Halloween. It is one of my favorite holidays. Why? Because I can pretend I am anyone, anyone but myself. This is the one day that I can put on a mask, actual or imagined, and be someone else. Someone who doesn't have Bipolar and struggles through her days. Instead, I can be a famous star, an obscure monster, a superhero, an inanimate object, or anything I can think up in my head.
It's all smoke and mirrors, not real. Many times people do not understand what it is like to have Bipolar: the highs, the lows, the effort to make it through the day. Putting on a show for people is easier than being the real me. Growing up, that is what we were taught. Life is pretty, life is good, there are no arguments, only sunshine and roses. Always show the world your bright side. Never expose what's in the shadows, this is private and should be concealed, even from the family. And it was not up for discussion.
Reinventing myself was a part of my day-to-day life. I needed to be the consummate daughter, giving the world the performance I thought my parents' expected. When I was disconsolate and we went to an event, I assumed the role of a carefree butterfly, flitting through the crowd, connecting, and making conversation. What I really wanted to do was crawl into the darkness under the covers and pretend the world didn't exist. I got very good at putting on masks. There were times that even I believed my own pretense.
My Halloween costumes have never been elaborate. I think of things way ahead of time and then tend to forget all my great ideas when it comes time to make them. For instance, I was Charlie Chaplin four years in a row. It wasn't that I hadn't thought of other ones, I had, cool ones too. Basically, it was easier than putting effort into a new one. I knew what it took to make the Chaplin costume and had most of the stuff already. Besides, I am also kind of a perfectionist. A different costume leaves room for errors, but using one that I had already done eliminated that problem from the equation. I also adored him and his body of work.
At this point in my life I think I am finally learning that the people who surround me appreciate me for the person I have become; not for who I could be. This is a concept that's taken a long time for me to understand. My habits of shutting people out are very ingrained, but little by little I am peeling away those masks.
So, this Halloween, have fun being someone else for a bit, but never forget who you really are. YOU are unique. There will never be another YOU, so savor your "you-ness".
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
BH stands for...
There was another woman who had been transferred from the same hospital that I had come from. This was one of our short conversations.
Her: These scrubs have BH on them. Do we have to give them back to the hospital? How are we going to get them back to "Branson Hospital"?
Me: Uhm, I think we can keep them, and "BH" doesn't stand for "Branson Hospital", it stands for "Behavioral Health".
Her: Eyes get large and mouth drops open. Oh.
Monday, October 28, 2013
This morning's conversation
Jen, "You're finding yourself again."
Me, "Yeah, I kinda lost myself for awhile."
Jen, "I don't think you ever really lost yourself. I just think there was a bigger part of you that you needed to find...
YOUR SANITY!"
laughter ensues...
Me, "Yeah, I kinda lost myself for awhile."
Jen, "I don't think you ever really lost yourself. I just think there was a bigger part of you that you needed to find...
YOUR SANITY!"
laughter ensues...
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Its all in the name
By now, you are probably wondering about the name of my blog. Why and how I chose it? Well, that is a short but funny story. 40 Pair of Sox is about not being able to make a decision. It is also about trying not to make a mistake and making another person happy. As you well know if you have been reading my blog I have issues with excessive spending. I also trend towards the manic side and am a perfectionist at heart.
Jen and I had not been together for very long, maybe six months. We were living in separate apartments at the time. Both of us are hopeless romantics and liked to get each other gifts for no reason other than "because it was Thursday." Well, one day she mentioned that she needed a new pair of white socks (Sox). While Jen likes to accuse me of not listening to her, I am acutely aware of what she says when we talk.
About a week later I decided that I would get her a new pair of white socks so I headed to Target (our local "superstore"). I got into the store and went directly to the intimates section, 'cause duh, that's where socks are located. Once there I perused the selections, but began to wonder what kind of white socks did she really want? Too many selections to choose from: crew, 1/4, trouser, no-show, ribbed, smooth, translucent, cotton, polyester, cotton-poly blend, nylon, thick, thin, knee-high, the list goes on and on. And I kept asking myself, what kind of socks does Jen really want.
I could not make a decision. What should I do. I didn't want to disappoint her, I wanted to make her happy and bring her joy. Seeing her eyes light up at the sight of the new socks, that's it, no pressure at all. Except there was pressure and it all came from me and from the budding relationship. So, I did what any good girlfriend would do.
That's right. If you can't make a decision, cover all your bases. I bought 40 pair of socks. I bought lavender ones with butterflies, black and grey with white flowers, brown ones, multicolored striped ones, tan ones with geometric patterns, tall ones, thin ones, anything that I thought she would like went into that basket. I headed out of the store with my purchase, proud of the fact that I had made a decision and bought her socks. She would be so surprised. I was excited to give them to her. Boy was she ever excited as she pulled pair after pair of socks from the bag. Until she got to the bottom of the bag and gave me a perplexed look. Oh no, what had I done? I was filled with dread. I had gotten her everything but a pair of white socks.
We had a good laugh over that faux pax. How I overlooked that one detail, I'll never know, but it doesn't matter. She loved me because I thought of her and bought her socks.
Now you have the whole story about the name of the blog. Hope I've brought a bit of laughter into your day.
Jen and I had not been together for very long, maybe six months. We were living in separate apartments at the time. Both of us are hopeless romantics and liked to get each other gifts for no reason other than "because it was Thursday." Well, one day she mentioned that she needed a new pair of white socks (Sox). While Jen likes to accuse me of not listening to her, I am acutely aware of what she says when we talk.
About a week later I decided that I would get her a new pair of white socks so I headed to Target (our local "superstore"). I got into the store and went directly to the intimates section, 'cause duh, that's where socks are located. Once there I perused the selections, but began to wonder what kind of white socks did she really want? Too many selections to choose from: crew, 1/4, trouser, no-show, ribbed, smooth, translucent, cotton, polyester, cotton-poly blend, nylon, thick, thin, knee-high, the list goes on and on. And I kept asking myself, what kind of socks does Jen really want.
I could not make a decision. What should I do. I didn't want to disappoint her, I wanted to make her happy and bring her joy. Seeing her eyes light up at the sight of the new socks, that's it, no pressure at all. Except there was pressure and it all came from me and from the budding relationship. So, I did what any good girlfriend would do.
That's right. If you can't make a decision, cover all your bases. I bought 40 pair of socks. I bought lavender ones with butterflies, black and grey with white flowers, brown ones, multicolored striped ones, tan ones with geometric patterns, tall ones, thin ones, anything that I thought she would like went into that basket. I headed out of the store with my purchase, proud of the fact that I had made a decision and bought her socks. She would be so surprised. I was excited to give them to her. Boy was she ever excited as she pulled pair after pair of socks from the bag. Until she got to the bottom of the bag and gave me a perplexed look. Oh no, what had I done? I was filled with dread. I had gotten her everything but a pair of white socks.
We had a good laugh over that faux pax. How I overlooked that one detail, I'll never know, but it doesn't matter. She loved me because I thought of her and bought her socks.
Now you have the whole story about the name of the blog. Hope I've brought a bit of laughter into your day.
Saturday, October 26, 2013
I'm not angry anymore
Have you ever been angry? How about unreasonably angry, so much so that you see black or red, want to lash out and hurt anyone around you, then want to kill yourself? Rage, they call it RAGE. It is one of the emotions that I have had the most trouble with throughout my life. Where it started, I don't know, I mean, I think I know, but am not positive. The one thing that I do know about rage is that it led to my first hospitalization. But it also led me towards introspection and changing how I lived and interacted with others.
