Free Giveaway Today

I mentioned yesterday about the book Letters from a Bipolar Mother. You can download it free at Amazon today and tomorrow. (Feb 8-9). Just click the image in my sidebar and you'll be taken to the free downloads. Also if you join Alyssa's mailing list, you'll receive free ecopies of all of the rest of the series.

Letters of A Bipolar Mother

While I don't usually promote books I am promoting this one. A friend (or alter ego in my head I never quite can be sure lol) has just released her book Letters of A Bipolar Mother (Chronicles of A Fractured Life). It's currently only available in ebook but the print versions will be available within the next few days. I've read the book and Alyssa manages to explain exactly how bipolar affects the worlds of those of us who are forced to waddle through it each day. If you have a loved one with bipolar or especially if you're a child whose parent is bipolar I highly recommend this book. It was written so the loved ones of those with bipolar might be able to get a glimpse of how we function and why we at times are so irrational. If you want you can read Alyssa's blog. Her website is http://www.alyssareyans.com

Even My Dreams Aren't Normal

So I have to write this down because I'll seriously forget it and it's too bizarre to forget. I don't dream. I never have not really. Maybe it's because I don't usually fall deep enough into sleep to dream or that I fall asleep with some major narcotics in my system and sleep so deeply the dreams sort of fade away upon waking up, but for the most part I don't dream. Last night however I did. I only remember the end part of. About 4 secs in time of it, but it was so fucking weird that it woke me up with a "wtf was that all about" coming out of my mouth. 

I dreamed I was updating my Facebook status and for the 3-4 of you who happen to be my "friends" on Facebook you know I haven't actually signed into Facebook in months let alone updated my status. Doesn't seem too weird, right? Well my status update said, "FYI to all my co-workers who are visiting me. You can still visit if you're lactose intolerant. Just because I'm breastfeeding the baby doesn't mean I pass out samples when you all come to visit. Unless of course the price of diapers goes up, then I'll be freezing that shit and selling it as ice cream." 

I shit you not that is what it said. I have no idea what part of my subconcious mind that came from but it was full on weird. Just weird. Anyways not what this was suppose to be about. It was suppose to be about mania and how I'm sitting on the edge of a major manic episode.

I can feel it's familiar tickle up my spine, the panic slowly starting to whirl and twirl through my veins. I can the 3 normal brain cells trying to calm the other 3000 down and telling them it's ok. Don't panic. Everything is ok, but they're not listening. I have worked very hard to get where I am. I don't want to undo it. A few of my safety nets have been removed this week. Even though they weren't real safety nets, at least I could pretend they were and I've finally cast them aside and I think that is contributing to the frenzy that is building inside of me. 

Panic. It's the worst feeling a person can have. If you're a parent, and you've ever turned around for 3 secs and then turned back and not seen your child standing there, that feeling that starts to rise from the tips of your toes and then courses through your entire body. That is what I feel like inside. For a few moments as the panic rises I'm coherent, I shout my name. Then the panic takes hold and I run around crazy in my underwear for no apparent reason other than the crazy told me to. It doesn't help but it calms me. The part of me that is freaking out. The part of me that is coming unglued because of some minor reason that my brain has magnified into a full on catastrophe. I am my own worst enemy. 

So this time I'm fighting back. Fighting back against the panic that is slowly rising within me. I don't know how much of it I'll be able to hold back before the dam breaks, but hopefully it'll be long enough the damage will be minor and 3 normal brain cells will be able to climb to safety. Hopefully I won't destroy all I've worked so hard to build.

Conversations I've Had Recently

I talk to myself. Not in the muttering under my breath, aliens can hear, wear my tin hat kinda way. Also not in the "I hear voices that tell me to slap the stupid out of you" kinda way either. 

Take for instance, my BFF Sam. I talk to Sam pretty much on a daily basis. Literally and in my own quirky way. If I read something, see something, or think something, then in my head I tell Sam. I know Sam well enough I can pretty much guess what her reply will be and in my head I not only hold my end of the conversation but hers as well. I don't know what part of bipolarism this falls in or if it's just part of my own special blend of awesomeness, but after one of our conversations, I have the same exact feeling as if I had actually just spoken with Sam. 

