Lost in Translation

I'm often misunderstood. Not in the teen angsty kinda way, but in the "I think I'm displaying one emotion but people interpret it as another". As if I hear myself speaking English but everyone else hears Chinese. This happened today and I must say I am extremely proud of myself for how I handled the situation. My current project has offered me insights into myself and I've come to realize things about how and why I react the way I do. I still have the reflex within to react but I'm better able to catch and keep it from coming into existance than I was before. 

Today Jigger asked me a question. If a certain something was possible to do in our current project. Because I'm a much more visual person and have difficulty explaining why things do or don't work, I decided to just design what he was asking so he could see why it wouldn't work. At the end of it, I did say "if you don't like the current design, just let me know and I'll change it". I even giggled a little as I said because the design is a bit goofy and doesn't 100% fit our theme but I liked it so I put it in. However I realize I'm not the only person working on this and if it was really just out of place I was more than happy to put something else. It was a moment I was in it. 

But apparently the "joking" I thought I was portraying came across as "bitch slapping pissed". Jigger got angry with me because he thought I was "angry" at him for asking me why I did what I did. This isn't the first time this has happened. 99% of the time when I'm joking/teasing/being playful I'm taken to be very serious. I cannot joke with anyone or tease them because my appearance and the way I sound is interpreted as me being angry. Which is odd for me because I feel as if I'm being playful. In my ears I sound as if I'm being playful, but apparently it doesn't come across that way. My expression for "playful" and "so pissed I could cut your head off and dig out your brains with a spoon" are exactly the same. I don't know how to change this. 

I admit I'm not a giggly bubbly airheaded hair flipping "oh my gawd" type female. I get that I'm more Pink than Snookie and I like that.  I like being strong. It's who I am. I don't want to change who I am fundamentally but at the same time I also don't want to start fights with people because no one gets what I mean. I'm unsure how to approach this or what to do about it. 

Is it my fault or does the other person bear some responsibility? I mean should they not at least "ask" if I'm pissed instead of assuming? I don't know. I'm still learning how to be human. I know I have trained people to understand 99.9% of the time I am pissed so this new found playfulness is strange for them. It's not something they're use to. I get that, but when does it stop being 100% my responsibility to ensure everyone around me understands I'm not about to fucking rip their heads off?! 

So today when Jigger flew into a rage, angry because he thought I was angry I instead got up and kissed him. Before I would have picked up the nearest object to me and began throwing until I couldn't lift my arms or until I was dripping with blood. On certain occasions I've even managed to do both simultaneously. But not this time. Even the rage I suppressed inside was not at atomic levels the way it would have been before. Somehow I've just come to a point where it's not worth it anymore to be right. Fuck it. I just don't want to fight anymore. No more yelling. No more throwing. No more bleeding. I'm tired. I'm done. Now how do I convince others of this? 

I have no fucking clue.

Begending

In a few hours it'll be a new year. I'd love to write some great words of wisdom about all I learned this past year and how next year will be different, but I'm not wise and the IBS is trying to kill me so my brain cells are not quite connecting at their usual rate of intensity.

However as I was lying here while the alien attempts to escape from my belly, I suddenly heard the sound of my 6 year old nephew, reciting and realized there is no other way I'd rather end my year than to the sound of his voice. Definitely an awesome ending and beginning for the year.

No Soup For YOU

So there we sat. I noticed Jigger occasionally looking at me and after he had looked at me for about the fifth time I finally said, "What?!". Not wanting to interrupt me because he thought maybe I was busy working or something, he very quietly said, "Are you going to cook dinner today?" To which I replied, "Yes, at 2 o'clock just like I do everyday. Why?" Then he says, "Well, because it's 2:33 now." 

Huh?! 

So yea apparently sometime after midnight my laptop thought it'd be "funny" to go back an hour in time and I didn't notice. I don't know how long he would have actually sat there if I hadn't asked him why he kept looking at me. It's little things like that when I realize I'm very fortunate. My ex would have gone apeshit ballistic on me. When I was married before, my ex worked second shift which meant he got home close to midnight. Which meant I got my ass out of the bed at 11:30 pm to prepare his food so it would be hot and waiting on him when he walked through the door at 11:58. It didn't matter that I had to get up at 2 am to be at work at 3 am or that when I finished work at 2 pm I had to pick the kids up at 2:45 pm. Then there was soccer and dinner and homework and baths and maybe if I was lucky by 7 pm I would sit down.