You know how it is when you get a sliver or thorn stuck in your foot? Maybe you can see it and maybe you can't but you know it's there because you can feel it. The longer it sits under the skin the more it festers. It is irritating, niggling away until you just can't stand it anymore. At that point you can try to dig it out yourself or have it lanced by a doctor. Either way, it has changed how you walk, how you think, your attitude, and how you act & react to those around you. Once it is opened the bile that has been building around this tiny piece of nothing shoots forth into the universe. You are just sitting there, staring, dumb-founded that such a small thing could bring forth such malignancy and leave such a huge hole. That is what rage is like.
The sliver
For me, it started out as annoyance. I was irritated that my dad had missed a bunch of my birthdays and my high school graduation because of work. It offended me that I was frequently compared to my younger brother. The rest of my family and I didn't get along very well; my dad and I were much too similar. I felt like the black sheep of the family: the odd gal out. It didn't help that I didn't fit in at school either, I drifted between the various cliques, never settling in any group. Of course, there were people that I was close to: some neighbors, classmates, and members of the church youth group, but I stuck to myself much of the time.
Festering
This I think was where the anger first started to show itself. Not so much as an elementary schooler, but it definitely escalated once I hit junior high. I would fight with my mother. There was one time while she was making Monster Cookies that she got so mad at me (I'm sure I provoked her, but don't remember that part) that she hit me with a wire fly swatter and bent it. I laughed and shouldn't have. That only proved to infuriate her more, so she took her favorite wooden spoon (cookie dough and all) to my back-side. She broke it! She was so incensed and flustered that all she could say was, "Wait until your father gets home!" I went to my room until he came home. My punishment was a size 11EEE square-toed cowboy boot right to the tailbone. I didn't sit easy for quite awhile after that.
Our rides in the car to the relatives for the holidays was no picnic either. It was an hour and a half of sheer torture for me. I knew that no matter what I said, my dad and I were going to disagree about something, usually trivial, and get into a fight. Moreover, neither of us was willing to change our point of view (can you say stubborn?) so there ended up being tense, dead silence for a lot of the drive. I was raised to have an opinion and speak my point of view. Unfortunately for me, I didn't realize that I needed to censor myself until much later in life and by that time irreversible damage had been done to our relationship.
My parents were and still are to some point perfectionists. The same can be said about me. I'll buy a journal and then won't write in it because I don't want to misspell a word and make a mess in the book. I have several btw, all blank, though there are plenty of thoughts in my mind, I can't get up the nerve to put pen to paper. Using a laptop is easier for me, even if I screw-up, it is reversible and doesn't show. I'm afraid to disappoint others and that in turn makes me cross. Not with those around me, but with myself. Why can't I just get the balls to go for it? To blunder in front of others and show that I am human just doesn't work. I need to be perfect, I'm expected to be perfect (only by myself, such an irrational thought). Failure means defeat and humiliation, and increasing anger. It builds, staying bottled up inside until the pressure is so great that I explode.
Lancing
I've already told you about how I tried to strangle my brother in the introduction (first post). It was a form of release and I felt better after I did it just not about the act itself. There were several times that we went through this process, my brother and I, but that one was definitely the worst. He wasn't the only one to feel the brunt of my pain either.
Many plates, glasses, bowls and other objects have been severely damaged at my hands. There have been dents in made in cars, items toppled, and sports equipment bent and broken. I've bitten myself, dug fingernails into my skin, and slammed my head into wooden and brick structures hard enough to leave indentations, bruises, and draw blood. To say that I was a danger to myself was an understatement. I was my own poison, being eaten away and killing myself from the inside. Comprehending what was happening was beyond me. I had been taught to hide any emotions that were negative and only show my "good" side. I was a human doing, a walking husk, living from one emotion to the next.
The breaking point came when Jen asked for a glass of water one night. I saw red, then I saw black spots. What the hell was I? Her servant? There for her every beck and call? F%#K NO! Did I say any of this to her? No way! Instead, like a petulant child having a tantrum, I stomped into the kitchen, whacked a glass on the counter, filled it with water, plodded back into the living-room with said glass, slammed it onto our end table and stormed away. She was confused, all she had done was ask for a glass of water, not for world peace. I on the other hand was enraged; filled with hateful, crazed wrath that she had asked me, actually dared to ASKED ME!, for something so stupid when she could have gotten it herself. It took everything in my being not to shove my fists and feet through the closet door. The desire to lash out was immense, my vision was blurred and colored, and Jen was walking right into the path, about to become collateral damage. I screamed I think, I cried I know, I was hot, so very hot that I knew my face was bright red. There were no words in this place, no way to express what was going on, only complete and total fury, the urge to cause destruction. It took every last smidgen of control that I had not to harm her. I pushed past her, ran down the stairs, grabbed my keys, and headed for the garage.
Now, my car has always been a place of refuge for me. A place of safety and tranquility, I had the music I enjoyed close by and the comfort of the steering wheel in my grip. I loved going on trips, despite the awful rides of my youth, watching the scenery go by and stopping to investigate new places whenever the whim hit. When I got in the garage all I could think about was driving away and NEVER returning. And by never I mean suicide by car. I saw and felt myself driving as fast as I could down the interstate and crashing into a concrete bridge abutment, leaving nothing but a tangled mass of metal, plastic, and flesh. It was the only way out that I could see. This was my waking nightmare and I knew if I got in that car I would be dead. I sat on the hood as derogatory thoughts blared in my head. "Your no good. You don't deserve someone like Jen. Jen deserves better than you. What a loser. You're worthless! Nobody loves you. What a pile of crap you are. You and Jen would be better off if you were dead. You're a coward and a failure, a real disappointment to everyone. You piece of shit just do it and get it over with." I kicked the chest freezer, threw stuff, shoved the car keys into my thigh, anything I could think of to get rid of this torment, and keep myself from getting in the car. If that happened all would have been lost. I don't know how long I stayed out there crying, listening to those evil thoughts. To me time had become irrelevant, only a struggle with my inner demons. When I thought I had enough control, I went back in the house, straight into the bedroom, and went to bed. There was no acknowledgement of the damage I had just caused Jen, it was all still too raw to be able to admit. I slept fitfully that night.
The next morning I knew that something needed to be done. I was suicidal and worst of all I had wanted with all my being to hurt Jen, the love of my life, my rock, my soul, my partner in everything. That was something that I just couldn't live with and someone I couldn't live without. I needed help and I needed it badly. As I sat bundled in the fetus position on the couch I admitted to Jen that I felt unsafe and needed assistance and to actually be hospitalized. Not once did I look her in the eye. I was ashamed of myself for what I had thought and done. On that very day, May 18th, I was admitted to the locked Behavioral Health Unit. I stayed there for a week. It was strange because once I got there I felt safe. Hard to think that such a sterile, rigid environment made me feel that way, but it did.
I've been through a bunch of different groups to help me deal with issues better and they have helped immensely. Words are now my shield and I try to use them first to avoid another disaster. Also, there isn't the same build-up of frustration and rage. I still get upset from time to time but it is a far cry from where I was before. It took me a long time before I was willing to drive my own car. It scared me to think that I had been on the edge and peered into the abyss. No need to tempt fate more than I already had.
So dear reader, you and Jen will be learning about what was going on for me at the same time. Right now she is sitting just a couple of feet from me, an arms length at most, totally unaware of what transpired, from my side, that day. I have never shared nor volunteered this information. It is only now that I have started writing this blog that I have had the courage to own up to what I did and tell her what happened.
If you see yourself in this narrative, don't wait like I did, get help now. Please, if not for you, then do it for those around you.
Jen,
This is for you. You are my rock, my safety, my heart, and my home. I am a better person because of you.
I love you to the Moon and back!
