it all away". Then five minutes after  I go WTF did I do I want it back. Which totally confuses the hell out of anyone in a five mile radius of me.

During days like these, Jigger often asks "What do you want?!" . Therein lies the problem. I don't know what I want. I just want. Something. If Jigger didn't hold me so tightly and tie me in my spot, this would be the moment I run. Whenever I start to feel antsy, whenever I start to feel like I am the puppet and everyone is attaching a string to pull me in whichever direction they choose, that is when I cut the strings and run. 

I know part of this is that my life is not the life I want. It is not the life that I envisioned myself having, but it is the life I have. It isn't that horrible. I have a home which a lot of people don't. I eat everyday when many around me are hungry. I have a husband who loves me and does his best to navigate the insanity that is my world. I don't have a whole lot to complain about, but never the less, this is not the life I dreamed of having. It isn't me. Not that I know what "me" is, but I know what "me" isn't. I feel trapped when all I want is to be FREE. I have no idea what it is I want to be FREE from. All I know is I feel like a bird with a broken wing staring at the night's sky, dreaming of the day when I am able to soar. 

It was Messi Baby

So yea Barcelona won the Champions League. 3-1. The only thing better than Barcelona beating Man U is that Messi scored a goal and Rooney got his ass handed to him on a platter. I can't stand Rooney in case it wasn't obvious. Or Man U for that matter. 

Lionel Messi

It almost makes up for him not scoring during the World Cup. Almost.

Salt not Pepper

I am not a big movie person. I honestly could not name you 5 movies that have been made in the last 5 years. Well other than the Pirates of the Caribbean trilogy because that is the only thing I have watched. Until recently that is when I was bored  and decided to see what new movies were out. That is how I stumbled upon Salt starring Angeline Jolie. If you haven't seen it, then you might want to watch it before reading this post because I am so going to run the ending for you otherwise. 

Now I am not a conspiracy theorist by nature, but seriously IF Russia doesn't already have some secret town training children to look/talk/walk/act like Americans, then umm don't you think they are going to NOW. I mean because that is a pretty genius fucking idea. Don't we have enough problems without giving ideas to people so they can blow us up more easily? I can see it now. Boris is bored one weekend, turns on Russian HBO, watches Salt, and then 50 years from now, your grandkids are speaking Russian and you have no fucking clue what they are talking about. Although the Vodka is now much better still it doesn't mean we should GIVE them any freakin' ideas. 

Seriously Hollywood, stop it! Because IF the aliens don't know about ass probes, I sure as hell don't want them finding out just so Stephen Spielberg can earn another billion dollars or so Angeline and Brad can adopt another kid. I like my ass way too much for that. 

Why Facebook is Like Crack

People are nice in the blogsphere. Have you all noticed this? The majority of the people here seem to follow the rule of "if you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all". It's a strange world to me. Don't get me wrong there are asshats and fucktards in the blogsphere, but they seem to not be as loud as those in real life. 

I have found that most people in blogsphere are understanding and non judgemental. They take the time to see the person beneath the flaws. Why don't people do that in real life? I am not saying that playing Farmville while your baby is screaming its head is ok, but I am saying that I understand why people get sucked into this online world. 

In real life, most people don't understand me. I am considered rude, bitchy, inconsiderate, bossy, insert other bad word here and that is what people think of me. However, in blogsphere I am flawed but accepted. Understood but not judged. If those are my choices, then why on earth would I choose to live in a world that does nothing but belittle and demean my every action and word? Especially when there is a place I can go that I am accepted. A place where I am not evil. A place where I am "loved". 

I understand why this online world is so intoxicating. I understand how it wraps itself around you and makes you feel loved and wanted and just "good". In the end, isn't that really all anyone wants? Just to feel loved and to feel "good" about who they are. 

I know that is what happened to me at the beginning of my psychosis. In my real life I was villafied. Hated. Unwanted but online. I was important. Loved. Needed. I had "friends" who listened. Who were there at the click of a mouse. I got lost in that. My whole entire life I had been searching for a place where I was accepted and loved and I found it at the end of a mouse click. I didn't want to let it go. I sacrificed the real world for the imaginary one that was inside my computer. I understand why people get addicted. I understand why people get lost. 

It's a lot easier to do than most people realize. 

Starved of Affection

Your poison soothes

My hungry soul

Quenches my thirst

Makes me whole

So deprived

Of life’s sweet kiss

I turn to you

In enchanted bliss

To fill me with

My deepest desires

To ease my pain

Ignite my fire

Even though

It is death

You bring

I long for death

Like the tree s in spring

I yearn for you

Your poisoned touch

Unknowing love

Truth and such

I wonder how

I could not see

The truth of you

In front of me

My hungry eyes  see

A gentle kiss

Not knowing what lies

Beyond death’s

Eternal bliss

My attempt at 100 words from Velvet Verbosity. This week's prompt was: STARVED. When I was younger I use to write in this style all of the time. I had boxes and boxes of notebooks with page after page of poetry written. It was my way of telling the world what was happening inside of my head, but no one could ever figure out the message. Yet somehow it made perfect sense to me. I haven't written like this in a long time so I thought this challenge was the perfect way to start again. 

The Time G.I. Joe Saved My Virginity

Yesterday I wrote my reply to the Studio 30+ writing prompt and it brought up so many memories that I had simply just forgotten. I mean I have had some AMAZING shit happen in my life. Shit that most people only dream about.

When I was 12 going on 21, a movie was filmed in the city I am from. No I won't tell you the movie's name because I don't want none of you stalking me because I know you would. I am just that freaking awesome. So yea. Anyways my mum was manager of this motel and the movie crew/stars rented one whole section of the motel out and were staying there. The movie was being filmed a short ways away. The motel was a trucker's motel. If any of you are from the south, then you must understand what I mean by "trucker's motel". 