On really good days I'd manage a shower somewhere in between soccer and not feeling guilty for serving macaroni & cheese and hot dogs to my kids for dinner for the third time that week. It's funny how life changes. How having different people around you can make you see the world in an entirely different way. 

So I made my husband his favorite food tonight. Even though it was an hour late, he didn't mind at all.

Elusive Masks

Anonymity is great. I could be Charles Manson for all you know. I'm not but I could be. Have come close on a few occasions but that's neither here nor there. Anonymity allows me a sort of freedom that I don't get in real life. In the last week I've done things most people only dream of. Or don't dream of because they consider it so far out of their reach that it is an impossibility. I'm feeling slightly proud of myself. Before this week, I hadn't really left a mark on the world. There was nothing I could point to and say "I did that." "That's all mine." Now I have something. No one will ever know it's me. No one well except for two people, but beyond those two, no one will ever know. 

And I kinda like that. It makes it more mine. It keeps the rot and decay that is associated with me far from it and I like its purity. I like how it sparkles. I like how people think it's special because I can then pretend that I'm special vicariously through the things I do. There is a narcissist inside of me that does want to lay claim to it. To stomp and shout and let people know that something of value can come out decay, but that part is quickly silenced. 

So I keep doing what I do and watch others put their name on it. And I'm ok with that. For now. But there's a part of me that I think some day will step forth and lay claim to what is mine. But I'm also certain when that day comes very few would believe a psycho gori ummati slut could ever be associated with such things as that. But at least I know.

Shiny Bubbles

Do you ever just wonder what it'd be like to just "be" without having to try? To just float through life on a cloud without having to force yourself into a hole that is too small for you? To close your eyes and let the sand float through your fingers? To feel the wetness of the rain tickle down your face? To just be able to breathe air in and out without having to force it through your body? 

I wonder what it would be like to walk without chains. To float and swirl and twirl until you fall down dizzy. 

Within these days I am free. As free as I ever am. The weight that sits upon my chest becomes lighter. Easier to carry. The darkness of my corner is less black and between the layers I wonder. Wonder and roam invisible to those around me. Running my hands across the tops of the grain stalks as I walk through the fields. A silent observer of life until the time comes for me to return to my dark corner and back to blackness of whence I came.

Surprizes

So Jigger surprised me today with a very nice dinner out and a new coat for our anniversary. If you knew Jigger you would then be able to fully appreciate the level of surprise involved. I really hope our next year is less chaotic than our last few years. I also hope that we are able to move. I am 100% certain 99.9% of our issues would disappear if we could ever just move. Environment is a major trigger for me and my current environment is less than ideal. 

I honestly don't know what is going to happen in the future and I'm trying very hard to not worry about it. To just let be whatever will be and try to work with it, but for a control freak, that is a very difficult thing to do. 

Tonight we'll be having cake to celebrate. It's the little things that matter.

Signs I'm Breaking

It started about six months ago. Slowly at first. I barely even noticed it and then as the weeks passed it became increasingly hard to ignore. The pain, the shortness of breath, the tightness, the flailing and whining that would occur until I vomited the water like substance that insisted upon having its freedom. Some people would call this heartburn or gerd or acid reflux. I don't know what the hell it is but I know I use to not be this old. I started cutting foods from my diet and considering my diet pretty much only consisted of chick peas, lentils, rice and potatoes there wasn't much to cut out.One by one I eliminated foods until I was eating nothing but bananas and apples with the occasional spoon ful of peanut butter and still the heart burn continued. Raging heart burn. Which just pissed me off that I was being held hostage by this shitty little acid that liked to climb up my throat. 

Me who once pulled a two inch piece of metal out of my foot and then duct taped it up and went on my way like nothing happened while my husband sat watching in horror and nearly passed out when the blood gushed from my foot as I yanked the metal out. Yes that me was being held hostage by a pain that was beyond what I could imagine and it pissed me off. I had to know WHAT  was causing it and then three days ago realization occurs. Tea. Yes, TEA. WTH am I THAT old? Tea is giving me heart burn. The one and only pleasure I look forward to each day. I count the minutes until I can have my precious sweet elixir of heaven and the bastard is trying to kill me. So yea I no longer am drinking my daily cup of tea and am NOT happy about it but I am however heart burn free. We shall see how long this lasts.