Monster Cookie Recipe
You know how it is when you get a sliver or thorn stuck in your foot? Maybe you can see it and maybe you can't but you know it's there because you can feel it. The longer it sits under the skin the more it festers. It is irritating, niggling away until you just can't stand it anymore. At that point you can try to dig it out yourself or have it lanced by a doctor. Either way, it has changed how you walk, how you think, your attitude, and how you act & react to those around you. Once it is opened the bile that has been building around this tiny piece of nothing shoots forth into the universe. You are just sitting there, staring, dumb-founded that such a small thing could bring forth such malignancy and leave such a huge hole. That is what rage is like.
The sliver
For me, it started out as annoyance. I was irritated that my dad had missed a bunch of my birthdays and my high school graduation because of work. It offended me that I was frequently compared to my younger brother. The rest of my family and I didn't get along very well; my dad and I were much too similar. I felt like the black sheep of the family: the odd gal out. It didn't help that I didn't fit in at school either, I drifted between the various cliques, never settling in any group. Of course, there were people that I was close to: some neighbors, classmates, and members of the church youth group, but I stuck to myself much of the time.
Festering
This I think was where the anger first started to show itself. Not so much as an elementary schooler, but it definitely escalated once I hit junior high. I would fight with my mother. There was one time while she was making Monster Cookies that she got so mad at me (I'm sure I provoked her, but don't remember that part) that she hit me with a wire fly swatter and bent it. I laughed and shouldn't have. That only proved to infuriate her more, so she took her favorite wooden spoon (cookie dough and all) to my back-side. She broke it! She was so incensed and flustered that all she could say was, "Wait until your father gets home!" I went to my room until he came home. My punishment was a size 11EEE square-toed cowboy boot right to the tailbone. I didn't sit easy for quite awhile after that.
Our rides in the car to the relatives for the holidays was no picnic either. It was an hour and a half of sheer torture for me. I knew that no matter what I said, my dad and I were going to disagree about something, usually trivial, and get into a fight. Moreover, neither of us was willing to change our point of view (can you say stubborn?) so there ended up being tense, dead silence for a lot of the drive. I was raised to have an opinion and speak my point of view. Unfortunately for me, I didn't realize that I needed to censor myself until much later in life and by that time irreversible damage had been done to our relationship.
My parents were and still are to some point perfectionists. The same can be said about me. I'll buy a journal and then won't write in it because I don't want to misspell a word and make a mess in the book. I have several btw, all blank, though there are plenty of thoughts in my mind, I can't get up the nerve to put pen to paper. Using a laptop is easier for me, even if I screw-up, it is reversible and doesn't show. I'm afraid to disappoint others and that in turn makes me cross. Not with those around me, but with myself. Why can't I just get the balls to go for it? To blunder in front of others and show that I am human just doesn't work. I need to be perfect, I'm expected to be perfect (only by myself, such an irrational thought). Failure means defeat and humiliation, and increasing anger. It builds, staying bottled up inside until the pressure is so great that I explode.
Lancing
I've already told you about how I tried to strangle my brother in the introduction (first post). It was a form of release and I felt better after I did it just not about the act itself. There were several times that we went through this process, my brother and I, but that one was definitely the worst. He wasn't the only one to feel the brunt of my pain either.
Many plates, glasses, bowls and other objects have been severely damaged at my hands. There have been dents in made in cars, items toppled, and sports equipment bent and broken. I've bitten myself, dug fingernails into my skin, and slammed my head into wooden and brick structures hard enough to leave indentations, bruises, and draw blood. To say that I was a danger to myself was an understatement. I was my own poison, being eaten away and killing myself from the inside. Comprehending what was happening was beyond me. I had been taught to hide any emotions that were negative and only show my "good" side. I was a human doing, a walking husk, living from one emotion to the next.
The breaking point came when Jen asked for a glass of water one night. I saw red, then I saw black spots. What the hell was I? Her servant? There for her every beck and call? F%#K NO! Did I say any of this to her? No way! Instead, like a petulant child having a tantrum, I stomped into the kitchen, whacked a glass on the counter, filled it with water, plodded back into the living-room with said glass, slammed it onto our end table and stormed away. She was confused, all she had done was ask for a glass of water, not for world peace. I on the other hand was enraged; filled with hateful, crazed wrath that she had asked me, actually dared to ASKED ME!, for something so stupid when she could have gotten it herself. It took everything in my being not to shove my fists and feet through the closet door. The desire to lash out was immense, my vision was blurred and colored, and Jen was walking right into the path, about to become collateral damage. I screamed I think, I cried I know, I was hot, so very hot that I knew my face was bright red. There were no words in this place, no way to express what was going on, only complete and total fury, the urge to cause destruction. It took every last smidgen of control that I had not to harm her. I pushed past her, ran down the stairs, grabbed my keys, and headed for the garage.
Now, my car has always been a place of refuge for me. A place of safety and tranquility, I had the music I enjoyed close by and the comfort of the steering wheel in my grip. I loved going on trips, despite the awful rides of my youth, watching the scenery go by and stopping to investigate new places whenever the whim hit. When I got in the garage all I could think about was driving away and NEVER returning. And by never I mean suicide by car. I saw and felt myself driving as fast as I could down the interstate and crashing into a concrete bridge abutment, leaving nothing but a tangled mass of metal, plastic, and flesh. It was the only way out that I could see. This was my waking nightmare and I knew if I got in that car I would be dead. I sat on the hood as derogatory thoughts blared in my head. "Your no good. You don't deserve someone like Jen. Jen deserves better than you. What a loser. You're worthless! Nobody loves you. What a pile of crap you are. You and Jen would be better off if you were dead. You're a coward and a failure, a real disappointment to everyone. You piece of shit just do it and get it over with." I kicked the chest freezer, threw stuff, shoved the car keys into my thigh, anything I could think of to get rid of this torment, and keep myself from getting in the car. If that happened all would have been lost. I don't know how long I stayed out there crying, listening to those evil thoughts. To me time had become irrelevant, only a struggle with my inner demons. When I thought I had enough control, I went back in the house, straight into the bedroom, and went to bed. There was no acknowledgement of the damage I had just caused Jen, it was all still too raw to be able to admit. I slept fitfully that night.
The next morning I knew that something needed to be done. I was suicidal and worst of all I had wanted with all my being to hurt Jen, the love of my life, my rock, my soul, my partner in everything. That was something that I just couldn't live with and someone I couldn't live without. I needed help and I needed it badly. As I sat bundled in the fetus position on the couch I admitted to Jen that I felt unsafe and needed assistance and to actually be hospitalized. Not once did I look her in the eye. I was ashamed of myself for what I had thought and done. On that very day, May 18th, I was admitted to the locked Behavioral Health Unit. I stayed there for a week. It was strange because once I got there I felt safe. Hard to think that such a sterile, rigid environment made me feel that way, but it did.
I've been through a bunch of different groups to help me deal with issues better and they have helped immensely. Words are now my shield and I try to use them first to avoid another disaster. Also, there isn't the same build-up of frustration and rage. I still get upset from time to time but it is a far cry from where I was before. It took me a long time before I was willing to drive my own car. It scared me to think that I had been on the edge and peered into the abyss. No need to tempt fate more than I already had.
So dear reader, you and Jen will be learning about what was going on for me at the same time. Right now she is sitting just a couple of feet from me, an arms length at most, totally unaware of what transpired, from my side, that day. I have never shared nor volunteered this information. It is only now that I have started writing this blog that I have had the courage to own up to what I did and tell her what happened.
If you see yourself in this narrative, don't wait like I did, get help now. Please, if not for you, then do it for those around you.
