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.

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.

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?

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.

Making My Skin Suit Fit

As my ever so lovely Sam pointed out. I need to make my skin suit fit better because right now it's itchy and crawly and I feel like I have a wedgie and basically am just uncomfortable. One thing that I have basically stopped since I got married is dance. I am extremely self concious about any type of exercise in front of people. 

Even in front of my husband. 

So while I do yoga (when he's sleeping), I have sort of slacked off the last few months. I haven't been doing yoga or any other exercise for that matter and I really think that is part of the reason I am just raging. 

Whenever I exercise it works out some of the pent up energy. It relaxes me. It helps my skin suit fit better and I think I need to somehow figure out how to make exercise/dance/yoga part of my daily routine again. 

When I lived alone I use to dance for about two hours a day so from that to nothing is a major change. One my body and mind are apparently revolting against. I exercised/danced today for about 45 mins.

Afterwards I was drenched in sweat but I felt the most peaceful and calm that I have felt in several weeks. So I am definitely going to figure out how to make this part of my daily routine. The difficult part will be continuing it once Jigger comes home.

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.




                                                                                             

Freak Show and Inspiration from a Dead Guy

I had intended to talk about how I was part of a freak show today, but then I visited Haven's blog because that is how I start my day each day, and as always I found something amazing. She is doing this 30 day challenge thing called Trust30

#Trust30 is an online initiative and 30-day writing challenge that encourages you to look within and trust yourself. Use this as an opportunity to reflect on your now, and to create direction for your future. 30 prompts from inspiring thought-leaders will guide you on your writing journey. (I copied this from her blog)

Now I most likely oh who the hell am I kidding I will not follow the rules I am certain, but some of the prompts really spoke to me. I have joined quite a few places that have writing prompts and usually after just a few prompts I feel bored and uninspired. Fruit and letters to my 16 yr old self are not what I consider inspiring. No offense to those who are inspired by such things, but they do nothing for me. Yes my g-spot is hard to find and yes I know where it is. 

So the second I saw the writing prompt for today I knew I had to do this because it literally gave me goosebumps, my heart started beating faster and I felt a sudden urge to just "create". The prompt for to day is:

“Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could.”

What is one thing you can do that would make today worthwhile? What’s stopping you from getting started right now?

(Author: Jessica Dang)

Now I realize there are questions there but psfht yea whatever. I want to talk about the quote because holy hell me do I ever need to learn how to do this. Each day I beat myself about what I should have, could have, or ought to have done but didn't. I never see how much I truly have accomplished. I never see how much I have done and how far I have come. I only see how far I have left to go. I only think about how far I could have got if I had pushed a little harder or worked a little longer. No matter how much I do it is never ENOUGH. I should have always done MORE.

This is really something I need to work on. I need to start seeing the things I accomplish. I need to start acknowledging them instead of demeaning them. Belittling them. I would not belittle it if another person did it so why do I belittle myself? 

I really have to accept that I am human. I have limitations. I cannot move mountains even though I belittle myself for not being able to. I need to accept that this is life. I need to let go of that imaginary siren that beckons to me from the darkness. I need to just be. Right here. Right now. Be the flawed me that I am. Just be. 

So what is one thing I could do today to make today worthwhile? Just breathe.

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:

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.

Why Every Bipolar Needs a Jimminy Cricket

I've had this post rolling around in my brain for quite awhile, but there always seems to be some other thought that is screaming "oh pick me me me me pick me" much louder so I haven't posted on this. Then yesterday I read Haven's post about Denial. If you have BPD, bipolar, anxiety, or just breathe, then you need to read her post. After reading her post, it really brought up a lot of memories for me. One thing that I have come to realize is that it is extremely important that those of us with PD, bipolar, anxiety, etc have people around us who are positive influences. One comment I get the most is that I am extremely self aware. However if you had met me even two years ago, you would have seen little more than a sniveling snotpile of denial. 

I only became this way because Jigger shoved a mirror in front of me and forced me to look at it. He did it in a way that allowed me to grow and learn and make my life better. It wasn't easy. In the beginning I fought back like hell. I didn't want to see. I didn't want to deal. I wanted to forget. Be numb, but Jigger refused to allow me to remain in that snotpile. He dragged me out of it kicking and screaming. 

Now being able to see the world with a bit more clarity I can see how detrimental my ex was to my sanity. He use to do things and then totally deny them. We separated in 1999 but were still legally married. I just moved out of our house. Over the next couple years we would have moments where we would get back together for the sake of the kids, but he would continue to cheat on me with other women and now looking back I can say that he tortured me psychologically. What he did went way beyond abuse. It was downright torture. It literally drove me over the edge. I remember one of the last time he and I were together was at New Year's . To be honest I can't remember if it was 2000 or 2001 but I know it was New Year's. Time gets jumbled in my brain. We had gone out, had dinner, celebrated New Year's, talked about new beginnings, making a better home and life for our children, and I actually believed everything he said. Then a few weeks later he started distancing himself from me. He was short, snappy, argumentative. Then one day he showed up with his girlfriend. Who I should mention was 16/17 years old at the time. She started out as our babysitter. She was the daughter of my ex's best friend. When I asked him where he spent New Year's, he stood there and looked me in the eye and swore that he was home alone. That he hadn't seen me or been with me. That he didn't want to be with me. 