For you yanks, let me explain. The motel sat just right off the interstate and had a truckstop next door to it. There was a side of the motel that was only rented "by the hour" for "trucker's use only". In case they wanted to bring their "girlfriend" who got "paid by the hour" over for a few drinks. Do you see where this is going?

Ok so back to my movie. To say that I was star struck would be an understatement. I was a preteen from the boondocks where the most exciting thing that happened was  when the Dairy Queen started staying open past 7 pm on week nights. 

The only actor in the movie that I knew was Bob Orwig. He starred in Platoon for those of you that don't know. So his first day there I set about acquiring his autograph which I got after only 45 mins of surveillence. When he met me I was very much 12. Ripped jeans, pony tail, flip flops, black t-shirt, and I giggled when he winked at me. 

However later that night at the production crew party, I looked nothing like my 12 year old self. The make up, tank top, mini skirt, and knee high black leather boots with a six inch heel concealed my age but very little else. The fact that I was already a D cup didn't help in convincing people I was jail bait either. The stunt coordinator was a Brett Michaels look alike. I decided that he would be the one to take my virginity. He was more than happy to oblige until G.I. Joe stepped in between us and removed his tongue from my throat. 

For the next couple weeks, the crew was pretty busy. Something had happened and they had fallen behind on production, but then 4th of July rolled around and the producers gave the crew two days off. They also bought $500 worth of fireworks and my Brett Michaels wannabe was determined to break the seal that had not yet been broken. 

I had never seen so much alcohol in my life as I did at that party. You name it and it was there. The haze that floated above the motel was not due to weather. Did you know that if you inhale enough second hand pot smoke, you can get just as stoned as if you actually smoked it yourself? Fact. 

My mum had disappeared into someone's motel room  hours earlier. Some didn't even bother to use a room and were fucking in the weeds or their cars. I was into my 6th Budweiser and was more than happy to let my Brett Michaels lookalike slide his hand up my thigh. 

5 more minutes and this story would have ended differently. I don't know where he came from, but out of nowhere, G.I. Joe appeared, pulled Brett Michaels wannnabe off of me and told him, "Dude she is 12 fucking years old. Do you not understand me?

She is T-W-E-L-V-E!!!" 

The Brett Michaels wannabe looked at me slightly confused. His pot filled brain trying to process this information and do the math to determine if indeed 12 was too young. After a couple seconds, his pot filled brain won the argument with the bulge in his pants and I spent the rest of the night sitting on the hood of a black thunderbird drinking beer with G.I. Joe and watching fireworks. 

That is how G.I. Joe saved my virginity. True story.

Super 8

In a pee-filled pool with semen stained sheets is where I spent most of my summers growing up. At least between the ages of 9 and 12. My mum worked as a manager in a motel. Every day I went to work with her. The other managers all brought their kids to work too and we all spent our days swimming in the pool or watching TV in one of the unrented rooms. It wasn't all fun and games. Whenever housekeeping was short handed, we would clean rooms, wash sheets, and sweep the parking lot. 

Then when the restaurant would close at 2 pm, we would all come inside for lunch. We could order whatever we wanted off the menu, but considering the oldest of us was 13, our lunches mostly consisted of chicken nuggets and french fries followed by chocolate cake. The six of us would gather around the big booth and wait anxiously for our gourmet lunch to be served. We all came from the "poor" part of town so eating "out" was a big deal to us. Not a word would  be spoken between us as soon as the food was placed in front of us. We would gobble it down like we hadn't eaten in days. Our parents were firm believers in the 30 minute rule. You know the one. No swimming for 30 minutes after eating. So we would play pool and Ms. Pac Man until we were finally released from our prison of dry land. 

Once 30 minutes had passed, we would race outside and jump right back into our home away from home. From a distance, I am sure we looked like a pack of  untame children running wild, but reality was we were anything but. While we never spoke the words out loud, we all knew a responsibility that most children should never know. Whenever the little ones fell, we didn't run for our mothers. Us older ones picked them up, wiped their noses, kissed their boo-boos, and rocked them until some new shiny thing passed by and made them forget why they were crying in the first place. We took them to the bathroom, fed them when they were hungry, and sat with them til they went to sleep. 

Eight hours a day six days a week, we were left to our own devices, but yet somehow we all managed to be "good" kids. We worked when we had to and played when we didn't. No complaints. No questions asked. When school started in the fall and our teachers asked how we spent our summer, all the hours of work would be forgotten and all we remembered was swimming and playing pool.

That was all that really mattered anyways.

This is for a writing prompt from Studio 30+. The prompt was Hotel Stories. Motel/ hotel. Potayto/potahto. While I have many stories that are much more intense than this one, like the time I almost beat my father to death with a baseball bat in the motel parking lot in front of two police officers who had momentary blindness and saw nothing or how I met Bob Orwig from the movie Platoon, I decided to write about this instead. Mostly  because even though my life was difficult, it was not all bad. Sometimes I need to remind myself of that.

That Has To Be Good Enough

Yesterday I wrote about how time seems to stand still for me. When I am in that moment of darkness, it is all consuming. It is all I can see. I have been doing a lot of thinking ever since I made that post yesterday. Mostly about why in my state of mind today I can manage to ride the wave of darkness. Why today there is an extremely small part of me that is able to believe in a light that it can't see when consumed by darkness. 

I think a lot of it has to do with my life with Jigger. Before all I knew was darkness. All I knew was pain and suffering. Imagine if you never knew chocolate existed. How can you want or imagine something that you don't know exists? I think this is why I could never imagine a "better tomorrow". If you never had a "better yesterday" then how can you possibly imagine a "better tomorrow"? My life today is no bed of roses. I face struggles every single day, but I am not alone. I have Jigger and I have met some amazing people through blogging. People who support me and encourage me. Who don't judge me, but don't let me wallow either. 

A friend of mine said this to me in an email and I wanted to share it here because to me, it is just the epitome of living with bipolar. 

You've had some shit done to you.  You've had some shit happen to you.  You're dealing with some shit.  Some pretty nasty shit.  But you're dealing with it.  You're talking about it.  You're articulating it and publishing it for the whole damn world to see.  You've got a man who loves the shit out of you, obviously, despite the cultural differences.  And you are alive.  And sometimes, that has to be good enough.  

She's right. Sometimes that has to be good enough.

If you're still reading at this point, did you notice the image above? No? Ok have a look because that was so totally me a few years ago. Not that I was that hot but the words that are written. That is how I saw myself. That was all I saw myself as. When you see yourself and have only ever seen yourself in that light it is hard to imagine yourself any other way. If Jigger hadn't seen me differently, then I am certain I would still see myself that way. I am realizing environment has a major impact on my bipolar. That I need to be careful of the type of people I allow near me and what environments I allow myself to get into.

Even online I have to have rules and guidelines just so I don't cross boundaries. Since I don't know when to stop and don't have someone with me that can tell me when it's time to stop, then  I have to just not do whatever "it" is that would cause my world to disappear.

I definitely believe my past environments, my childhood, my first marriage, all were contributing factors in my skewed view of the world. All are contributing factors in causing me to be unable to see that the darkness was not forever.

Time Stands Still

At least in a bipolar mind. Two days ago my world was dark, empty, filled with anxiety, overwhelming, suffocating, and today it is still all of those things but not quite as heavy. This is something I don't think people without bipolar understand. In our world, there is no tomorrow. There is no "better" days. There is only NOW. At least I know this is how it is for me. I very rarely if ever consider tomorrow. It doesn't exist in my world. There is only today and if today is filled with darkness then it is a darkness that encompasses my entire existence. It is a pain that appears to have no end. I can't even imagine there will come a time when the darkness is not present.

Honestly, I don't think even I realized until just now how strongly this exists within me. Today I can breathe. Yesterday there was no air in my lungs. I was a fish flopping on the shore gasping for breath and today the tide came in. I realize now this is something I have to work on. This sense of only NOW existing is what has caused me to make some extremely bad decisions in my life. Because when things were bad, I had no patience to wait for tomorrow. There was only NOW and I had to react NOW. Everything is only NOW. 

Jigger is always telling me to just wait, be patient. It kills me. I feel physical pain at having to wait. It literally feels like someone is reaching into my chest and trying to pull my still beating heart out. It's not that I am impatient because I am not. It's just whatever I am feeling at any particular moment is the only thing that exists. Nothing else exists. So when I am feeling fear, then it is as if I am being consumed by that fear. As if the fear is trying to erase me and I have to fight for my very life. I realize this reaction is totally out of proportion to the situation. Most people would think "well maybe tomorrow will be better", but for me there is no tomorrow.  I feel if I don't react right NOW, then I am going to die. That I have to do something NOW or the darkness will consume me. I know when I attempted suicide both times this is exactly what went through my mind. The thought of death never entered my mind. Only the thought that if I don't do something NOW, then this darkness will eat me.

I don't know how to describe this so that it makes sense. I am just now realizing this and realizing this is something I need to work on. That is why I am making this post as a reminder to myself that I need to learn to breathe when the darkness comes. Just breathe.

Fractured Soul

If you read my blog, then you know the roller coaster that is my emotions of late. Today I wanted to just feel free. To fly and cleanse myself. I have been wanting to join the 100 word game at velvet verbosity for awhile and today seemed like a good day. The prompt could not have been more appropriate. If Andy Warhol, Stephen King, and Dr. Seuss had a love child, this would be it: CHASMS

Fractured 

into a 1000 pieces

Silent Screams

from an unheard voice

that never ceases

Falling deeper

into the abyss

Venomous poison

tickles my soul

with their satanous hiss

My eyes open 

but I cannot see

for empty sockets

stare back at me

Through the darkness

My mouth does scream

unheard sounds

not part of this dream

My soul incomplete

no longer alive

the pounding sorrow

begs it to die

Its wicked ways 

and vile charm

its seductive embrace

want nothing but to harm

Around my waist

into my veins

I feel it slither

and take hold my reigns

Surrender I shall 

just to end this pain

Layin' It All on the Line

I was visiting Kim over at The Child. Each week she does this thing where she "pours her heart out". She did it again today btw. You should check it out. She talks about boobies and milk. Very fascinating stuff. Anyways, it got me thinking that I need to do that. I need to just purge myself of the shit that is festering inside of me. I need to purge it in a healthy way before I purge it with a razor sliding across my skin. Because that is where this path leads.

This post will probably be long and make little sense to the people who live outside my head, but this blog is for me. It is my way of dealing with the shit thing that is my brain. It is not for entertainment. Hopefully there is some educational value in it, but in reality it is for me and me alone. So here goes. Diving into the darkness that is my brain:

At the moment, I am feeling anxious, jittery, on edge, overwhelming, and suffocated. I want to address each of these emotions one by one.

Anxious: I am anxious because I know Jigger is going on his trip next month. I worry about what will become of me without him. He has been my rock for 3 years and now suddenly my support is falling out from underneath me. At least that is what it feels like. The closer it gets the more anxious I get. Another reason I feel anxious is because his way of preparing and mine are total opposites. There is a lot that needs to be done,but since we still have more than a month left before he leaves, Jigger says "there's plenty of time no need to do it now". If he had told me to hold my breath until he left, I think it would have been easier. I need to prepare and I NEED to do it NOW. As in right NOW. This minute. Not tomorrow. Not day after tomorrow. But NOW. A part of my brain knows that I really do have time and it isn't an absolute necessity, but the part of my brain that says "holy fuck the earth will fall of its axis and cows will stop producing milk if you don't do it NOW" is much louder and more forceful than the part that understands there is still "time". Being late or unprepared are two things I do not deal with very well.

Jittery: I don't know if that is even a real word but it describes exactly how I feel at this moment. I feel like my skin is crawling. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest like I ran a marathon. Even though the only part of my body capable of running a marathon is my mouth. There are times when I feel I can't breathe or that it is difficult to catch my breath. I feel like there is a huge weight sitting upon my chest. My hands won't stop shaking. My body won't stop shaking. The thoughts in my brain won't stop coming. Thought after thought after though. I feel the constant need to be doing "something". I cannot be still. Not even for a moment. A single second of quiet and stillness brings me into a full blown panic attack. I don't know what to do with myself. I feel as if I should be doing something but am not quite sure as to what that something is.

On edge: In part this is an extension of the "jittery" emotion. I feel like I am standing on the edge of cliff and someone or something is hiding in the shadows waiting for their opportunity to push me over the edge. What is so frustrating is that a part of me knows this feeling of paranoia is unsubstantiated, but even knowing that does not lessen my fear that "something" is about to happen. "Something" is coming. "Something" wants to hurt me. It's hard enough running from real threats and avoiding real dangers. How do you hide from imaginary ones?

Overwhelmed: This also brings about the feeling of being unable to breathe. I have so much to do but yet nothing to do at the same time. All of the things that I feel I need to do are not real things that need to be done. They are just things I feel need to be done. Things I should be doing but am not doing. I put immense pressure upon myself and then when I can't live up to that I hate myself. I feel like a failure for not being able to live up to the unrealistic bar I have set for myself. Then I have so much imaginary shit on my plate that I am unable to take care of the real shit that is laying around and then nothing gets accomplished and I feel even worse because it only reaffirms the thought that I am a failure. Worthless. Unable to do anything right. While no one outside of my head tells me this and if people knew all of the things I have actually accomplished within the limited resources I have available they would be utterly shocked at all I have accomplished, but no matter how much I achieve or do it is never enough. Never good enough. Never enough. I should  do more. That is the constant thought that runs through my mind.  I should do/be MORE.

Suffocated: At the moment, my life is pretty much halted. For the first time probably in my entire life, I have hopes and dreams of a future. Hopes and dreams and wants and desires and I feel like the universe is laughing at me because my circumstances do not allow me to be able to achieve any of the things I want. For the first time I have the feeling of wanting to "live" inside of me. Not just exist but live and I am unable to. It makes me feel like the walls are closing in on me. That my world is somehow turning against me and trying to take the very breath in my lungs from me. Even though my life is not as bad as I am making it out to be, this feeling of suffocation is making me begin to hate my life. I don't want to start hating life again. I can feel the anger boiling inside of me. The anger at the world. At the wind. At the trees. Anger that just is.

Anger: I guess it only appropriate anger comes next. At the moment, I just feel angry. At the universe. As much as I hate to admit it even at God. I don't talk very much about religion, but I do have a deep faith. One that has kept me alive and saved me, but a small part of me feels anger towards God for all of the things that have happened to me. I know there is a plan and a reason and a meaning. There has to be. (If you don't believe in these things, that is fine.You don't have to, but understand you will respect my beliefs if you intend to comment here. Otherwise your words will be erased.Remember this land is ruled by a dictator who is not afraid to push the big red button). Then I hate myself for feeling this anger so it is a never ending cycle of feeling anger and then repressing it only to have it fester back up stronger than before. Then I push it back down and ignore it until it rears its ugliness in other areas of my life. Like picking fights over where the bananas are kept or grown ass men watching soap operas. . 

Tired: I am just tired. Anyone with bipolar or PD will understand this feeling. Just tired of the struggle. Tired of it all. Just tired. Is it really all worth the effort?

There are many reasons why I am feeling so many things all at once. Some are real and justified like trying to start a new business, dealing with new clients. This is the unknown for me. I have never ventured into this area before. I feel I am inadequate, not good enough, and therefore my work will also be not good enough. Yet I am putting myself out there and it's scary. I don't know what will happen. The unknown is a major stressor/trigger for me. I think that is why I prefer to stay in unhealthy relationships/circumstances because I understand the unhealthy. I know what will come next. There is no unknowns for me in unhealthy, but "healthy" is foreign and alien to me. I don't know what to do with it or how to react to it. I don't know what things mean if they are good or bad. If I should be scared or happy. I don't understand them and this sense of unknown and not understanding is a majorly huge trigger for me. I MUST know. If I know, then I can control and will know which direction to run when the shit hits the fan, but if I don't know, then how can I protect myself? 

How will I know where to run when it all falls apart because at some point it will all fall apart, right? At least that is what my brain says. 

A place I long to be. A place I understand and miss.  

Comfortably Numb:

The Reason My Donkey Eats BallSacs

I blog anonymously. If I didn't blog anonymously, then I wouldn't be able to tell you how pissed off I am right now. I also wouldn't be able to tell you the reason I am so pissed is because of my BIL. If I don't relieve myself of some of this tension, then either my head is going to spin off or explode. I am not really sure which. So why am I pissed at my BIL?Because he does jack shit all nothing all fucking day long, that's why. The boy is 25ish and sits all day long watching, are you ready for this?

SOAP FUCKING OPERAS

That's right. Not sports, not men beating on each other. Not even cartoons. SOAP FUCKING OPERAS. 

I have a vagina and I don't watch soap operas. I cannot understand this. I cannot understand why a grown ass man has no feeling of shame or insert really bad feeling here by watching me and Jigger work our asses off trying to put a roof over our heads and buy enough food to feed the entire family each month. Counting pennies and praying that NOTHING extra comes up or breaks or no one has a baby or dies and then we have to buy something extra because if we do it means that we don't get to eat that day. 

I know what pisses me off about it the most. I have no control over the situation. I can't kick his ass and tell him to grow a fucking pair. I have to smile and let it be. That is Jigger's catch phrase. That and just ignore it. 

WTF?! Do I look like I am capable of "just ignoring it"? 