Jen,
This is for you. You are my rock, my safety, my heart, and my home. I am a better person because of you.
I love you to the Moon and back!
Monster Cookie Recipe
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Excessive Spending
When it comes to spending lots of money, people in the manic phase of Bipolar are kings/queens of their domain, unless of course you count those with a gambling addiction. This may sound trivial as we all overspend to some extent. Many of us with Bipolar take it to an extreme level (think extreme hoarding or couponing). In my case it was a $40,000 spending spree that changed the way I lived and looked at money.
Forty-thousand-dollars, the sound of it rolls off the tongue, forty-thousand-dollars. It is a number that doesn't make sense to me because I can't even picture what it looks like. Spending all of that dough within six months time is something that I still cannot fathom. But I did. Every. Single. Penny. Was it worth it? I thought so at the time. It made me happy, I gained some material goods, and enjoyed time with my friends. Now when I look back I think, "what the hell was I doing? That is one of the most bone-headed moves I've ever made." Besides that, I have no 401K savings for retirement and I got in big trouble with the IRS.
It all started when I left the job I had been working at for eight years. I know, right?! Eight years, that is unheard of especially for someone suffering with Bi-Polar. We aren't well known for being able to hold onto jobs for very long, but that is another story for another time. Back to the excessive spending thing. So, I left my job and was contacted by HR via snail mail and sent a check for the amount of my 401K minus state taxes. This money was supposed to be rolled over into another 401K or otherwise reinvested. Is this something that I knew or knew how to do? No way, I just saw it as free money that I had earned and could spend. And so I did.
I can't tell you everything that I spent the money on. The memories aren't all there. I will tell you about the couple of items that were important to me and I remember very well. And there was the pesky detail about the IRS. All I can tell you about that is that without Jen's help I would have continued to ignore their mail and gotten into a heck of a lot more trouble. As it was, there were still thousands of dollars that needed to be paid to the Feds to clear up my credit and get a lien removed. 'Nuff said about that, on to the fun stuff.
Every gal needs a great stereo system so she can listen to Dolby Surround Sound while watching movies in the comfort of her own home. Never mind that DVDs hadn't been invented yet, we only had CDs and cassette tapes for music and VHS tapes for movies. I did enjoy my movies and music though, it was one of the things that took me to my happy place. It still does and most of that system is in working order on our downstairs TV system. Money well spent, I guess.
All expense paid vacation in Hawaii anyone? Me please! And, of course, two of my besties. I only paid for one of my friend's flights, but did pay for most everything else on the trip for the three of us. It was a fantastic 7-day, 6-night stay near Waikiki Beach in Honolulu. Did I mention that it was during the week of the Pro Bowl? When the Pro Bowl actually meant something?
There were Cheeseburgers in Paradise, rainbows every day, food-tasting for my cousin's new restaurant, a fair to wander through, Waikiki Beach to walk along, blow holes to watch and photograph, whales to spot, the Wyland Gallery to visit. What I didn't anticipate was how good it felt to actually let go, relax, and spend some quality time with friends and family.
Pearl Harbor was in incredible experience. To learn more about what happened there and all the men who lost their lives was emotionally moving. It was such an unexpected attack with so much loss of life. The cost was immense in both military equipment and human lives. I can't really adequately put into words the feeling of being there, out on the water, knowing that people had died right under where we stood. It is something I will never forget.
We got tickets for the Pro Bowl on the spur of the moment. Actually, about 15 minutes after we got off the plane. We hadn't even left the airport, just called from a payphone (remember what those were?) and got tickets. Crazy! It was Randy Moss' first Pro Bowl and N 'SYNC was the half-time show. As if the game and half-time show were't enough, we had a beautiful view of Pearl Harbor from our seats.
There were other sights to see and places to go. See and go we did. Off to the Polynesian Cultural Center. It only took 15 minutes to get there by motor coach, 15 Hawaiian minutes that is. We enjoyed the guy/comedian who climbed coconut trees, the parade of warriors float down the river, and were fed and entertained at the Luau. The Samoan and Tongan cultures are very fascinating. Interesting that they were thought of as savages, when it was the invaders themselves who were in actuality the savages.
Next up, a day at the beach. Off to Hanauma Bay with my cousin. There was lots of excitement about being able to swim and snorkel with the fishes. On the walk down she pointed out a sea turtle cruising around the bay. When we got down there we swam with red-lipped parrot fish, which are beautiful and a bunch of other cool fish. That was just in the shallows. We were battered by fish as they went after food that was cast into the water by a group of Japanese tourists. Way too cloudy and being hit by a school of frantic, hungry fish really isn't that fun. I took my friend, who didn't swim well, out into deeper water. We paddled around cool coral formations in the crystal clear water. It wasn't until we rounded one such mound and I came face-to-face with a yellow-spotted Morey eel that we realised our peril. OMG!! All I could do was back peddle screaming, "Eel! Eel! EEL!!" with my snorkel still in my mouth. My friend didn't understand a word as I came flailing out of the water backwards and right on top of her, nearly drowning her in the process. As I finally got the snorkel out and screamed, "EEL!" again, she finally knew what my problem was. When we tried to touch it was a no go, uh-oh. We were in about 20-30 ft of beautiful blue water. It was now, after I had been scared out of my mind, shaking, and peed in the ocean that I needed to be able to swim, dragging my half-drown friend along behind, and get us back to the beach. Obviously we made it, but that encounter is one that neither of us will forget, and she will never let me live down.
Well, that's it. It was a great adventure. One that I won't forget, I don't think, especially the eel incident. Weird how some memories can be so clear, indelibly etched on my brain, but others are forgotten or foggy at best. Oh well, money well spent. Although I still wish that I hadn't been such a doofus and spent it all.
Got a story about a spending spree? Let me hear it. I know I'm not alone in this, it would be nice to hear it from someone else though.
Night
Me with a rainbow coming out of my head:
Forty-thousand-dollars, the sound of it rolls off the tongue, forty-thousand-dollars. It is a number that doesn't make sense to me because I can't even picture what it looks like. Spending all of that dough within six months time is something that I still cannot fathom. But I did. Every. Single. Penny. Was it worth it? I thought so at the time. It made me happy, I gained some material goods, and enjoyed time with my friends. Now when I look back I think, "what the hell was I doing? That is one of the most bone-headed moves I've ever made." Besides that, I have no 401K savings for retirement and I got in big trouble with the IRS.
It all started when I left the job I had been working at for eight years. I know, right?! Eight years, that is unheard of especially for someone suffering with Bi-Polar. We aren't well known for being able to hold onto jobs for very long, but that is another story for another time. Back to the excessive spending thing. So, I left my job and was contacted by HR via snail mail and sent a check for the amount of my 401K minus state taxes. This money was supposed to be rolled over into another 401K or otherwise reinvested. Is this something that I knew or knew how to do? No way, I just saw it as free money that I had earned and could spend. And so I did.
I can't tell you everything that I spent the money on. The memories aren't all there. I will tell you about the couple of items that were important to me and I remember very well. And there was the pesky detail about the IRS. All I can tell you about that is that without Jen's help I would have continued to ignore their mail and gotten into a heck of a lot more trouble. As it was, there were still thousands of dollars that needed to be paid to the Feds to clear up my credit and get a lien removed. 'Nuff said about that, on to the fun stuff.
Every gal needs a great stereo system so she can listen to Dolby Surround Sound while watching movies in the comfort of her own home. Never mind that DVDs hadn't been invented yet, we only had CDs and cassette tapes for music and VHS tapes for movies. I did enjoy my movies and music though, it was one of the things that took me to my happy place. It still does and most of that system is in working order on our downstairs TV system. Money well spent, I guess.