He told everyone that I was lying. Then she and him started this campaign that I was trying to keep THEM apart. That I was coming between THEIR relationship. That I was the CRAZY bitch who wouldn't let THEM be together. I really felt like I was in the twilight zone. Yes he and I had problems, but ultimately we were still married. We had two children together. We had been trying for two years to fix things. Well I had been honestly trying to fix things. They made ME out to be the bad guy. I was the wrong one, and all of our friends and my family agreed with THEM. I was evil. I had done wrong. I should just GO AWAY. If I wasn't there, then the world would be perfect. I was the cause of all things wrong. I heard this twisted reality so often that I started questioning my own perceptions of reality. Everything was so chaotic and my brain could not process it or make sense of it, and I slipped into a fantasy world. I controlled the fantasy. I "controlled" the delusional world that I created. It made sense. In my delusion, up was still up. 

The last time I spoke with my children which was several years ago, they told me not to call them or harrass them. So I told them ok this is my number if you want to talk to me or see me just give me a call. I won't call you again, and I didn't. They proceeded to call me as much as 50 times a day to tell me they did not want to talk to me to stop harrassing them. At the time I was living with a friend who got so fed up with their bullshit she answered my phone and bitched them out. Eventually I ended up having to change my number, but I was harrassing them. If you ask any of their friends or my family or anyone in general, I was the wrong one. 

Don't get me wrong. I am not claiming that I didn't do anything wrong in the marriage. That I was a saint or perfect. My point which is buried somewhere in all this is that it is so extremely important that you have strong positive people around you. People who will be there to help you glue the pieces back together. People who will help you to see the world as it truly is. People who won't judge or condemn you. Even if they are 1000's of miles away. Even if you only speak to them via email. It is so important for your health and well being. 

I wouldn't be the person I am today without those people. They know who they are. Just like Pinnocchio, bipolar people need a Jimminy Cricket in their lives. That doesn't mean that your life will never have bumps and potholes. It just means that you will have someone there when you fall into them.

Manic vs True Self

Due to a recent argument with Jigger, this thought has planted itself inside my brain and will not budge. Therefore I am forced to vomit it all over you guys because that's just the way things are. During the two years I was psychotic/manic, I did ALOT that I don't consider to be "me". Like fucking anything with three legs. That isn't me, but now everyone considers that to be who I am. I am the slut. The whore. Promiscuous. This has become my "true self" in their eyes. According to them, this is how I truly wished to be so when I was manic that is why this side of me came out. 

It doesn't matter that I was a virgin when I married my now ex. Yes I consider myself a virgin. Just because my hymen was not intact does not mean I was not. I do not consider the forcible removal of a hymen to make someone NOT a virgin so yes I was a virgin. Then I spent almost ten years celibate after my divorce. 

TEN YEARS!!! 

Does someone who is really and truly a whore, slut, promiscous spend TEN FUCKING YEARS celibate? Why did I spent ten years celibate? Because the only reason any guy wanted to be with me was simply to fuck. After the birth of my second child, I had myself sterilized due to health reasons (I almost died during childbirth and considering I had become pregnant twice on birth control I wasn't willing to take any chances) so from that moment forward all I was to guys was a good fuck. No one would consider me "marriage material" simply because I was unable to have children. So I didn't date/fuck/look at men. I worked and did my best trying to make ends meet to take care of myself and my kids. 

Then I flew over the cuckoo's nest and suddenly I was the star of "Debbie does Dallas". I have no idea why. Actually I do know why. I remember thinking "well if all I am is a whore, then I am going to be the best gawddamn whore there is". Except I wasn't, but I tried to be. The whole time there was a very small tiny voice inside of me that said, "this isn't me", but yet no one would listen. Not even me. 

So which is the real me? The me that doesn't fuck around. The me that I feel I am inside or the manic me that spread her legs for any one that breathed heavily. I don't want to be that person. I don't want that whore to be me. But am I just lying to myself or is that really who I am?

Because honestly at the moment, I have no fucking clue.

I Am Unwritten

I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined
I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips

Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Oh, oh, oh

I break tradition, sometimes my tries, are outside the lines
We've been conditioned to not make mistakes, but I can't live that way

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you

Only you can let it in



No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in

No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

Feel the rain on your skin

No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten

Oh, yeah, yeah 

That Has To Be Good Enough

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time Stands Still

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

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

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

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

Sometimes

no words are needed...





Then after

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.