Facing the Fear

I just had a very strange thing happen. Two days ago I had a major panic attack. It was brought on by the thought of having to speak to someone on the phone. A very close friend of mine, a  person who has ridden this bipolar roller coaster with me for more than ten years now, and one of the few people I've not managed to drive away asked me to make a phone call for him. I agreed and two hours later began having a MAJOR panic attack at the thought of having to make this phone call. Four hours later I was in the middle of a full blown panic attack that has taken me almost two days to recover from. During those two days I deleted his emails without reading them and turned my phone off so I wouldn't have to answer his calls. For two days he continued to email and phone me until finally I was brave enough to open the email, and when I did I got the shock of my life.

It wasn't an email telling me to fuck off like I had expected. It was an email asking if I was ok, why wasn't I answering my phone and what was wrong with me. Nothing more so I replied and I told him why I hadn't done what he asked of me.. His reply? No worries as long as you're ok. 

I began telling him how I wasn't ok and as a joke at the very end I asked him if he knew anyone who could prescribe me some Seroquel 300 mg. That is what I was on in 2004, the last time I actually took meds for my bipolar. He replied with a "WTF do you need that for?". I said, "Because I have bipolar and went into graphic detail about my illness, symptoms, and hospitalizations. I fully believed he would run away. He knows I'm not "normal" but he's always just thought I was a bit overly dramatic. Even though I've said to him "I'm bipolar". It never clicked with him because you see he's a brit and in UK they don't use the term "bipolar" often. Or at least not according to him. So it never truly sank in as to what I meant when I said that, but when I sent him a link from a UK pharmacy with the UK name of the meds and UK description he knew instantly and had an ah-ha moment of sorts. All the ten years of irrational illogical moments fell into place for him and he finally understood why I am the way I am. That it's not because I'm just high strung or a bit melodramatic, but because I have a true psychiatric condition that requires meds I'm not taking and do not have access to. 

He even said he would help me get access to my meds. If anyone can, I'm sure he will. Sometimes I'm so afraid of rejection, so afraid of abandonment that I send myself into a full blown panic. Even though he's been with me for ten years, I still am terrified I'm going to drive him away. I couldn't believe that he didn't run away when I told him the dirty bits of my insanity. He didn't call me names or criticize me, but he understood. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off of me. It's rare that I feel like people in my real life are on my side. He's one of the few people I count on and the thought of losing him is beyond bearable. So I'm actually feeling quite a bit better now. Which is rare for me. Even all of the other shit going on seems less. I'm going to take this moment while it lasts and enjoy it.

Signs It's Easing Up

This morning I showered, shaved, brushed my teeth AND hair. This is how when I'm almost through the panic. When I know it's almost over. When I care enough to do more than squirt a little toothpaste on my finger or realize putting my hair in a bun does not equal brushing. When the stubble irritates me so much I finally have no choice, I either shave or scream. This is how I know it's about to subside. This is how I know to hold on just a little while longer. To ignore the die bitch die emails, to ignore the things that are adding to my panic. Hold on it's almost over.

Portals Through Blogerapy

The last few months have been turbulent but that isn't saying much. My last few days/weeks/months/years are almost always turbulent in some form or fashion. At times the turbulence seems to have a life all its own. Pulling, dragging and clawing at me. Ripping me down to shreds then taping me back together just to do it all over again. This seems to be the process that is my life.

However since I began writing, truly writing, not just spewing combinations of letters into words and gluing them together with puncuation, but purging my soul. Exposing myself. Making myself vulnerable. Putting all of  the ugly that has been devouring me from the inside out there for all to see. I have noticed profound changes have taken place in my thought processes. When these changes actually started taking place I am not sure. All I know is that they are there now. The nasty voice that lives inside of me that tells me how worthless I am now has competition. Another voice has taken root beside of it. A voice that says I am NOT the things that the nasty says I am.

I am not perfect. I am flawed. Broken in some places. Chipped in others, but nevertheless I have value even if that value is only within myself. I don't know how long this thinking will last. I hope it stays because I kinda like it. I like the lightness of it. It doesn't remove the darkness instead it has incorporated itself into the darkness and I kinda like that. I like my differentness. I don' t want to lose it. I am certain this road is just the beginning. I have no idea where it is going to end, but I do know that I plan on shaping its journey instead of just allowing it to drag me along like dirt stuck on the mudflap. I am tired of the world shaping my existance.

Now it's my turn.


I wrote this awhile ago, but never published it. Seems I need to read this again. 