All expense paid vacation in Hawaii anyone? Me please! And, of course, two of my besties. I only paid for one of my friend's flights, but did pay for most everything else on the trip for the three of us. It was a fantastic 7-day, 6-night stay near Waikiki Beach in Honolulu. Did I mention that it was during the week of the Pro Bowl? When the Pro Bowl actually meant something?
There were Cheeseburgers in Paradise, rainbows every day, food-tasting for my cousin's new restaurant, a fair to wander through, Waikiki Beach to walk along, blow holes to watch and photograph, whales to spot, the Wyland Gallery to visit. What I didn't anticipate was how good it felt to actually let go, relax, and spend some quality time with friends and family.
Pearl Harbor was in incredible experience. To learn more about what happened there and all the men who lost their lives was emotionally moving. It was such an unexpected attack with so much loss of life. The cost was immense in both military equipment and human lives. I can't really adequately put into words the feeling of being there, out on the water, knowing that people had died right under where we stood. It is something I will never forget.
We got tickets for the Pro Bowl on the spur of the moment. Actually, about 15 minutes after we got off the plane. We hadn't even left the airport, just called from a payphone (remember what those were?) and got tickets. Crazy! It was Randy Moss' first Pro Bowl and N 'SYNC was the half-time show. As if the game and half-time show were't enough, we had a beautiful view of Pearl Harbor from our seats.
There were other sights to see and places to go. See and go we did. Off to the Polynesian Cultural Center. It only took 15 minutes to get there by motor coach, 15 Hawaiian minutes that is. We enjoyed the guy/comedian who climbed coconut trees, the parade of warriors float down the river, and were fed and entertained at the Luau. The Samoan and Tongan cultures are very fascinating. Interesting that they were thought of as savages, when it was the invaders themselves who were in actuality the savages.
Next up, a day at the beach. Off to Hanauma Bay with my cousin. There was lots of excitement about being able to swim and snorkel with the fishes. On the walk down she pointed out a sea turtle cruising around the bay. When we got down there we swam with red-lipped parrot fish, which are beautiful and a bunch of other cool fish. That was just in the shallows. We were battered by fish as they went after food that was cast into the water by a group of Japanese tourists. Way too cloudy and being hit by a school of frantic, hungry fish really isn't that fun. I took my friend, who didn't swim well, out into deeper water. We paddled around cool coral formations in the crystal clear water. It wasn't until we rounded one such mound and I came face-to-face with a yellow-spotted Morey eel that we realised our peril. OMG!! All I could do was back peddle screaming, "Eel! Eel! EEL!!" with my snorkel still in my mouth. My friend didn't understand a word as I came flailing out of the water backwards and right on top of her, nearly drowning her in the process. As I finally got the snorkel out and screamed, "EEL!" again, she finally knew what my problem was. When we tried to touch it was a no go, uh-oh. We were in about 20-30 ft of beautiful blue water. It was now, after I had been scared out of my mind, shaking, and peed in the ocean that I needed to be able to swim, dragging my half-drown friend along behind, and get us back to the beach. Obviously we made it, but that encounter is one that neither of us will forget, and she will never let me live down.
Well, that's it. It was a great adventure. One that I won't forget, I don't think, especially the eel incident. Weird how some memories can be so clear, indelibly etched on my brain, but others are forgotten or foggy at best. Oh well, money well spent. Although I still wish that I hadn't been such a doofus and spent it all.
Got a story about a spending spree? Let me hear it. I know I'm not alone in this, it would be nice to hear it from someone else though.
Night
Me with a rainbow coming out of my head:
Anticipation
So, I've been kinda busy for a couple of days. Thanks for waiting, I'll have another entry published in about an hour or so.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
On forgetting to take medication
For those of you who have been reading, you'll remember that yesterday I forgot to take my morning meds. This is not without its own perils. When I forget to take medication I tend to get a headache and become nauseous. I am also very tired and usually sleep the day away.
I got a second wind at about 8:30 in the evening. That's about the same time that I am supposed to be drifting peacefully off to sleep while snuggling my Shih Tzu. Staying up later is not something I enjoy as it messes with my sleep and my schedule the following day. Luckily, I don't work on Mondays or Tuesdays so I had the opportunity to recoup and get myself back on track.
On the morning after, I struggle to wake-up. I feel like I am swimming through cotton balls to get to the surface of wakefulness. It takes several hours and a shower before I am truly awake and ready to interact with others. I still feel a bit off, but should be more in tune by tomorrow morning.
Missing medication or purposefully skipping it is not something that does me or those around me any good. I have everything set-up so I keep up with it. All it does is make me more unstable and emotional and nothing good can come of it.
If you forget to take your meds what do you do? Does it mess with you? What happens if you can't afford to pay for them? What do you do then?
I got a second wind at about 8:30 in the evening. That's about the same time that I am supposed to be drifting peacefully off to sleep while snuggling my Shih Tzu. Staying up later is not something I enjoy as it messes with my sleep and my schedule the following day. Luckily, I don't work on Mondays or Tuesdays so I had the opportunity to recoup and get myself back on track.
On the morning after, I struggle to wake-up. I feel like I am swimming through cotton balls to get to the surface of wakefulness. It takes several hours and a shower before I am truly awake and ready to interact with others. I still feel a bit off, but should be more in tune by tomorrow morning.
Missing medication or purposefully skipping it is not something that does me or those around me any good. I have everything set-up so I keep up with it. All it does is make me more unstable and emotional and nothing good can come of it.
If you forget to take your meds what do you do? Does it mess with you? What happens if you can't afford to pay for them? What do you do then?
Sensory Overload Part II
Hear no evil...
I have found that this is the latest sensory attack that I struggle with and it has gotten worse quickly. When going shopping, I try to stick to early hours when few people are around. The same goes for my working hours. There is less chance of running into an issue with sudden and loud noises.
Working in a kitchen, there is a lot of chaos and noise: pots clanging, people yelling, doors shutting, and the steady thrum of the dishwasher are just a few that are encountered daily. When I first started in the business, these were some of the most calming, reassuring sounds that I could hear. All was right in my world. After being hospitalized, I tried to go back into that environment and found it was a nerve-racking, anxiety-enducing cluster f***. How had I worked in all that noise?! Within minutes I was shaking, unable to put together complete sentences because I couldn't think clearly, and felt as if I had been run through a washing machine. No more! I needed to find another line of work and I needed to find it quickly. (*NOTE: after talking with my therapist about this, we were wondering if this is actually because of the noise OR if the thought of going back into the kitchen and being unsure if I could do the job caused anxiety and panic attacks. Either way, it signaled the end for me.)
Now, I stock shelves in the early morning hours when there are few guests around and very little noise. While I really enjoy my co-workers and the job I do, it is tough to think about where I was and where I am now. I know that I am being hard on myself and that it hasn't been very long since my hospitalizations, but it is a bitter pill to swallow when the thing I loved doing most is now the thing that can trigger events that could send me back into the hospital. My previous life doesn't seem real, more like something from a bad dream.
We had several issues with the fire alarm at work. Talk about freak out moments! Like a well-placed knife to the eardrums it becomes head-splitting. The first time I went running out of the store holding my ears shut on the verge of tears. It was so obviously distressing to me that several of my co-workers actually came out to check and see if I was okay. That was embarrassing and a bit comforting too. We've had a few times where the alarm malfunctioned and went off for most of our shift (4 hrs). Sudden alarm tests throughout the month send over the edge and out the door, no matter where I am. Since then I've gotten smarter, I keep ear plugs in my work bag and head for them at the first sound of the alarm.