I don't just do this with Sam, but pretty much everyone. Even people I've never actually spoken with. Some random nijjit on the internet might write something that amuses me and I'll make up a conversation with them. Maybe their replies are what I'd want them to say. Maybe it's a conversation I'd hope we'd have. Why I don't just actually message or talk to the person I'm not quite sure. Maybe it's some form of self protection. Maybe I"m just mind fucked (that's my word of the day btw). I've searched on the googletron, but that was less than helpful. I don't really know what to call this or if anyone else even does this. I've never actually told this to anyone either. Not even Sam. Even though we talk everyday.

Am I Really the Crazy One

I've been in a funk the last few weeks. Sometimes up. Sometimes down. Sometimes so angry I want to strangle the heads off chickens, and sometimes I couldn't give a flying monkey fuck if the sky fell. While my emotional state is in constant flux, I'm not an evil person, and when I look around at the things that people do I truly wonder is it me that is crazy?

I mean I don't intentionally harm others. I go out of my way to help others to the point of being detrimental to my own well being. I don't feel entitled to things. Even though I was raised very poor, as an adult I never sat around on my ass, collecting welfare/benefits, and popping out little hooligans once a year. At 20, I actually went to my doc and said seal the hole I don't want nothing else popping out of there because apparently birth control did not work on me which is why I have two children that are barely one year apart. I knew I wasn't capable of raising more so I plugged that hole up for good. If I have and you come to me, I'll glad share whatever I have however little it may be. I'm understanding and appreciative of the different cultures, ethnicities, and people around the world. I love to learn and experience things I've never seen or tasted or touched or heard before. 

Yet I'm crazy. And the world that is rioting, looting, killing, intolerant, prejudice, ignorant, unwilling to learn or accept the differences of others. That is sane. I just don't get it. It makes no sense to me. 

In my everyday existance, I'm often ignored, forgotten, overlooked, not included and basically unless it's time for me to give the household allowance I pretty much cease to exist. Because I don't force myself or my wants/desires/needs on others, then people tend to not care if I'm ok or if something has happened to me, but yet I'm the crazy one and they are all sane. 

Since I've started blogging I've met such wonderful people. People who miss my presence when it's absent, do the smallest thing of sending emails/comments/tweets/messages to see if I'm ok, or just to say they were thinking of me. It's the oddest thing to me. As a child I use to get locked out of the house at night because I would be sitting outside under the trees and no one ever even noticed that I wasn't in the house yet people online notice and it's very odd. I don't know how to respond or how to feel. I don't know what my reaction to them should be. At times I feel obligated and at other times I feel overwhelmed at their care. And of course there is the paranoid side of me that thinks, what do they want, what is their true intention, are they trying to trick me, harm me, hurt me?

But the strangest thing of all is that every single person online who remembers me, who checks on me, who shows genuine concern for me is also crazy. 

Though their label might be BPD or anxiety or insert label here, but every single one of them falls into the category of crazy/disordered/insane/insert other stigma word here. The people I interact with online who are NOT crazy/disordered/insane/insert other stigma word here never notice when I'm gone. Never email or comment to offer a kind word of encouragement, support. Now I'm not saying all non disordered/non crazy people are like this, but so far my experiences with them is not very good.

And it makes me wonder am I really the crazy one?

Blood Spatter

What happens when you have amanic moment and are unable to express yourself with words? Or what happens if every word you is twisted to suit the views of another? Or what happens when you feel yourself falling and spinning out of control? What happens when your mind is unable to cope with the chaos that is surrounding you?

What do you do?

You pick up the water glass sitting in front of you and smash your head with it until it shatters and thereby cuttung your head and hand so badly it'll take 3 hrs,several blood soaked bandages and a lot of compression to make the bleeding stop. you'll need stitches but won't go get them because you won't want to explain what happened instead you'll spend 45 mins typing a blog with 1 finger.

this ends today's episode of "INSIDE THE BIPOLAR MIND"

Run Away

If only I could. Run. Far. From here. From me. From everything that surrounds me. To some place. Where there are no people. No rules of how you're suppose to be. No little holes to try to fit it and you're not able. No hurt. No pain. Just silence. And the wind. 