I Don't Know Who I Am

I came across an interesting little article while doing some reading on bipolar. You can read the full article HERE. The jist of it was that people who have what is known as "early onset bipolar disorder" tend to have no sense of self or identity. They use a lot of big words and medical mumbo jumbo, but from what I understood of it I can totally see this in myself. I was diagnosed with "manic depression" at the age of 13 and put on antidepressants/anti-psychotics meds.

One thing that I do that pisses people off is copy them. I take on mannerisms of the person in front of me. Maybe they pronounce words in a particular way or have some unique hand movement when they talk. Without even realizing it, I just start doing it too. I can do it as well as the person. Even mimicking accents, I am from the south and use to have a very pronounced southern accent. If you met me today, you would never be able to figure out where I am from based upon my speech. People think I am making fun of them, but in reality I think I subconsciously just pick up traits I see in others. I often don't know what is acceptable. What is me. What is bipolar. What is normal. I have no idea about acceptable social boundaries. When are people just being "polite" vs. being "honest". I have no idea what reaction is expected of me when I am around people so when I see someone doing something and people aren't flinging poo at them I just do that. At least this is the explanation I have come up with.

For a very long time I honestly didn't even realize I was "crazy". I accepted my behavior as "normal". Even though my life was in constant chaos and turmoil I blamed others. The father who abused me. The mother who abandoned me. The ex who broke me. I blamed everyone around me. I took no responsibility for my life or my actions. Since I have started to realize that I do have a problem. A fixable problem. Maybe it can't be taken away totally but it isn't just beyond my control. I can change me. I can be a better me. Since making these realizations, I have been slowly figuring out what is me and what isn't. Slowly taking on my own traits. I still feel the pull to be "like others". To copy them. To just do what they are doing, but now I try to pull back whenever I feel this. To take a moment and figure out exactly what it is I want. What I actually feel instead of just copying what I see from the person in front of me. 

The hardest part of finding me is realizing the life I have now is not necessarily the life I want but the one I am sort of "stuck with". I love my husband, but I feel suffocated at times. I want to do so much and if I just walked away from him, I could do every single thing I wanted except I don't really want to walk away. There are parts of my life with him that I want, but there are parts I can't stand. I feel torn between running and remaining. Finding the balance of a life that was created inside of chaos is extremely difficult. Maybe once I figure out who I am and what it is I want then the answers will become clearer, but for now I am still searching. Still figuring out what is me and what is the reflection of another.

Tantrums, Bodily Fluids, and a Saint

You may or may not have noticed my absence from the blogsphere. I would love to say that I had been carted away to a desert island and had been sitting on a beach looking at the ocean while sipping a drink from a fruit with an umbrella. Unfortunately the only part about that which is right is the desert part. I have been spewing bodily fluids from every orifice in the human body for the last 7 days and a few that I didn't even KNOW I had. It's been rough. And hot which is what caused the said spewage. I hate hot.

When I am sick, I become like that little kid lying on the Wal-Mart floor kicking and screaming because they can't have candy, toys, everything within their site and every other parent is silently thanking god that is NOT their shrieking harpee lying on the floor. You know the one. That is what I become. I can do pain. Something breaks. Duct tape and super glue I am there. Something falls off. Needle and thread I am there. But vomiting makes me become this whiny sniveling I want it NOW brat and Jigger deserves SAINTHOOD people.

Seriously, not only does he put up with my insanity, but these last seven days he has cleaned me when I was practicing for the world championships in projectile vomiting. He has held my hair as I continued to practice. He has gone to the store for juice and upon returning immediately had to go back to said store because he got Red Grape Juice instead of Apple Juice even though I didn't tell him I WANTED apple I just said juice  and whenever I ask for juice it means red grape which is why he bought red grape because seriously I would murder you if I catch you drinking my red grape juice it's that fucking good.

And then when he was sleeping and I would rise from unconsciousness and want a drink so that I had something to practice with, I would wake him. Yes people I would wake his ass up and tell him to bring me some juice from the fridge. And he would.

Without a huff. Without a moan. Without a sigh.

He would get up from a deep sleep, bring me a glass of juice which I would drink about a sip from and then return it to the fridge. I am seriously spoiled. You do not even understand how much.

So that is where I have been. I am feeling better but not back. I haven't read any blogs. I will. Eventually. Maybe. Who the fuck am I kidding I don't read blogs. Well except for one or two and you all know who you are and since you're probably the only ones reading this anyways you already know all of this so whatev.