When kids come into the store or if I go shopping where kids are present, I try to stay away from them. Their squealing, screaming, and crying drills right into my brain. It makes my skin crawl, I sweat, and need to make a quick exit to another spot or leave altogether. Don't get me wrong here, I really enjoy children. I adore my nieces, nephews, and friends' kids. My life would be far less colorful and fulfilling without them. It is the chaos and noise that comes along with them that is hard for me to deal with. Generally I leave the area or plug in a set of headphones and listen to music to get me through what I need to do.
Sometimes the noise will be so bad in the middle of my shopping trip, I will leave a partially-full cart in the aisle and leave the store. I feel bad for those workers who encounter a cart of semi-thawed items, but I have to keep myself sane. That is my primary directive, to stay sane and healthy.
Well, this has been fun. We should do it again soon, although it seems as if I've done all the talking. How about you? Have any smells or sounds that give you problems or send you over the edge? I'd like to know what they are and how you deal with it.
I have found that this is the latest sensory attack that I struggle with and it has gotten worse quickly. When going shopping, I try to stick to early hours when few people are around. The same goes for my working hours. There is less chance of running into an issue with sudden and loud noises.
Working in a kitchen, there is a lot of chaos and noise: pots clanging, people yelling, doors shutting, and the steady thrum of the dishwasher are just a few that are encountered daily. When I first started in the business, these were some of the most calming, reassuring sounds that I could hear. All was right in my world. After being hospitalized, I tried to go back into that environment and found it was a nerve-racking, anxiety-enducing cluster f***. How had I worked in all that noise?! Within minutes I was shaking, unable to put together complete sentences because I couldn't think clearly, and felt as if I had been run through a washing machine. No more! I needed to find another line of work and I needed to find it quickly. (*NOTE: after talking with my therapist about this, we were wondering if this is actually because of the noise OR if the thought of going back into the kitchen and being unsure if I could do the job caused anxiety and panic attacks. Either way, it signaled the end for me.)
Now, I stock shelves in the early morning hours when there are few guests around and very little noise. While I really enjoy my co-workers and the job I do, it is tough to think about where I was and where I am now. I know that I am being hard on myself and that it hasn't been very long since my hospitalizations, but it is a bitter pill to swallow when the thing I loved doing most is now the thing that can trigger events that could send me back into the hospital. My previous life doesn't seem real, more like something from a bad dream.
We had several issues with the fire alarm at work. Talk about freak out moments! Like a well-placed knife to the eardrums it becomes head-splitting. The first time I went running out of the store holding my ears shut on the verge of tears. It was so obviously distressing to me that several of my co-workers actually came out to check and see if I was okay. That was embarrassing and a bit comforting too. We've had a few times where the alarm malfunctioned and went off for most of our shift (4 hrs). Sudden alarm tests throughout the month send over the edge and out the door, no matter where I am. Since then I've gotten smarter, I keep ear plugs in my work bag and head for them at the first sound of the alarm.
When kids come into the store or if I go shopping where kids are present, I try to stay away from them. Their squealing, screaming, and crying drills right into my brain. It makes my skin crawl, I sweat, and need to make a quick exit to another spot or leave altogether. Don't get me wrong here, I really enjoy children. I adore my nieces, nephews, and friends' kids. My life would be far less colorful and fulfilling without them. It is the chaos and noise that comes along with them that is hard for me to deal with. Generally I leave the area or plug in a set of headphones and listen to music to get me through what I need to do.
Sometimes the noise will be so bad in the middle of my shopping trip, I will leave a partially-full cart in the aisle and leave the store. I feel bad for those workers who encounter a cart of semi-thawed items, but I have to keep myself sane. That is my primary directive, to stay sane and healthy.
Well, this has been fun. We should do it again soon, although it seems as if I've done all the talking. How about you? Have any smells or sounds that give you problems or send you over the edge? I'd like to know what they are and how you deal with it.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Oh Yes I Did!
Today I forgot to take my morning meds. By the time I realized this it was too late to take them, unless of course I wanted a sleepless night.
Now I'm just really tired and have slept most of the day away. Tomorrow is another day...
Do you do this too? How do you deal with it?
So, I just got my second wind @ 8:30pm. Really?! I should be in bed snoozing by now.
After I bounced into the bedroom where Jen was folding clothes and gave her a bunch of hugs she looks at me and says, "so this is what happens when you forget to take your needs, huh?" Guess so!
Now I'm just really tired and have slept most of the day away. Tomorrow is another day...
Do you do this too? How do you deal with it?
So, I just got my second wind @ 8:30pm. Really?! I should be in bed snoozing by now.
After I bounced into the bedroom where Jen was folding clothes and gave her a bunch of hugs she looks at me and says, "so this is what happens when you forget to take your needs, huh?" Guess so!
Sensory Overload Part I
One of the things I deal with on a day-to-day basis is sensory overload. I have an especially difficult time with sound and smells. Getting too much of either triggers anxiety for me. In mere minutes I will shut-down, easily break into tears, and be headed for the nearest "safe" zone I can find.
A rose by any other name...
Aisles that I avoid while shopping are ones with coffee, perfume, candles, or any other area of heavily scented products. My partner loves, loves, loves coffee, I on the other hand get headaches just from the smell. For us, there has had to be compromise in this area, but it took years to reach. Coffee was off-limits in our home so there was no coffee maker. She would get her favorite beverage from the nearest barista. It wasn't until we tried a Keurig, which didn't give off much smell, that I allowed it in our home. When shopping I avoided the coffee aisle like the plague. Jen will walk right into the middle of the aisle and I wander into another area waiting for her to catch up.
Neither of us wear perfume, so that isn't as big deal. We do have friends who wear it and that is where I have problems. Two of the most intense scents for me is patchouli and musk. Both bring about headaches and I get a feeling much like being claustrophobic. It is almost as if I am enveloped in it and cannot get away from it. This of course brings on a feeling of anxiousness, terror, and the urge to flee. It also makes me unreasonably angry. I think this is because I feel trapped and want to get away, but can't.
Where we get into real trouble is in the candle and plug-in scents. Jen really enjoys lighting candles and changing the scents in our house throughout the seasons. For me it is a sure-fire way to set me on edge. As we are shopping she'll bring up different scents and tell me to just smell it. I've learned to keep it far away and take a light whiff because we don't always see eye to eye or nose to nose. Those nice flowery scents that she enjoys so much tend to start me sneezing, bring on a headache, and have me headed for fresh air. I made the mistake of bringing a new plug-in scent into our home. In the store I thought it was one that I could handle. Boy was I wrong. Jen had plugged it in, unbeknownst to me. When I started to realize that I was getting antsy and that there was a new smell in the house, I finally asked. Within the next 15 minutes I must have asked Jen about it 20-30 times. We finally had to unplug it and spray citrus NuetraAir to clear out the smell.
A rose by any other name...
Aisles that I avoid while shopping are ones with coffee, perfume, candles, or any other area of heavily scented products. My partner loves, loves, loves coffee, I on the other hand get headaches just from the smell. For us, there has had to be compromise in this area, but it took years to reach. Coffee was off-limits in our home so there was no coffee maker. She would get her favorite beverage from the nearest barista. It wasn't until we tried a Keurig, which didn't give off much smell, that I allowed it in our home. When shopping I avoided the coffee aisle like the plague. Jen will walk right into the middle of the aisle and I wander into another area waiting for her to catch up.
Neither of us wear perfume, so that isn't as big deal. We do have friends who wear it and that is where I have problems. Two of the most intense scents for me is patchouli and musk. Both bring about headaches and I get a feeling much like being claustrophobic. It is almost as if I am enveloped in it and cannot get away from it. This of course brings on a feeling of anxiousness, terror, and the urge to flee. It also makes me unreasonably angry. I think this is because I feel trapped and want to get away, but can't.