If only  it were that easy. If only I could squeeze myself hard enough into a little ball until I disappeared within myelf. Fell through time and space into nothingness. If only I did not exist. I question my reason for being everyday. Everywhere I go I reek havoc and chaos upon those around me. Hatred and disgust are my two best friends. They follow me everywhere. They never leave my side. They are the only certainty in this uncertain world. I cannot love nor be loved. I cannot live near others nor allow them to live near me. I cannot simply be nor do I want to be. Then what is the point?

Why am I here? Just to be a plaything for the universe. A broken toy to knock around when it feels bored. What did I do that was so wrong so heinous that I deserve this so called existence that has been forced upon me? When will I ever be free?

One Roof Different Worlds

The events of the last 72 hrs have been turbulent to say the least. Not on the outside but on my inside. On my outside, I have smiled, laughed, joked, and nearly bitten my tongue in half. On my inside,  a volcano has been erupting, lava spewing in all directions, a crazed missing link deseparately searching for a way out of its cage. It's been a very long 72 hrs.

But one of the things that I came to realize once I stopped for a few moments and simply breathed is that while we all may share the same roof over our heads we are from very different planets. I have watched with disgust as the people around me complained about things which they had no right to complain about and silently I seethed at them. In my mind, I plotted their deaths. Threw unseen daggers and filled their glasses with poisonous venom.

I came to realize one very important thing. Non crazy people disgust me. They are vindictive, unappreciative, greedy, selfish, and jealous. At least the ones I know are. While I am certain there are some crazies out there who are just like them probably even worse, I have not come across them. I don't know if it's the fact that we live inside of the chaos and therefore are more willing to lend a helping hand, a comforting word to someone who is hurting or in need. Or maybe it's because our worlds are so turbulent that whenever someone took a moment to offer a word of kindness to us it was worth more than gold and we want to give that to someone else.

I truly don't know, but what I do know is that I have been disgusted by these people. A resentment is building inside of me. I fear that there will come a day when I can no longer contain it and it will erupt. When it does, there will be casualties. I fear that I will be amongst them.

For all of the hardships, difficulties, and loss I have faced, in some ways I am glad I am bipolar. If being bipolar is what makes me offer kindness to a stranger, even if the only thing I have to give is my ear to listen, then I would gladly be bipolar instead of being the selfish vindictive non crazy that I seem to be surrounded by.

Am, Is, Was, Were Bipolar

Last week I read a post over at Ask a Bipolar. They said they were receiving emails that the title of their blog was "offensive" so they asked if people thought it should be changed. I often am NOT politically correct. I find whenever the PC brigade are around common sense seems to go out the window so I tend to do what makes sense not what is necessarily PC. It seems the saying "I am bipolar" is offensive to them. Now this has stuck in my brain for almost a week now. I don't understand what is so offensive about it because hello I am bipolar. What am I suppose to say? I am crazy. I mean I am but that is beside the point. 

I find that people tend to be too sensitive about things. They jump on ill formed band wagons because they want the glory of "making  a difference" and "standing up for a cause" but they don't really care if they make a difference or actually have a cause. 

A title doesn't define who you are. I am also female, but I guarantee you if you lined up 1000 females you wouldn't find two that were identical. Well unless you put Mini Me in the line up with me then you might but we are superfabfly and you either are or you aren't. It isn't something that can be taught. 

So I don't understand what all of the hype is. If you really want to remove the stigma of bipolar, then accept it for what it is. Insanity. It comes in all shapes and sizes and all different amounts of crazy. People often comment about how self aware I am, but I think that by embracing my illness. Yes it is an illness. That I have opened a door that has been closed for years. It has allowed me to become comfortable in myself. I guess in a way I came out of the bipolar closet. I finally admitted I was different. 

 I am bipolar, but I am also strong, confident, flawed, weak, intelligent, caring, giving, loving, demanding. I am many things and bipolar is only one of them.

I define bipolar. It does not define ME.

Did You See That

Don't act surprised. I warned you that I don't follow rules. There is a prompt today ,but yea I don't wanna play because yesterday's prompt opened a wall and I think this is one hole I should follow the rabbit to the end of. 

Delusions. 

I read many blogs written by people with bipolar. However, the one thing they all have never experienced is the grandiose delusions.

Grandiose delusion or delusions of grandeur is principally a subtype of delusional disorder (GD) that can occur as a wide range of mental illness, including in two thirds of those in manic state of bipolar disorder, half those with schizophrenia and a substantial portion of those with substance abuse disorders. GDs are characterized by fantastical beliefs that one is famous, omnipotent, wealthy, or otherwise very powerful. The delusions are generally fantastic and typically have a supernatural, science-fictional, or religious theme. There is a relative lack of research into GD, in comparison to persecutory delusions and auditory hallucinations. About 10% of healthy people experience grandiose thoughts but do not meet full criteria for a diagnosis of GD.

Grandiose delusions are distinct from grandiosity, in that the sufferer does not have insight into his loss of touch with reality. (thank you wikipedia)

At the moment I seem to be alone in this which is one reason I wanted to continue my train of thought on this subject because I know I am not the ONLY person to experience this and I know there will be people googling about this. So maybe reading about my personal experiences will help them or help them to understand a loved one because delusions take away a part of you that I am not quite sure can ever be repaired. 

Even though today I am for the most part "stable" I still worry. I worry that I am lying to myself about my stability. I worry that my view and perceptions of my surroundings are not accurate. I do not trust my perceptions about pretty much EVERYTHING. I doubt myself to an extent that I never did before. I worry that maybe tomorrow is the day I wake up and I will become lost again inside a fantasy. I worry that I will spend another 2-3 yrs not even knowing that everything around me isn't real and then another who knows how many years trying to undo the damage of those 2-3 yrs. 

I have huge gaps in my memory. Even the memories I have are mostly just flashes of this or that. I have very few real memories, and now having experienced years of delusions I worry that those flashes may not be real as well. I even sometimes wonder if I was even sexually abused. If maybe I didn't just make that up too or maybe my brain twisted a flash. I just don't know. 

I just don't know.......

Jigger knew a lot of the things I did during those few years and he use to always ask me "why". Because he knows me now and he never could reconcile the person I am now with the person I was then. He needed to know WHY and I never could tell him that I was delusional. It took me 2 yrs to be able to tell him and when I finally did I was so afraid of what he would think of me. I was so afraid of how he would look at me, but it probably saved our marriage because for him everything made sense. Everything became ok and I realize I am extremely lucky to have him because most people would have never looked at me the same again, but he isn't most people.

Just admitting that I have had a psychotic break is one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life. It is much easier on my blog. I don't know you. You don't know me. I can disappear tomorrow and reappear as anyone I want so it's easier to write about it here, but to put voice to the words. 

It's one of the hardest things I have ever done. I am certain there are others out there who are like me. Afraid. Afraid to give voice to the words because it is like the final nail in the coffin. The ultimate proof of insanity. Bipolar is a fashionable disease in many ways, but delusions aren't. They are the dark side. The side people don't talk about. The side you hide away when company comes over. 

I don't really know what my point is. Not even sure if any of this makes sense, but I just need to get it out. To put it out there somewhere so that maybe one day I will find some understanding. Some reason for it.

I don't mind being bipolar. I was diagnosed when I was 13. I don't know any other way of being. Bipolar is as much a part of me as breathing. I don't know where I end and the illness begins, but the delusions terrify me because they have the ability to erase me in ways that nothing else can. If I could change one thing, then it would definitely be the delusions. I don't really have much regret in my life. From every bad I have learned. Grown. Become better.

But if tomorrow I were given the chance to change one thing, then that would be the one thing I would change. I never want to go through that again.

Never.




                                                                                             

Kahlua Hula

I have a friend. Well she is much more than a friend.

She is my lifeline. I don't think she knows that. I am a shitty friend to her though. I never ask her how she is or if she's ok. I never talk to her except to complain/whine/bitch/moan. 

Yet she's always there. Always has great advice. Always makes my day brighter. Always lightens my load. 

I am certain I will never be the friend to her that she has been to me so this one's for her. I couldn't decide which one looked the yummiest so I figured  fuck it let's have them all.

First rounds on me

Madness on Mondays

Remember the other day before the asswipe came along and pissed me off and made me forget totally about today? I told you to go visit a lovely place? Remember? No? Of course not, I barely remember what day it is or whether I was going or coming from the bathroom how the hell do you expect me to remember what you told me two days ago?! 

So if you have CRS like me, then let me remind you about the Monday Madness link up over at WordsinSync. I truly am so amazed at how talented and beautiful craziness can be. I had planned on participating in this but the drama caused me to forget so I don't have anything prepared, but starting next week I definitely plan on linking up and having something half way decent. At least better than the drivel I usually spout about with. There are lots of people linked up so I am certain there is a crazy for everyone. Try to stop by and say hi if you have a few minutes to spare.

Something to listen to while you're off visiting:

Go Here Because I Said So

Since my crazy has decided to be all boring and stop working and I have nothing interesting to say to the 3 of you who actually read the rambling shit that I spew upon the page, I have decided to share a little love with you today.

No, get back! Not that kinda love! 

In my search for never ending insanity, I stumbled upon a blog who is doing something amazing and very very brave. She is collecting the insanity together in one spot and sharing it with people. See I told you she was brave. 

Every Monday she has a blog hop for mental illness which is way beyond cool. She also does writing and a lot of other stuff but you guys know me I am drawn to the crazy. 

So go check her out. WordsinSync you will not be disappointed. Make sure to save me a seat and don't forget to bring sour skittles. It's rude to show up to a party empty handed. 

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.

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:

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.
 

Ravaged

Slowly the sky began to darken as the vortex made its way closer. I had been sensing its arrival for days. It had been slowly making its presence known. It's always more vicious and destructive when it creeps in because while you may know it's coming, you don't know exactly when. Then when you least expect it. When you're unprepared, when you have let your guard slip just ever so slightly, it swoops down. It unleashes its full wrath upon you and all of those around you. It sucks you into it and begins to toss you here and there. Savagely. It rips and tears at you. Tossing you here and there, and all you can do is just allow yourself to be thrown wherever it decides to throw you. The more you fight it the more destructive it becomes to you and all of those in its path. 

Then once the vortex has consumed you, has destroyed everything in its wake. It will toss you out. Leaving you dazed and confused. Uncertain of exactly where you are or how you even got there. You look around you and wonder how things got so messed up. Even though you have spent the last hours and days inside of the vortex the minute you exit it, you seem to forget that it was ever there at all. You're confused by the destruction you see in front of you. You can't understand why everyone around you is hurt and angry. 

At you. 

Because it wasn't you that did this, it was the vortex. It was totally out of your control. If you could have stopped it, then you would have, but you were just another helpless victim of its destruction. No different than the innocent by standers who were touched by it as it passed by them. 

Then the clean up must begin. You must begin to pick up the pieces and try your best to glue them back together. To rebuild what was destroyed by the vortex. Some things will be rebuilt and show no signs of destruction. While others can be repaired they will never truly be the same again. They are forever changed by the damage done to them by the vortex. You have to live with the damage. You have to accept that what was will never be again and that what is left is all you have. 

It is a heavy burden to carry, but carry it you must. Because you know the vortex will come again. It always comes again. All you can do is try your best to minimize the damage it causes and rebuild what gets destroyed. 

This is for a writing prompt at Studio 30+. The writing prompt was THE STORM.

Apology Bipolar Ass

So for those of you unfamiliar with the bipolar mind, let me explain something to you. It is impulsive. It does not think. It does not consider the possibility of time existing beyond the next five minutes. It does not realize there might be a different and better solution than running away. It does not know there are people who care for it that will be there for it when the darkness comes and bends it over and fucks it up the ass. All it knows is the darkness has come and it either runs or dies. 