Our regularly scheduled programming will return shortly.

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.

Take the Dates NOW

Gooey lumps of goodness

Seriously get them away from me before I become a date. I have eaten more in the last two days than I have in the last two months and if someone doesn't take this damn box of dates away I am going to eat every last one of them so help me I swear I will.

 I know those of you living in US/UK are saying ewwww no thanks because you are stuck eating those crappy turds they call dates. Come visit me and I will show you what a true date tastes like. It's almost as good as chocolate. Almost.

Oh I almost forgot to mention:

He's baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!!

Actually Jigger got back Saturday morning and it's been a hectic two days. I am hoping fingers and eyes crossed my SIL leaves Monday and everyone stops coming. The steady flow was just a mere trickle by Sunday afternoon so I am hoping hoping hoping it's over. Things can calm down. He and I can have a conversation that lasts for more than two minutes without someone msging, calling, and/or knocking on our door. There are moments when I just want to throw all of the gifts out the front door and say "have at it don't bother us take what you want" but that's not how it's done. I smile and pretend. Like always. Tradition first.

Hopefully I get my computer back tomorrow. Jigger had them do a total overhaul so it is getting new innards and some clothes as well. Super excited about that. I realize I am using his computer but it's not the same. It's not MINE. I need to use MINE because it's MINE. I have a thing with my things. No one but me touches them and I don't use other people's. It freaks me out. I literally will have a full blown panic attack if you touch my stuff. It's not even like my stuff is fancy or expensive or irreplaceable. It's just MINE and you can't touch it. There is no logical rational explanation behind this. It is what it is. So don't touch my stuff.

So maybe I'll be less whiney than I have been for the last two months, but most likely not. This is my place to whine. Not gain followers, be snarky or popular. It's my space to be the weak, whiney, nagging person that I am not in real life. In real life, I suck it up and push ahead. I sacrifice everything without complaint. I don't have to be asked. I just do. As much as I can. However all of that frustrations and resentments builds inside and if I don't let it out somewhere, then it comes out in unhealthy ways like me screaming at Jigger or sliding a cool blade which btw I have NOT done in a few months so I am super happy about that.

Happy dance. 

I have had the urge but I haven't given in. Sometimes when we are lying down Jigger traces the scars with his finger. I know it makes him sad to see them, but I always feel calm looking at them. It's not something that I can explain. It just is what it is.  

I have been exercising everyday except the last two and once I get my computer back I plan on starting again. I have been doing ZUMBA and it nearly kicks my ass, but I love it. It's easy for me to do especially with my back and leg being stupid. When I was in the states I had a treadmill which I miss terribly. It was awesome. I walked for miles and moons on that thing. That's what I have been up to the last few days. Don't worry we'll return to your regularly scheduled insanity shortly.

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.

Culmination of all Things Catastrophic

So last night as I lay on the floor staring at the ceiling through the pitch black darkness, I had an epiphany. I was thinking about the events of this week. All that happened. All that I had managed on my own. All that could have gone wrong but didn't. What may still be wrong but I am not sure of. I thought that I should write this all down each week as a way of seeing what I did right or wrong. What I could have done better or just remember what I did good. Then it hit me. Fucktard you have a blog. Oh yea I do. So I thought on Sundays I would sort of do a weekly wrap up. I don't necessarily blog about some things that are too personal or that are identity revealing but on Sundays I could still sort of throw hints and innuendos in there and it would be a way for me to look over the week, see where I still need to improve, where I am doing ok with, and sort of chart my progress through the insanity.

So this marks the first week of wrapping the crazy in pretty paper and pretending it's not dogshit. Let's see what happens:

I had a lot of issues this week. My computer decided to go batshit crazy and nearly gave me a heart attack. I am proud of myself for the way I handled it. Ordinarily I get all chicken little "the sky is falling let's head for the hills" when things go wrong. Regardless of how small or fixable things are they seem world ending to me. It's as if my world has shattered into a million pieces and I don't know how to put them back together again.

However this week, I managed to duct tape things back together. I was offered an amazing gift of friendship. Which is even more shocking to me than my not falling apart this week when everything that could go wrong did go wrong. I am truly amazed by the kindness of strangers. My view of people is very negative. I am always on the look out. Waiting for them to attack me, waiting for them to turn on me, because it always happens, but the people I have met through blogging have reminded me while I have made bad choices in the people I had around me, that not everyone is an asswipe. There are good people out there. People who would move mountains to help you, who do so much just by listening. People who are truly human.