Where we get into real trouble is in the candle and plug-in scents. Jen really enjoys lighting candles and changing the scents in our house throughout the seasons. For me it is a sure-fire way to set me on edge. As we are shopping she'll bring up different scents and tell me to just smell it. I've learned to keep it far away and take a light whiff because we don't always see eye to eye or nose to nose. Those nice flowery scents that she enjoys so much tend to start me sneezing, bring on a headache, and have me headed for fresh air. I made the mistake of bringing a new plug-in scent into our home. In the store I thought it was one that I could handle. Boy was I wrong. Jen had plugged it in, unbeknownst to me. When I started to realize that I was getting antsy and that there was a new smell in the house, I finally asked. Within the next 15 minutes I must have asked Jen about it 20-30 times. We finally had to unplug it and spray citrus NuetraAir to clear out the smell.
A couple of favorite videos
Here are a couple of my favorite songs/videos. The first is Adam Lambert's version of Gary Jules' "Mad World" (Unplugged). The other is Pentatonix (PTX) & Lindsey Stirling's version of Imagine Dragons "Radioactive"
Adam Lambert's Mad World Unplugged
Pentatonix & Lindsey Stirling Radioactive
What are some of your favorite recommendations? I love finding new performers and music to listen to.
Adam Lambert's Mad World Unplugged
Pentatonix & Lindsey Stirling Radioactive
What are some of your favorite recommendations? I love finding new performers and music to listen to.
Friday, October 18, 2013
Boundless Energy
One of the great things about manic episodes is the endless amount of energy I have. There's no need for sleep, only things to do, places to see, and ideas to share. For those of you who haven't had the fun of experiencing this yourself, I'd have to say that it is kind of like being strapped to jet engines with unlimited fuel. Ready, set, GO!
One of the most notable things I've done while in a manic state was redecorate our second bathroom while my partner slept. You read that right. I redecorated the second bathroom overnight. While my partner slept! Now, it isn't a large bathroom, but it was in need of an overhaul. And we had finally agreed on a color and bought the paint.
Jen usually heads for bed later in the evening, 10-11 o'clock. I am usually in bed between 8-9pm. It was a Friday night and I just was not able to sleep; thoughts were running through my head of things I should do, I was restless, and tried everything that I knew to calm myself and fall asleep. All to no avail, so I got up and decided to do something. We live in a split-level and to be nice and not wake Jen I decided I would find something downstairs to do. No sense in both of us not being able to sleep.
This bathroom was all white: white walls, floor tiles, shower surround, and ceiling. It was like looking at a painting that is all white and then being told that the title is "albino cow in a snowstorm". I took off all the trim and outlet covers, sanded the walls and wiped them down, painted said walls, replaced the mirror, painted/stained the trim and outlet covers, fixed the vanity, removed & recaulked everything, put it back together again and put decor on the walls.
As I stood back to look at my handiwork I hear from upstairs, "Sherry? Sherry!?". For the record, I'm usually the first one to bed and the last one out of it on weekends. I called out that I was downstairs (still admiring my work and wondering what to tackle next) and that she should come on down.
Eyes still clouded with sleep, Jen comes down around the corner to look at me covered in paint, sitting on our step stool with tools and rags around my feet. Hey, I was excited! I had gotten a lot accomplished in those wee hours of the morning while she was sleeping and was ready to show it off.
With wide eyes, she looks at me as she realizes that I have been up all night doing Heaven-knows-what, and asks if I have been up all night what did I do. Like a proud Mama, I point to the bathroom and said, "I got it all done!" "What did you get all done? The painting?", she asks. "Nope! The whole bathroom!" Her look said it all: it was part horror, part astonishment, and relief. Her only words after looking at the bathroom...
Go to bed!
One of the most notable things I've done while in a manic state was redecorate our second bathroom while my partner slept. You read that right. I redecorated the second bathroom overnight. While my partner slept! Now, it isn't a large bathroom, but it was in need of an overhaul. And we had finally agreed on a color and bought the paint.
Jen usually heads for bed later in the evening, 10-11 o'clock. I am usually in bed between 8-9pm. It was a Friday night and I just was not able to sleep; thoughts were running through my head of things I should do, I was restless, and tried everything that I knew to calm myself and fall asleep. All to no avail, so I got up and decided to do something. We live in a split-level and to be nice and not wake Jen I decided I would find something downstairs to do. No sense in both of us not being able to sleep.
This bathroom was all white: white walls, floor tiles, shower surround, and ceiling. It was like looking at a painting that is all white and then being told that the title is "albino cow in a snowstorm". I took off all the trim and outlet covers, sanded the walls and wiped them down, painted said walls, replaced the mirror, painted/stained the trim and outlet covers, fixed the vanity, removed & recaulked everything, put it back together again and put decor on the walls.
As I stood back to look at my handiwork I hear from upstairs, "Sherry? Sherry!?". For the record, I'm usually the first one to bed and the last one out of it on weekends. I called out that I was downstairs (still admiring my work and wondering what to tackle next) and that she should come on down.
Eyes still clouded with sleep, Jen comes down around the corner to look at me covered in paint, sitting on our step stool with tools and rags around my feet. Hey, I was excited! I had gotten a lot accomplished in those wee hours of the morning while she was sleeping and was ready to show it off.
With wide eyes, she looks at me as she realizes that I have been up all night doing Heaven-knows-what, and asks if I have been up all night what did I do. Like a proud Mama, I point to the bathroom and said, "I got it all done!" "What did you get all done? The painting?", she asks. "Nope! The whole bathroom!" Her look said it all: it was part horror, part astonishment, and relief. Her only words after looking at the bathroom...
Go to bed!
Yesterday
I woke up yesterday full of thoughts and ideas to post on the blog. By the time I got done getting dressed, eating, and working a whole four hours, I had forgotten everything, even that I wanted to write a post.
*sigh*
*sigh*
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Thank you Brandon Marshall
Thanks for taking a stand Brandon Marshall! Let the discussion begin.
Brandon Marshall fined for green cleats
Brandon Marshall fined for green cleats
In the beginning...
The beginning. Hmmm, seems like a pretty good place to start.
From a very young age I remember knowing that there was something different about me, and my parents noticed it too. There were mood swings that came out of left field and just as quickly receded. I was unpredictable and very emotional. My parents noticed a pattern, when I was "high-strung" and they would give me a piece of candy I would settle down. They thought this was strange so took me to our family doctor who had me tested for diabetes. It was the only thing he could think of that could be causing the reaction. Turns out I didn't have diabetes. That also meant that there was no diagnosis either.
I wasn't an unruly child by any means. My brother and I were polite, used our manners, and were expected to respect and obey our elders (which we did). There was rarely a moment when I wasn't in motion, bouncing around from person to person and activity to activity. We were latchkey kids and I regularly got in trouble because I stole from my parents' Snoopy bank. I would get bored, take some money, go down to the 5 & Dime, and buy little trinkets; putting together model cars was a favorite past-time. Energetic was one word used to describe me, I was perpetually moving and doing, even while watching television. Looking at my elementary school report cards gave me insight into how I learned and interacted with others.
In school, I was the class clown, other kids liked me because I was always happy and entertaining. For teachers, I was a challenge; my test scores were good, when they asked me a question about the homework I could answer it, but I was disruptive in class, usually didn't finish my homework, and struggled to pay attention.