Deep breaths. I have lived on my own since I was 14 years old. Even when I lived with people, I didn't really live with people. I mean they had their own lives and I had mine. They fended for themselves and I did for me. We simply existed in the same space. My existing did encroach upon them and they did not encroach upon me. I do not know how to to "just be" in a family. I do not understand this whole "ignore it" when there is absolutely no fucking reason why the boy cannot get up off his ass and WORK like the rest of us.

If he had a reason, then it would be different, but I do not consider selfish and lazy to be reasons. This type of laziness is a huge trigger for me. Mostly because my uncle and other family members did the same thing and I supported them. I feel like I am just a fucking ATM for people. I feel used and I hate it. I have tried to make Jigger understand, but their thinking is so different. To them 25ish is young and if you're unmarried, then it's not the time for responsibilities. To me 25ish is long past the fucking time for responsibility. Married or not.

I also worry that when Jigger is gone next month that I am not going to be able to contain the shit that is festering inside of me. Mostly because I know the family will start saying shit to me again. Every day I sit here and just obsess over what may or may not happen while he is gone. Which only increases my already through the roof anxiety.

FML. If they ever invent do over's for life, I call first dibs.







This was for a writing prompt for Studio 30+. The prompt was "do over".

I'm a Good Blogger

What?! I am. Sometimes. At least that is what Lance over at My Blog can beat up Your Blog said. Don't believe me? Then just have a look at what he gave me.

See! I told ya! Jealous much?! I knew you would be. Haters. 

But like most things in life, this does not come free. There are rules. I don't do rules. I have an allergy. People get hurt. It's best I avoid the rules, but if you're one who likes rules then you can check out Randy from Random Girl's blog. She is the one that infected gave this to Lance so in reality it's kinda like I kissed a girl, but not.  So thank you, Lance. Now I will be a good girl and pay it forward or is it see dead people. That was one freaky kid. 

Now go! Read these people because they are way more cooler than me: 

Deus Ex Machina: she makes words her bitch and whoever reads them becomes jealous that she didn't make them her bitch instead. she is an amazingly talented writer that I stalk and plan to kidnap someday so I can serve her and be her slave girl and I am not saying any more. I don't want you stealing my plan. 

Bipolar Diva: she makes awesome look boring, she writes with a truth and honesty about her life that is rare

Sapphire Dragonfiles: she is another blogger who writes with an openness that I find refreshing. I don't like reading about fake and there is no fake here. she is an amazing person who I am honored to know.

Edge of Crazy: neve is an extremely strong amazing person who shares her life which is sometimes crazy and sometimes beyond reality

Overdeveloped Underexposed: another amazingly honest fresh and real blogger whom I love dearly. you never know what you will find at her place. whether it's her musings with a murderer or sexual fetishes she always has a surprise for you

 You still here?! Go shoo! Pay it forward or see dead people whichever you prefer.

My favorite line: I am not here for your entertainment. You don't really wanna mess with me tonight. I was fine before you walked into my life!

Facts, Figures, and other Boring Stuff -Reflections pt2

This is the second part of my reflections as I read the book Noonday Demon by Andrew Solomon. You can check out part one here.

In the book, the author has a lot of facts and statistics that literally shocked me. I have no idea where he got this information from nor do I know the accuracy of it. I am simply telling you what the book said. However if even a fraction of it is true, then I hate to imagine what it will be like 50 years from now. But before I get into the facts and statistics. I will start with the next set of quotes.

1. Psychosomatic complaints exist in the unconscious brain and often enough the brain sends inappropriate messages to the stomach so they exist there as well.

What the author was discussing when I jotted down this quote was specifically related to stomach cramps. However, this thought process can really be applied to almost any and all unexplained ailments in people who suffer from depression. It is very common for those with depression to suffer from diabetes, migraines, obesity, heart disease and a list of other ailments. While some of these are very real, there is no doubt some are caused by the depression. I mean think about it. Your brain is sending the wrong messages to your body. So of course your body is going to act funky and be out of sorts. It just makes sense. How can your body be totally uneffected when your brain is the keeper of the gate? If the puppet master is not ok, then the puppets won't perform properly. The brain is the puppetmaster and the body is the puppet. I wish more doctors realized this. 

2. Depression is not entirely chemical based and simply replacing chemical will not relieve depression. 

I am so glad he brought up this point. There is so much emphasis being placed on the chemical components of PD/depression that I am afraid people will forget that simply fixing the chemical side of it will not "cure" you. There is no magic pill for depression. Yes meds help lessen the severity of symptoms but they do NOT make them disappear entirely. I worry that people are too focused on the chemical side of it Unless people realize meds are only half of the battle, then depression cannot be contained. Notice I said "contained" and not "cured". 

3. Treating depression means making the most of the life you have between episodes. 

This is a very powerful statement that really hits home with me. Mostly because that is exactly where I am now. I have spent the last several years cycling from one episode to the next. Now I am somewhat stable. I am doing the best to make the most of the time I have. To somehow make amends for the damage I did and hopefully to lessen the blows of the next episode because there will be a next episode. It may not be as damaging, long or insane as the past ones, but there is always a next one. 

Now for some facts and statistics that are rather disturbing. I don't know where they got these statistics from, but if they are even half right, then I can't understand why more isn't being done to treat depression. Why there is such a stigma attached to it when so many are effected by it. Do we really have our heads stuck that deeply in the sand??? 

5. According to recent research 3% of Americans suffer from depression. That is 19 million people and more than 2 million of those are children.

6. Bipolar affects 2.3 million and is the 2nd  leading killer of young women (3rd for young men). 

7. In DSM-IV, Depression is the leading cause of disability for Americans and people abroad. 

8. Depression claims more useful life years than war, cancer, and AIDS combined. 

9. An American adult has their depression recognized properly only about 40% of the time and less than half of those recognized get appropriate treatment (that means out of 19 million people, less than 3.8 million receive the appropriate treatment)

If you would like to know more about the author you can visit his website. I have links below to purchase his book if you're interested. I should say I am not getting anything out of "reviewing" this book. The only reason I started writing down quotes from it is because I could only find the audio version of the book. This is the only way I am able to actually pay attention to what the author is saying. My mind likes to wander in a world of its own making. 

                           

Sometimes

no words are needed...





Then after

P. M. D. D.

Guys, another post about PMS, blood, and tampons. It's the last one I swear. At least for a couple days. Hey at least I warn ya!

In a previous post (which blogger tried to eat) I mentioned about the insanity I go through a couple days before my period starts. I honestly thought that what I was feeling was just "in my head". Then my lovely love Deus Ex Machina told me to look up PMDD. Being the good follower I am, I googled it and got the shock of my life. 

PMDD stands for premenstrual dysphoric disorder. As I began reading the websites about what it was and the symptoms, it was like I was literally reading  a script of exactly what I go through each month. I had no idea that it was real let alone had a name. While 75% of women suffer from mild to moderate forms of PMS, only about 5% of women suffer from PMDD. The difference between PMS and PMDD has to do with severity and PMDD is disruptive to the life of the woman where as PMS is discomforting it does not actually interfere with daily activities on the level that PMDD does. 

I know for me, the week before my period is pure hell. Not only for me but for anyone stupid enough to breathe the same air I am breathing. I feel uncomfortable in my own skin. I get irritated that I am irritated. I want to just hit, kill, punch, murder something. I have no idea why. I cry for no reason which pisses me off because I hate to cry. Then crying makes me even more irritable to the point where I just want to run away from my own body. Sometimes I don't sleep but sometimes those few days are the only days I actually do sleep in a month. Bloating. Don't get me started on the bloating. I swear I gain ten pounds during those days. At least. Then the day after my period actually starts, all of this just disappears.

So why am I making a post about this again? Because I know I am not the only person that feels like their crazy has gone crazy. That is exactly what it feels like during those few days. I also know if I had no idea what it was that was happening to me then most likely other women won't know either. I also know that unless they have a good doctor who actually listens to their symptoms and takes it seriously that most likely their symptoms will be ignored and chalked up to "it's just that time of the month". While yes it is because "it is that time of the month" what you're experiencing is not typical. It can be treated. It is extremely common in women with major depressive conditions such as bipolar. So when you go to your doctor ask them about PMDD. It is real and can be treated. It is not just in your head.

Here are a few websites that have more info about PMDD:

Facts for Health

Healthy Place
National Association for PMS


Books on PMDD:
                    

      

Unconventional Diagnosis & Treatment

I haven't really ever given much detail as to how I was diagnosed and my current treatment for bipolar. Since people have asked a few times in the comments, I thought it would be easier to make a post and then if any future people ask I would have a post to direct them towards instead of having to constantly repeat myself. This post will be a bit long but that can't really be helped.

I was raised in a very abusive home. My father was an alcoholic who raped me and beat my mother. He psychologically tortured the both of us. I have very few memories of my childhood, but one memory that is very clear to me is from when I was about 6 or 7 years old. I don't remember what led to this event and I don't remember how it ended, but I very clearly remember standing in the door of my family home. My father stood behind me drinking a beer. His hand squeezing my shoulder. Even though he said not one single word, I knew exactly what my part was. My mother was standing in the yard beside the car. She wanted to leave but I refused. I remember thinking how deseparately I wanted nothing more than for her to come and pick me up from my spot and carry me away, but she didn't. She just stood there screaming at me to get in the car, but my feet wouldn't move. All I could do was stand there and cry and say "No, Mama, please don't go". She didn't go.

When I was 8, she had a nervous breakdown and was hospitalized. I ended up running away from home and going to live with my grandparents. My family's way of dealing with what happened to me was to pretend it didn't. They ignored it. Didn't talk about it so I repressed ALOT. I guess I should also tell you that my father attempted to murder me on numerous occasions after the divorce. He blamed me for the divorce and felt if I wasn't "in the picture" then he and my mother could live happily ever after. He tried shooting me, strangling me, running our car off the road on several occasions, beating me. It didn't help that at times my mother also told me that I was the reason her life was messed up. Needless to say I bottled everything up inside until it imploded.

Then when I was 13, I attempted suicide for the first time. I was hospitalized and my therapist thought my mental state was too fragile to pursue legal action. Instead she thought it best that I have once a week therapy sessions with my father so the two of us could "work things out". I was in the hospital for six weeks and once a week we had "family therapy" to "work things out". I don't remember the sessions. I have no idea what was or wasn't said. All I remember is staring at the carpet on the floor. I am not certain I ever spoke during these sessions. This was when I was officially diagnosed as "manic depressive". This is what bipolar use to be called until it was renamed to remove some of the stigma associated with the label.

Afterwards, I saw a therapist in my hometown. She was NOT licensed to work with children. She decided it best that I undergo hypnosis. That somehow reliving my past trauma under hypnosis would be less traumatic than actual therapy sessions. I don't remember much from these sessions either.

In the hospital I was given amitriptyline and trazadone. When I left I was put on prozac and trazadone. I took these for about a month and then I felt "better" and stopped. I didn't really have much adult supervision. Therefore no one to actually make me take my meds. My insurance only paid for 6 therapy sessions which is why I believe no one ever noticed how deeply troubled I was.

When I was 16, I attempted suicide again. I was again hospitalized. This time however the abuse was reported. My previous doctors all lost their licenses to practice medicine in my homestate due to their failure to report child abuse and their inappropriate treatment of my case. I was put on lithium and two more drugs although I don't remember exactly what they were. When I left the hospital, I took a variety of things. I should say I was prescribed a variety of things. I saw two different doctors and each prescribed meds. Zoloft, paxil, lithium, trazadone, ambien. Again I had no adult supervision so I didn't really take the meds.

My father bought his freedom. I remember very little of the trial. I testified. My social worker said I looked like I was stoned out of my mind sitting on the witness stand. That I stared off into space. I slurred my words and spoke very slowly in almost a whisper. That I never blinked. My pupils were dilated so much that you couldn't see the iris in my eye. I have no idea what the lawyer asked me. The only thing I remember of that day is standing on the courthouse steps and watching my father shake the prosecuting attorney's hand and laughing. I remember hearing him tell the DA that his "campaing fund check" was in the mail. This is how justice is bought in my hometown.

Then I got married at 17 and moved away. I believed this would solve my problems. I had absolutely no real understanding of my mental issues. Needless to say that marriage ended. Badly. During my marriage I attempted to see a therapist on two different occasions but due to insurance or the lack of, I only saw them a couple times and it was really just a waste of time.

Then when in 2003 my grandmother died. She had been my rock through my whole life. When she died, I slowly began to unravel. For about a year I actually hid it pretty well. I was functioning at work, but at home I was a mess. I would cut myself, not sleep for days. Then in 2004, I had a nervous breakdown. The ER psyche doc wanted to hospitalize me but I somehow managed to convince him not to. I wasn't "crazy". I didn't need to be locked up. We agreed I would see a therapist twice a week. Which I did. That was when I heard the word "bipolar" and found out a little bit about my mental issues. I was put on seroquel and another med that I can't remember the name. I really thought that this time I was going to get better and then life threw me a curve ball and I did what I always do. I ran away.

I moved to another state and had no insurance there so no meds no therapy. Then I started having delusions. That is when my psychotic break began. End of 2004 beginning of 2005. I would spend the next 3 years doing some extremely self destructive behavior. Believing I was a divine chosen being that had supernatural powers. Then somehow I started coming out of the psychosis. Attempted to straighten my life out but my perception was so skewed that I ended up being a "kept" woman for a married man. He lived in one city and worked in another. 3 days a week he lived in the city he worked and kept an apartment there. I lived in the apartment.

I prayed daily for death. I would have given anything to have been able to kill myself, but suicide is not an option in my beliefs and that is really the only reason I never attempted suicide. If it were not for my faith, then I would be dead now. There is no doubt in my mind.

In 2007, I met Jigger. We married in January 2008. For the first time in my life I was safe. I had a home. Even though for the first year I fought him like hell because I was so afraid to trust in his love and in this life. I was terrified of losing it that I was too afraid to grab it. After a year of trying to make Jigger divorce me, something in me clicked and I began researching bipolar online. I started noticing my triggers. Finding discussion forums, support groups, trying to understand why I do what I do.

Where I live it is not possible for me to get meds and/or treatment by a therapist. I realize the absurdity of that statement and how unbelievable it sounds, but know that it is the absolute truth. That is why I do my best to manage my illness as much as possible. Being in the environment I am definitely helps.

Even though at the moment I am "stable" I do not believe you can successfully treat bipolar without meds and therapy. I do not recommend anyone to attempt to treat themselves. If I had a choice, I would choose meds, but at the moment, I have to work with what I have available to me which isn't a whole lot.

In 2004 my diagnosis was bipolar type 1 rapid cycling, PTSD, and depersonalization disorder. So hopefully that answers the questions of my diagnosis and treatment. Although I am always open to questions and will do my best to answer them. However I do blog anonymously and there are some things I will not disclose in order to maintain that anonymity.

I blog in order to have a journal that documents my moods and triggers. Writing is a form of therapy for me. It always has been. It helps me to get the demons out of my head.
 

R.A.W. Emotions

There is talk of blood, PMS, and tampons in this post. Guy(s), you've been warned. Proceed with caution.

R.A.W. 

That is how I feel at the moment. Like every nerve ending I have is exposed and even the slight touch of a morning's breeze hurts me. I am easily irritated. Stupid little things get on my nerves and cause me to feel anxious, nervous, panicked. Every month I get this way. 

Raw. I feel exposed. As if I have been left out in the open. Vulnerable. As if a predator is about to attack. Only I have no idea who or what it is or from where it is coming. 

Every month I get this way. About 3-4 days before my period starts. While I know women get PMS, this seems to be PMS on crack. At times I am so frustrated I just want to hit something or someone. If I could just scream nonstop for five minutes I think I would feel better. It's like having a murderer bottled up inside of me that is trying to escape. A living breathing entity of madness that has crept inside of me that now has awakened and is desperately fighting for its freedom. Except I am certain if it is given freedom that I would be its first victim.

After I married Jigger, I began noticing this pattern. Not for the first year, but that was mostly because I wasn't paying attention. However, the last two years I have been because I have been trying to get a handle on my bipolar symptoms. I have noticed that during this time we usually have a fight. It is the only time we argue. Everything he says pisses me off. I feel his every word is an attack against me. As if he is intentionally trying to hurt me. The banana fight happened during these days as well. 

 We also fight because I have no idea what it is I want. Food that I normally love, I suddenly hate. I am uncomfortable in my own skin. I am hot one minute, cold the next. I feel hungry but don't want food. The thought of eating literally makes me sick, but at the same time I am hungry. I freak out if Jigger isn't home but when he gets home I can't stand to have him near me. I realize that nothing I am feeling makes sense but no matter what I do I cannot stop the roller coaster of emotions that is roaring through me.

Everything I have read about bipolar and PMS seems to suggest that women with bipolar tend to have less mood swings and less irritability than non-bipolar women. The reason they give is because women with bipolar are on mood stabilizers such as lithium. Since PMS is basically a fluctuation of hormones and moods, the lithium helps to control this so women with bipolar don't have PMS. But what about non-medicated women with bipolar? I haven't been able to find anything about this. 

That is the reason I am writing about this.

Avenging Hereafter

Trigger Warning: There are references to sexual abuse and child rape in this post

I believe in the hereafter. I have no choice but to believe. For if I did not believe then the world would be even madder than I and while I live in a brain of madness, I refuse to live in a world of it. My father is the reason I believe in the hereafter because I cannot live in a world that allows a man to rape his daughter and that innocent child go without ever seeing justice. 

My father escaped justice in this world, but the thought of his eternal punishment brings comfort to my heart. I know some people might say "it is best to forgive and forget, to turn the other cheek", but those people have never had their father slide his hand up their strawberry shortcake nightgown. Those people do not know how suffocating the stench of stale beer can be. Those people do not know what it is like to have your entire being stolen from you. To be forever changed into a creation that is not of your own making. To forever be altered. To forever be stained.

In my world of hereafter, my sufferings will be avenged and justice will be carried out. I will not be disappointed. There will be no judge to bribe. No lawyer to pay off. Justice will be done and once it has been carried out, then maybe just maybe I will be able to find forgiveness for myself and that little innocent girl that I once was will finally be able to know what it is to love and to be loved. 

Maybe.

This was for a Studio 30+ writing prompt. The prompt was justice and forgiveness.

Reflections Noon Day Demons pt 1

So as I mentioned earlier, I have been reading/listening to this book Noonday Demon by Andrew Solomon. You can visit his website here. So far I am really enjoying the book. I often find it difficult to express what I am feeling and there are a few ways he describes his depression that just nails it. That is why I thought I would share them here, but mostly I want to write about them just so I have  a permanent record of them. I only have the audio book so by blogging about what I am reading/listening to then I can easily come back and re-read it so that I can get my head around it. The highlighted quotes below are taken from the audio book and while I have tried my best to write verbatim what he was reading, there are a few places I sort of paraphrased. Mostly because I didn't want the whole quote just the idea of it. Then my comments/thoughts are below it. So enjoy!! 

The book is available on Amazon. If you're interested in it, then here's the link to purchase it:

Depression not only destroys connection to others but also the ability to be peacefully alone with one's self. 

He says this almost at the beginning of the book and it really just summed up depression for me. I can't stand myself when I am depressed. I get offended even at the sight of myself. I can't be bothered to do anything. I have noticed the last couple weeks that I have had days where I can't be bothered to cook for myself. I go days without eating because I don't have the energy or desire to do something especially for myself. I have had days lately where I so desperately wished that I could somehow escape my own brain. Just run away from the constant bombardment of thoughts that continually run through it.

Depression cannot be wiped out. At best it can be contained. Containing is all current treatment for depression aims to do. 

I cannot repeat this statement enough. I am continually saying this about bipolar because I don't think doctors really explain this concept properly to people and I also don't think family members truly understand this as well. People seem to think that a person with depression/PD can just "take a pill and get over it", but it doesn't work that way. Yes, there are times when I might be "better" than others but there will always be a relapse. I must always be aware of my moods and triggers. I must always be vigilant in my treatment and in improving my life because there will never come a day when I will exist without bipolar. Bipolar is a part of me. Nothing I can do will ever change that. All I can do is try to be the best person I can be which in reality is all any one can do. Regardless if they have PD/depression or not.

Depression had a life of its own that asphyxiated my life out of me. 

Absolutely. I could not agree with this more. There are times when I feel like I am trapped inside someone else's body especially when I am manic. I feel like I am trapped and being forced to watch someone else live my life in a way that I don't want to live it. It's like I am being held hostage by the bipolar. As if it were an actual physical being that has somehow taken me hostage and is now pretending to be me, forcing me to live the life it wants me to instead of the one I should be living. When it has been held hostage, I feel so helpless. That there is nothing that I can do to overcome it. All I can do is let it have its way with me and pray there is still a part of me left that is recognizable once it is through with me.  

You smell sour even to yourself (this is during what he terms as "major depression" I will post about his definitions of major and mild depression later)

Yes. Yes. and Yes. Not only do you smell sour to yourself, but you can't stand the sight of yourself or the sound of your voice. You want to disappear from yourself, and when you can't stand to look at you, how is it possible that others can? This is the thoughts that go through my head when I am depressed. I mean if I can't stand me, then there is no way anyone else can, right? I think this is one of the hardest things for me to overcome. It is what keeps me in the grip of depression for extended periods of time. Even the other day, when SD and DEM were complimenting me I freaked out because it literally 'hurt" to have them say the nice things they were saying. I just couldn't accept it and did not want to hear it. It caused me actual physical pain to hear what they were saying. Luckily they understand and didn't get upset with me. Especially DEM when I told her to shut the fuck up and stop it. She's awesome like that.

You lose the ability to trust anyone, to touch, to grieve. Eventually you're simply absent from yourself. 

The end part of this just astounds me. I think I feel this way quite often. As a young child, I learned that in order to survive I had to "be absent" from my body. As an adult now, I find that I can't always seem to connect with myself. At times I am not even aware that I am absent. It is something I do without thinking. I am just empty. No feeling. No presence. Just a shell taking up space. Don't even get me started on trust. To say I trust no one is an understatement. Even as much as I love DEM, I don't trust her. It is impossible for me to entirely believe that she is my friend. It has nothing to do with her. It is entirely in my head and is entirely within myself. There really is nothing she can do to make me 100% trust her. Mostly whenever I meet people I feel I am always just waiting for the "shit". Waiting for that day when they hurt me because everyone always hurts me. I know that part of this is due to my poor choices in choosing people for my friends and part is that I tend to be my own self-fulfilling prophecy. Regardless of the reason why I don't ever truly trust people, under it all the simple truth is I just can't. In this world, your parents are the two people you're suppose to be able to trust to protect you from the big bad world and when they turn out to be the monsters, it makes it difficult to believe that not everyone else is a monster as well. When that trust is broken, especially at an early age, it can never be repaired. I fake "trust", but I don't actually feel it.There is nothing anyone can do to change that.


Well, I think that is enough therapy for one day. I won't post about this everyday, but I will be posting frequently about it until I get through the entire book.