What else happened this week? I got quite a bit of work done on my project. I am truly excited about this project. It is simply amazing. I have learned so much. I always do whenever I do these projects. I learn things that I didn't even know existed. Things I didn't even know I didn't know. It just amazes me at how much there is out there. How much we have to learn and how if we learned just a little bit then we truly could do so much more than we are doing now.

So all in all it's been a pretty good week especially compared to the week before. I was told to focus and I did. I have to remember that I need an extreme amount of focus, planning, and scheduling to keep my skin from wanting to crawl off. My gran use to say "idle hands are the devil's work" and for me an idle mind sends me to that place of unease. That place where I want to go forward in a 1000 different directions all at once but I don't want to move. I don't like that place. I do stupid things when I am in that place, but focus keeping my mind focused on one particular thing keeps me at least eased enough that I don't feel like peeling my skin off and sowing it together so that it fits better.

That's about it. It's all I remember anyways but that's not saying much. There are days I barely remember my own name. So I shall leave you with this little diddy:

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

Getting back to some writing prompts. This is a past prompt but it's something I struggle with every single day.

“Truth is beautiful, without doubt; but so are lies.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Mirror, mirror on the wall… find the nearest mirror. Look. Keep looking for 3 minutes. Write about what you see.

(Author: Esther Poyer)

 First let's talk about the quote itself. This speaks volumes to me. I lie to myself so much that I very rarely know the truth. I have found a sort of peace and calm within the lies that I don't want to leave them. I am now having to face some harsh realities and a part of me wants to run back to the fictitious world that I had created. A world filled with happiness and calm, a world that is slowly crumbling around me. I know it is important that I face the truth even if it is ugly, but a part of me wants to stay in the fantasy land. In the lies because there is no pain there. Even though the pain returns there are at least moments without it and to have just a moment without pain is all I really want. 

However to be honest, I could not do this. I cannot look in a mirror at myself for 3 minutes. On the very rare occasions I do look in the mirror, I do not even recognize the person standing there. It's as if I am looking at a stranger. There is such a sadness in the eyes of the person staring back at me. A sadness and an emptiness that pains me to see. 

The longer I look the uglier the reflection becomes. It morphs into this evil, repulsive creature that I don't want to believe is me, but it is what I think people see when they look at me. I just can't bear to look at myself. I see all of my flaws. All of the wrongness that is me. Even if it is a lie, I just want a few moments where I am not that broken creature staring back at me. So if I don't look, then it doesn't exist. If I pretend it's not there, then it disappears and for a few moments, I am free from the pain. Free from the past. Free from the hurt. 

In the end, that is all I really want. To be free. 


Edited to add:

I wrote the above but now having hit publish and sort of reading the quote again, I have had quite a few thoughts run through my mind, but the one that stuck out the most was the truth is not beautiful. It is a raging ugly beast that ravages everything it touches. I much prefer the "lies" of my fantasy world over the "truth" of reality.

When Crazy is Boring

I really had no intention of posting today. I am not necessarily inspired to write, but then I got to thinking that it is important that I document this "normality". Is that even a word? Oh well it is now. My blog is in some ways a mood journal. So why does that mean I document only the "negative" moods? Why not the good ones as well? Whenever the word "bipolar" is mentioned, most people and even myself sometimes, only think mania, crazy, out of control, hypomania, delusional. You never think calm, boring, normal, but those things do exist in our brains. It's just they are fighting for air and usually when they surface, we get so freaked out by their presence we either run away from them or push them back down. 

People with bipolar often live years undiagnosed, and those who like me developed bipolar symptoms during adolescence begin to consider that anxiety panic ridden state as "normal". We live with our brains on warp speed for so long that when they slow down we don't recognize that and it actually becomes a little bit scary.

Last night Jigger and I were lying down watching the cricket match and I was making fun of the rules because seriously they were made up by some drunk guy who was slipped some LSD. Don't believe me? Look at the rules sometimes see if I am not right. Anyways, we were sitting there laughing and suddenly it struck me that we were sitting there laughing. Being "normal". Enjoying each other instead of screaming at each other and the most shocking thing is that I actually kinda liked it. Before I use to feed off of the drama. I equated abuse with love. I didn't know how to love. How to be in a real relationship that wasn't toxic. I had to learn and I think it is important for loved ones of people with bipolar to understand this. 