Getting me to go to bed was often a chore because I wasn't tired. Instead of sleeping I would sit in my room and play, listen to music, or read. Sometimes I would open the bedroom door a crack and listen to the TV and my parents talking or go so far as to sneak out of my room and sit behind my dad's recliner to watch TV when I should have been asleep in bed.
At this point in my life I can clearly see that I was living in a manic state for most of my childhood. Oh, that doesn't mean that I didn't have awful days, there were plenty of those too. I would get unreasonably angry and lash out at those around me, usually my brother. I once throttled him so bad that I left bruises on his neck and threw a salt shaker (Tupperware) so hard it embedded salt into the fabric of our electric organ. There were also uncontrollable crying fits and struggles with depression. When I was depressed, many thought I was sick as it was so outside of my bubbly, active personality.
The signs for Bipolar were all there and easily readable. Unfortunately, the knowledge, pharmacology, and technology were not available until much, much later. It still amazes me that I made it through childhood and adolescence.
From a very young age I remember knowing that there was something different about me, and my parents noticed it too. There were mood swings that came out of left field and just as quickly receded. I was unpredictable and very emotional. My parents noticed a pattern, when I was "high-strung" and they would give me a piece of candy I would settle down. They thought this was strange so took me to our family doctor who had me tested for diabetes. It was the only thing he could think of that could be causing the reaction. Turns out I didn't have diabetes. That also meant that there was no diagnosis either.
I wasn't an unruly child by any means. My brother and I were polite, used our manners, and were expected to respect and obey our elders (which we did). There was rarely a moment when I wasn't in motion, bouncing around from person to person and activity to activity. We were latchkey kids and I regularly got in trouble because I stole from my parents' Snoopy bank. I would get bored, take some money, go down to the 5 & Dime, and buy little trinkets; putting together model cars was a favorite past-time. Energetic was one word used to describe me, I was perpetually moving and doing, even while watching television. Looking at my elementary school report cards gave me insight into how I learned and interacted with others.
In school, I was the class clown, other kids liked me because I was always happy and entertaining. For teachers, I was a challenge; my test scores were good, when they asked me a question about the homework I could answer it, but I was disruptive in class, usually didn't finish my homework, and struggled to pay attention.
Getting me to go to bed was often a chore because I wasn't tired. Instead of sleeping I would sit in my room and play, listen to music, or read. Sometimes I would open the bedroom door a crack and listen to the TV and my parents talking or go so far as to sneak out of my room and sit behind my dad's recliner to watch TV when I should have been asleep in bed.
At this point in my life I can clearly see that I was living in a manic state for most of my childhood. Oh, that doesn't mean that I didn't have awful days, there were plenty of those too. I would get unreasonably angry and lash out at those around me, usually my brother. I once throttled him so bad that I left bruises on his neck and threw a salt shaker (Tupperware) so hard it embedded salt into the fabric of our electric organ. There were also uncontrollable crying fits and struggles with depression. When I was depressed, many thought I was sick as it was so outside of my bubbly, active personality.
The signs for Bipolar were all there and easily readable. Unfortunately, the knowledge, pharmacology, and technology were not available until much, much later. It still amazes me that I made it through childhood and adolescence.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
A Great Resource...
Suicide Awareness/ Voices of Education
This is a wonderful resource site for everyone. They are focused on preventing suicide through education.
This is a wonderful resource site for everyone. They are focused on preventing suicide through education.
Stigma
Having a mental illness/disease is difficult in and of itself. When it comes to dealing with others there are often more issues at play. It is not as if you can see what is going on when someone has Bipolar/Depression/Anxiety. If we had a heart attack, stroke, diabetes, or a broken bone it is easily identifiable. We usually don't display any outward signs of our disease/illness, so it makes things difficult for those around us to recognize and understand. Unfortunately, ours is a hidden illness and a minute-by-minute struggle every day.
Some may think that we are "mentally unstable", "deficient", or "too sensitive" in some way. This is untrue, most of us are very intelligent and creative people. We have a verifiable chemical imbalance in the brain that affects our thoughts, emotions, and actions. It is not something we asked for, just something we were born with. What we want is a bit of understanding about our situation. Being asked things like, "how ARE WE today?" or "are WE FEELING okay today?" is degrading and demeaning. There is no "we", only me; I don't have multiple personality disorder like Sybil, nor do I have any clue as to how YOU are feeling today. I can only tell you about me and how I am feeling.
Questions like this and pandering to us as if we were children are part of what separates us from others and creates a stigma around mental illness. Why would we want to fake a mental illness? Most of us wouldn't wish this on our worst enemy, much less ourselves. I don't know anyone who wants to be locked in a Psychiatric Facility, called "Crazy" or "Psycho", or willingly go through EST treatments ( electro-shock therapy). All I want is someone to TRY to understand what I have & am going through, and to be treated like anyone else. I don't think it is too much to ask. I also know that it will take a lot of discussion and learning to change the mindset around mental illness.
My hope is that this blog will be a starting point for others to learn more about me and my disease and to start the discussion about mental illness/disease to demystify and acknowledge it.
Some may think that we are "mentally unstable", "deficient", or "too sensitive" in some way. This is untrue, most of us are very intelligent and creative people. We have a verifiable chemical imbalance in the brain that affects our thoughts, emotions, and actions. It is not something we asked for, just something we were born with. What we want is a bit of understanding about our situation. Being asked things like, "how ARE WE today?" or "are WE FEELING okay today?" is degrading and demeaning. There is no "we", only me; I don't have multiple personality disorder like Sybil, nor do I have any clue as to how YOU are feeling today. I can only tell you about me and how I am feeling.
Questions like this and pandering to us as if we were children are part of what separates us from others and creates a stigma around mental illness. Why would we want to fake a mental illness? Most of us wouldn't wish this on our worst enemy, much less ourselves. I don't know anyone who wants to be locked in a Psychiatric Facility, called "Crazy" or "Psycho", or willingly go through EST treatments ( electro-shock therapy). All I want is someone to TRY to understand what I have & am going through, and to be treated like anyone else. I don't think it is too much to ask. I also know that it will take a lot of discussion and learning to change the mindset around mental illness.
My hope is that this blog will be a starting point for others to learn more about me and my disease and to start the discussion about mental illness/disease to demystify and acknowledge it.
Introduction
This is my first attempt at blogging, so please forgive me as I learn the ropes.
Hopefully, reading this blog will give you some insight into the mind of a person with Bipolar. On the other hand, maybe it will also enlighten me as to my own inner workings. Either way, it is a journey that we will embark on together with all of us learning something in the process.
Those of us with Bipolar are often a quirky bunch and generally frustrating to those around us, but that in and of itself is what makes us who we are. People with Bipolar do not like to be labeled as such. We are chefs, firefighters, engineers, artists, mothers, brothers, aunts, and cousins. Bipolar is something we have, not who we are.
Sometimes poignant and other times hilarious, living with someone who has Bipolar is never a dull moment. Buckle up, keep your hands and feet inside the car at all times and enjoy the ride as we hop on the Bipolar Express.
Hopefully, reading this blog will give you some insight into the mind of a person with Bipolar. On the other hand, maybe it will also enlighten me as to my own inner workings. Either way, it is a journey that we will embark on together with all of us learning something in the process.
Those of us with Bipolar are often a quirky bunch and generally frustrating to those around us, but that in and of itself is what makes us who we are. People with Bipolar do not like to be labeled as such. We are chefs, firefighters, engineers, artists, mothers, brothers, aunts, and cousins. Bipolar is something we have, not who we are.
Sometimes poignant and other times hilarious, living with someone who has Bipolar is never a dull moment. Buckle up, keep your hands and feet inside the car at all times and enjoy the ride as we hop on the Bipolar Express.
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