I wanted to apologize for the apparent misunderstanding of my last post. You see when I talk (or type as this case may be) I tend to have a running monologue in my head. I can hear every word I say/type, but unfortunately my mouth/fingers only vocalize about half of the shit that is running 500 mph through my brain, and the shit it chooses makes no fucking sense to the person who is listening/reading. Like my last post for example. I got quite a few comments, before I removed the ability to comment that is, from people saying things as if I was about to commit suicide and I had no fucking idea what in the hell they were talking about. 

My life is more complicated than trying to get Google to answer you. I am certain breaking into the FBI would be less complicated than trying to navigate through my brain. So to the three of you who read my blog, whenever I post some stupid shit just know it's just the moment and this too shall pass. Don't ever think I am considering suicide because I am way too narcissistic to believe the world could possibly still exist if I were not in it. For now I am just taking a break. I could be back in five minute or five weeks or five months. I don't really know, but for now I am just going to breathe.

Just One for Me Please

So I have been out of it for the last few days. Last couple weeks actually. I am certain a lot of it has to do with me not being medicated. I am also a rapid cycler* which doesn't help matters and I tend to "switch"*  regularly which only makes me even harder to get along with. It's like being on a never ending roller coaster. I appreciate all of you hanging in there with me. It's strange for me to have so "many" people that I am interacting with. Something about the distance of being "online" makes it easier for me to interact with so many people all at once.

Offline however is a far different story. I often only have ONE friend at a time. I watch ONE TV show at a time (when/if I watch TV that is). I have ONE food that I eat (when/if I eat). My life offline revolves around the singular. Anything plural makes me nervous, anxious, panicky. Having more than ONE friend at a time is just more than my brain can comprehend. I stress myself out and worry that one will become jealous if I spend time with the other. Or even worse they will become friends and BOTH leave me.

I feel I have more control in my online relationships. I can turn them on or off as I see fit. I can reply when I choose and there isn't the feeling of having to put on a "front". If I am feeling pissy, then I just don't come online. No need to explain my absence. No need to answer unwanted questions. When I make a post saying I am having an off day, the people here understand and don't push me beyond my comfort zones. Maybe it's because the majority of my online relationships are also with people who have bipolar or another PD so there is an understanding that doesn't exist with the people offline because none of them have bipolar and/or don't know that I have it.

I have had to do quite a bit of physical work the last few days which has helped me to kick depression out of my bed sooner than I normally would have. I have noticed that the more physically active I am the less severe my depression is and the less it stays. The problem is that I can't always be as active as I have been the last few days so when depression rears its ugly head, it usually bends me over and has its way with me for as long as it wants and only leaves when it's good and ready to.

rapid cycling: The official definition of rapid cycling is four or more distinct episodes of depression and hypo/mania a year. 

switch:   If you go from one episode DIRECTLY into another type of episode, with no normal mood period in between, this is a "switch," which is usually considered worse than just plain rapid cycling.

When shadows paint the scenes
Where spotlights used to fall
And I'm left wondering
Is it really worth it all?

There's a peace inside us all
Let it be your friend
It will help you carry on In the end
There's a peace inside us all 

"inside us all -creed"

Forbidden Desire

I remember the last time I saw him. If I close my eyes, I can still feel his touch. Feel him sliding inside of me. Consuming me. Taking all of me inside of him. Wrapping himself around me. Two beings becoming one. At first I tried to fight him, but he always knows exactly what to say. Exactly how to break me.What I hate the most is that he knows I am going to give in. We both know I am going to give in, but I so want to refuse him. To not allow him to enter inside of me, but he always gets his way. 

Always. 

The minute he leaves I vow that I will never allow him to return. I will never allow him to consumer me again. I will never allow him to take me, but then when I feel his touch upon my skin I just can't say no. He has his way with me and then when he is finished he simply tosses me aside.

until the next time.

I hate myself for allowing him to do this to me but his hold over me is too strong. Even though I hate what he does to me, a part of me misses him when he isn't there. There is an emptiness that only he can fill. His presence is comforting in the darkness. It's the only time I feel.

Not alone. 

I can sense when he is about to appear. My body betrays me and call to him. Calling him to come and take it.The way it is now. It knows he is about to return. About to consume me once again. I close my eyes preparing myself for the darkness and await for his first kiss. 

D.E.P.R.E.S.S.I.O.N.