Sometimes we crave the toxicity, the drama, the insanity, simply because we believe that is how things are suppose to be. If Jigger hadn't taught me that those things weren't normal, then I guarantee you that I would still be doing all of them. The only reason I am now able to see that my perceptions were not correct is because he taught me. Now I realize all of my perceptions are not simply because of bipolar. Some have to do with the abuse I suffered from my father and ex, but the bipolar didn't help. It twisted things inside my mind and it makes it almost impossible for us to verbalize what we are feeling. The only way we can express ourselves is through actions. Understanding the actions of a person with bipolar is extremely important. Most often they are telling you they need help, but it's just not in a language you might understand.

The point of this post? Not really sure. It's just a bunch of rambling thoughts that are rolling around. Hopefully a few of them made sense. I realize that my header usually is a reflection of the mood I am in, but don't think that just because I am "happy" that there will suddenly be rainbows, flowers, and butterflies in it. If you ever come and find those things,  then I have been kidnapped and someone pretending to be me is writing me blog. Please call 911 and report me MIA.

Bazinga

 Complete First,            Second,                 Third Seasons

In the words of the world's most brilliant mind, BAZINGA!! I think I figured out this "funk", I am in. For about a week now I have been feeling, well off. I attributed it to a "funk". I wasn't necessarily inspired to write. At least not here. I have been writing, but I dunno I just didn't feel I wanted to talk about bipolar. Then yesterday Lance, the wonderfully talented writer who loves to taunt me with his well timed cliff hangers made a comment on my post, and I (can't believe I am about to admit this), well I laughed. 

Yes I know I am as shocked as the rest of you. All 3 of you who read my blog, but it was at that moment I realized EXACTLY what this "funk" is. I think for the first time in well EVER I am feeling "normal". I know what the hell is that, but I  am certain that is what this is.

I don't feel anxious or panicked or stressed or frustrated or like my skin might crawl off of my while I am sleeping and attempt to strangle me using my own veins. I don't feel particularly paranoid or worried. There's a big bright yellow thing up in the sky that I had never particularly paid attention to before and apparently it makes the world a little less dark. I don't know how I couldn't have seen it but this is the first time I have noticed it. Jigger and I are enjoying each other again. We have watched TV together, laughed, had conversations and just been content in each other's presence. 

It's strange I tell ya. I don't know what to do with this. I am not my sarcastic self and well it's weird. I was diagnosed at 13 with "manic depression", the name of bipolar before bipolar was called bipolar. I have always lived with this inner storm. Always boiling, churning, ready to burst free at any moment, and now it's as if the waters have calmed. It's actually kinda nice. It  scares the hell out of me that when the bottom falls out that I will fall farther than I ever have before but still for the moment I think I will just enjoy the calm waters.

When people hear the word "bipolar" they instantly think crazy, mania, mood swings. I think that the main issue or at least for myself is that I went so long untreated. So long without knowing what was wrong with me, so long believing that I was "broken". Now my life is kinda normal or at least as normal as my life can be under the circumstances and I don't even recognize this feeling. I think this is why a lot of people with bipolar fight this feeling and run from it. It's new, different, strange, UNKNOWN. It's just human nature to run from the unknown. We crave the things that we know even if the thing that we know is a monster hiding in the darkness.

I'm Melting

(imagine a really cool pic here; blogger was being a bitch and wouldn't add it

I got tired of waiting I don't do patience so consider this a lesson 

in expanding your imagination)

It's hot. I know everyone keeps saying it but I mean it. It's 1-2-0 right now and I am melting. My SIL and her two boys came today. I was surprised to see them I thought they weren't coming until next month. She spends every summer here with her kids. I really do like her. She is one of my favorite SIL's, but I am already feeling claustrophobic in this house so I know this won't help.

In better news, Jigger got his visas. Due to some drama that happened we were a bit worried. All I can say is people be careful who does your medical exams. Be very very careful.

I haven't been very inspired this week therefore haven't really written much. I have sat down to write a post several times, started a draft, and half way through hated it. Then I just deleted it and went off to watch cricket. The sport not the bug.

So yea not sure what is going on with me. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's Jigger about to leave in less than ten days. Maybe it's a snowball's fault at the north pole. I honestly don't know. I just feel confucked.

Hmm what else can I tell you? Oh the fridge finally got fixed. Yea we live exciting lives people, aren't you jealous?!  Since I can't think of anything else. Here listen to this: