Tag Archives: bipolar disorder

Top 10 items when being committed *Bit of humor because you know you’re planning

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So this morning I couldn’t bring myself to write in detail about this recent experience in the mental hospital, except for the very brief post. Every experience is different, every hospital is different, and even case is different. Go immediately if you need help, but I thought to myself in the two weeks what were top ten things I’d pack if given the chance. Here you go… enjoy! 

Top 10 things I wish I packed (cause we all plan our breakdowns)



1. Slippers (no laces) Honestly, the rubber threaded socks are sexy, but provide zero support or protection from the random “mystery yellow water spot” that would appear just as you put on a clean pair in the common area. It’s like passing gas, no one ever knows or claims it. 
2. Sweatpants. The good old Hanes or fruit of loom are perfect. It’s freezing and you’ll get sick of the paper suit, trust me. I played like I was Sully on Xfiles for about 2 seconds until it wasn’t funny, no paper blue suit! 

3. Sweatshirts/t-shirts . See above

4. Small Blanket and pillow. Yes, they told me 3-5 days, but apparently I needed to be dug out of the rabbit hole, never assume. This helped me more than anything.

5. Personal toiletries. Obviously, they had to approve each item but my own soap and hair products were amazing. Plus, my toothbrush was awesome. Trust me, this was a very short list but each helped me live and I learn my roommates enjoyed just as much…

6. Adult coloring books (obvious reasons)

7. Assorted fine point sharpies for coloring, they will keep these and let you use them under supervision…..completely worth feeling like a child.

8. GUM. You’ll have to ask, but I was at the point I was going to pretend to be a smoker to get the smoker’s gum.

9. Small notebook or journal with phone numbers. You’d be surprised when you get phone privileges but no memorized numbers.

10. Chapstick…because everything and everyone will chap your ass so at least be prepared to pucker up.

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Hospitalization ~ Down the rabbit hole

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“It is a very inconvenient habit of kittens (Alice had once made the remark) that whatever you say to them, they always purr.” ~ Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There (Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, #2)
I’ll spare you all the details of the manic episodes that led to this post because of my young readers, including my own pre-teen. I hope she and others read this post and understands why her mother was gone for nearly two weeks and all the Thanksgiving food went uncooked this year in my unexpected absence. Please respect my blog and direct any questions privately. 

Like the quote above, I have an inconvenient habit of purring, always smiling, and always living life to the fullest. The details are unimportant to this particular post except I did the one thing you never do, stopped my medication. I was convinced I was wrongly medicated and each time another pill would be added sending me into a rabbit hole. I reached out entirely too subtle and told one or two people I stopped all my meds then followed with the “I’m fine”. I WAS NOT FINE.
“Manic depression — or bipolar disorder — is like racing up to a clifftop before diving headfirst into a cavity. Maintaining a healthy lifestyle is the psychic equivalent of an extreme sport. The manic highs — that exhilarating rush to the top of the cliff — make you feel bionic in your hyper-energized capacity for generosity, sexiness and soulfulness. You feel like you have ingested stars and are now glowing from within. It’s unearned confidence-in-extremis — with an emphasis on the con, because you feel cheated once you inevitably crash into that cavity. I sometimes joke that mania is the worst kind of pyramid scheme, one that the bipolar individual doesn’t even know they’re building, only to find out, too late, that they’re also its biggest casualty.” ~ Diriye Osman
So head first I landed in the mental health hospital. It was extremely important to stabilize and get me on proper medication as fast as possible. I was numb, dead to the world and nonexistent. The details are blurry, the EMT talked the entire time on the ride to the hospital to comfort me. Entry was like a jail, but an overwhelming smell of crayons. All my things were taken, watch, phone, shoes, and anything with strings. I didn’t care, I was escorted to my little room I would share. During my time there I watched the ward turn over patients 2 or 3 times, I stayed.
I wasn’t one of the lucky ones who got to eat in the cafeteria, I wasn’t allowed to leave my ward. My breakfast, lunch, dinner came in styrofoam containers at the same time everyday, in the same place. The same area I sat all day to color and look out the window. Thanksgiving day, dinner came in the styrofoam container, it was surreal. I had grown attached to a small group of people and we ate together and then went on with our day like any other. I watched people come and go, I wondered to myself, “how sick am I?” I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t go home and in my tiny room I’d already had three roommates. Looking out my window everyday I just felt trapped, trapped like an animal. 
I was eventually released just before the weekend, After nearly two weeks I felt defeated and broken. It was amazing to surround myself with friends who insisted I spend the weekend outside doing a sport I love, but now looking at windows from the outside, not trapped inside. Feeling defeated went away and feeling broken slowly went away so I could heal and forget the memories of the ward. I need that inconvenient habit of purring.

“Understanding me”

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“Understand me. I’m not like an ordinary world. I have my madness, I live in another dimension and I do not have time for things that have no soul.” ~ Charles Bukowski

I’ve done a lot of reflection, experienced great things, great people, and been part of some extraordinary projects and events even since my last post. Again, this is such a silent illness. If you know me in person you will rarely see me without a smile on my face. What is hard to admit is how many times I wanted to run or avoid any human interaction. I forced myself, not because it was for the experience, not for the social reward, but to make myself experience life. I do this because my family and my friends mean more than this thing I fight in my mind.

On social media, you only see the good and rarely the bad. I promise for every extraordinary experience, I’ve had a great fall from the over stimulation. It was never someone’s fault and I am thankful for the wonderful things I am blessed to be apart of socially and recreational. I am able to listen to everyone, hear everyone, remember, and listen. I do put together huge pictures in my head. It’s almost a curse, I pin and connect everything and have amazing epiphanies. People want to see other failures, it’s astonishing. I see it everyday, someone who volunteers and moves on to another endeavor is always criticized, success is criticize.

I connect the dots in my head and have an overwhelming sense of shame for knowing something I should not know, only because three or more people placed puzzle pieces via causal conversation. I was able to see it all completed, and it hurts me like a dagger upon completion of the puzzles in my head. I’ve found myself withdrawn from those whom I never wanted to finish the puzzles, but regrettably by forcing the smile and “living” it was inevitable.

As, Bukowski said above, “I do not have time for things that have no soul” and I shall not make my time available to be sucked dry of any hope I have to win the battles in my mind. I fight too hard everyday to erase, remember, and overcome the thoughts in my mind.

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle,” It’s questionable to the origins of the quote, was it Plato? Most likely Ian McClaren, but it is something we should all remember.  I am reminded daily by brief encounters, private messages, emails, or comments on wordpress that I am not alone and we are all very different, but….you are not alone.

Remember, you deserve understanding.

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Shh. Don’t talk about it.

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Life beyond bipolar disorder, great article to read.

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One of my favorite parts of this article. I just had to share.

“It is important to keep in mind that you have more than a diagnosis. You have a destiny, and you can still realize all the dreams you ever had. Sure, it takes courage to move on with your life, but courage is like a muscle: the more you use it, the stronger it gets.

Bipolar disorder is only as limiting as you allow it to be, so do not let it hold you back. Bipolar disorder does not define your life: You do.” ~ Stephen Propst

Read the entire article link at bottom. It’s a great one to share and read.

http://www.bphope.com/ten-things-you-dont-want-to-know/

Anosognosia, hello old friend.

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“Part of having bipolar can be what is called “anosognosia,” a weird word for a simple idea: a mentally ill person who’s unable to perceive that he or she is ill. This means a huge part of bipolar is that, when your loved one most needs help, your partner will be least likely to look for it or accept it.”
Excerpt from http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2016/04/27/know-what-to-expect-when-you-love-someone-with-bipolar-disorder/

Denial, fear of medications, multiple combinations of medication, side effects, the list goes on forever. I had been told many, many years ago. I really believed it was a made up or only the over dramatic people.  I tried to hide my lows and tried be extraordinary with my highs. I used my gifts and talents, which now I understand as gift. I could focus, accomplish any task you give me. Then, lose myself for weeks sometimes. Sadly, unlike the writer of the article, I’m Bipolar I, There is a huge spectrum in diagnosing bipolar, the author of the article which is wonderful article to share, is Bipolar II.

Anosognosia, struck a cord or rang a bell tonight. So I read a bit more and ran across a very easy to read explanation on National Alliance of Mental health.

https://www.nami.org/Learn-More/Mental-Health-Conditions/Related-Conditions/Anosognosia.

I gave it much thought from the above post but this statistic struck me  “Anosognosia affects 50% of people with schizophrenia, and 40% of people with bipolar disorder. It can also accompany illnesses such as major depression with psychotic features. Treating these mental health conditions is much more complicated if lack of insight is one of the symptoms. People with anosognosia are placed at increased risk of homelessness or arrest. Learning to understand anosognosia and its risks can improve the odds of helping people with this difficult symptoms”

We have to be open about mental illness. May is Mental Health Awareness Month. Please share your stories on my Facebook page http://www.facebook.com/itsnotcrazytoday , Share my page or story that touched you with friends. I hate social media, but it reaches so many people who need and may suffer from the stigma or Anosognosia.

Full moon rising, are you?

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“I fancied my luck to be witnessing yet another full moon. True, I’d seen hundreds of full moons in my life, but they were not limitless. When one starts thinking of the full moon as a common sight that will come again to one’s eyes ad-infinitum, the value of life is diminished and life goes by uncherished. ‘This may be my last moon,’ I sighed, feeling a sudden sweep of sorrow; and went back to reading more of The Odyssey.” ~ Roman Payne

*I adore Roman Payne if you’re not familiar with his works, he writes with such sexual energy, poetic and translates his passion and character’s passion in his books. His awareness, portrayal, and understanding of mental conditions are beautifully displayed in his book “The Wanderess”.

So back on topic, his quote struck a cord and sparked this blog post. Each month I look forward to the full moon. I read many articles and today ran across this one I’m sharing, It was an excellent article regarding lunacy and effects on mental health. It contains some great theories listed throughout the article from some of our greatest philosophers and psychologist discuss the theories based on my opinion outdated research from the 1980’s. I love the historical content, great article.

Read for yourself here:
http://www.scientificamerican.com/article/lunacy-and-the-full-moon/

I firmly believe it affects my cycles and moods. I’m one who can’t sleep and have a fascination with the full moon,  honestly the moon in general. It one of my many obcessions. It affect the earth, living creatures, and even plants. Why would it not affect us as well?

I get a surge of energy, elevated mood even with medication I can feel it happening. I’ve actually charted my moods. It can be argued it psychosomatic, but over the years and experience with others it seems Lunacy is real, yet still only a theory. I’m curious to hear from others. What is your experience or feelings on the subject? Do you experience mood changes?

Sex and Facebook

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Sex….

That blog post is coming very soon so forgive me . Got your attention with the pictures but are you following and sharing my Facebook page https://m.facebook.com/Itsnotcrazytoday

It’s a great way for me to connect and message my blog followers and connect with others. Plus, it’s the only reason I went back to Fakebook. Stop over like and say hello. I love feedback and want to spread my blog and share the awareness of mental illness and how normal and amazing we can be, it’s not crazy. Write me and connect on Facebook, plus it’ll keep you up to date with new post on the page. Thanks you all and much love. The comments and blogs have brought tears to my eyes. I truly have amazing followers.
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How to enjoy being introverted…with some mad women steps….

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How to enjoy being introverted…with some mad women steps….

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Let’s explore how I reset and enjoy the healthy time alone.

1. Learn to observer and watch people. It’s simple, watch children play and interact. Sit in the bar or group and listen. It’s much the same. Listen, don’t talk, unless spoken too.

2. Enjoy your time alone. It’s rare, turn off every device in the house for 20 minutes. Everything, phone, WiFi, televisions. Actually, go find the breaker box main switch and flip it off (turn the usuals off before doing this), you’ll instantly feel peace. It’s a strange sensation. Close your eyes and feel the lack of WiFi and electricity…..you will feel it if you shut it all off.

3. Learn to talk to yourself. You can always be kind to yourself. Learn to appreciate what your mind tells you in silence. Many times I’ve ignored what I knew or I should have done only to have my mind tell me, “I told you so”. So it’s worth listening and talking to yourself. No one will ever love you or listen to you like yourself.

4. Volunteer! You can do the smallest thing and change a life. But you do it on your own, you don’t do it to seek recognition. You just do something that helps others selfishly.

5. Decide you’re going to learn a skill or project. Complete it! I wanted to learn electrical repair. Several vocational classes and yours truly can fixed a toaster, wire a lamp, or do general household repairs. It was so rewarding, I continued with woodworking, plumbing, and auto repair. I’m a bit obsession so don’t use me as an example.

6. Make a list. I hate list, but make an agenda of things you want to accomplish before bed. Make sure the first this on your list is MAKE YOUR BED. Trust me, if you don’t make your bed you’ve screwed up the list. Make your bed, you’ll feel a sense of accomplishment and then that first thing is checked off your list.

7. This is by far my hell on earth task, working out. Yes, workout! Walk 30 minutes, yoga, run, or what ever your vice….even sex. I prefer the latter. Sex count.

8. Do something completely alone. I’ll go to the movies, bookstore, and then have a drink and dinner while writing in my journal, ALONE! It is possibly, my best advice if you’re a mom or dad with a schedule. Plan a run away monthly!

9. Approach and engage strangers and be genuinely interested. I’ve learned so much about people just by removing the stigma of societies norm. I’ve made some of the best and life long friends whom I don’t think I could live without if not for letting go of my preconceived impressions based on societies normal. I’m in a military community, so normal is pretty straight laced.

10. Set goals, writing it down and put it in an envelope. In one year, I will have….? Next one, In 5 and 10 years. It can be big, it can be as simple as I’ll stop biting my nails. But, when you open that envelope you’re rewarding yourself. Do monthly envelopes! It’s goals with the satisfaction, you put it in writing and you accomplished something for yourself, not someone else. You discover and achieved it for yourself.

That is my alone time. That is how I’m alone and not defined by anyone else.

Falling in love with the Moon

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“Love is a serious mental disease.”

— Plato

Some times, I do like to write a bit about those little things off the wall. Tonight, it’s really obsession, falling in love and also of the idea of the unreachable goal. I have fallen in love with the moon. I’ve fallen in love with things that burn me.

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I speak of unreachable goals, because some may argue all goals are achievable. It certainly not true, but worth ever second to try to reach the moon. Love for some may seem unreachable, but it’s achievable. Some things are worth the chase, worth the wait, and certainly worth the risk.

I read blog and books now everyday, now obsessively. I set aside a few hours and really get to be inside others peoples minds for that time. A few, I’ve really fallen in love with as they write and post on blogs, others in books, I’ve started. I love writers and poets. I have fallen in love with dead authors and have this fantasy of them writing about me, because as to quote Mik Everett, “If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.” Maybe I never died and live as a character in my classics. Maybe a muse, an inspiration for a character in a classic. I love the writers and the poets. I’ve formed an obsession with the simple and the complex.

“You don’t love because: you love despite; not for the virtues, but despite the faults.” William Faulkner

And no matter what, I shall end with a classic story and movie quote.

“Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.”
— The Princess Bride

I am certain, I’ve touch the moon. It was once unreachable.

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Ode to a brilliant woman, Marilyn Monroe and an FU to Megan Fox

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  “Dogs never bite me. Just humans.” ― Marilyn 

Marilyn lived a very troubled life and struggled with mental illness. When she was young her mother was even institutionalized as a paranoid schizophrenic. Marilyn constantly feared the eventual diagnoses of her own mental health. Marilyn was extremely intelligent and was said to have an IQ of 168. She had many marriages her first at age 16 to an young sweetheart later to Joe DiMaggio and Arthur Miller. After reading a great biography and there’s many of them written, but one particularly, “Marilyn: The Passion and the Paradox” by Lois Banner is a great one. In death Marilyn has been idolized; posters, shirts, art, truly a icon. She also very popular figure in tattoos. One particular story is of Megan Fox and her former Marilyn tattoo. She idolized her success, her image, her pose, and the face that Marilyn shown the world. What I found interesting was once Megan did research and learned about Marilyn as a person, her background, her history her tragedies. Megan made the choice to remove the tattoo of Marilyn to avoid possible”negative energy”. Megan is quoted in US weekly referring to the tattoo, “she (Marilyn) was a disturbed negative person, she was disturbed, bipolar. I do not want to attract this kind of negative energy in my life ” Well, I’m sorry Megan that’s a shitty answer and even a slap in the face to those who suffer from mental disorders. I could write much more on her, but she does not deserve my time nor money for any movies she may appear.

This quote is you Megan:

“I’ve never fooled anyone. I’ve let people fool themselves. They didn’t bother to find out who and what I was. Instead they would invent a character for me. I wouldn’t argue with them. They were obviously loving somebody I wasn’t.” ― Marilyn Monroe

So on to some of my favorite Monroe musings and quotes.


  
“This life is what you make it. No matter what, you’re going to mess up sometimes, it’s a universal truth. But the good part is you get to decide how you’re going to mess it up. Girls will be your friends – they’ll act like it anyway. But just remember, some come, some go. The ones that stay with you through everything – they’re your true best friends. Don’t let go of them. Also remember, sisters make the best friends in the world. As for lovers, well, they’ll come and go too. And baby, I hate to say it, most of them – actually pretty much all of them are going to break your heart, but you can’t give up because if you give up, you’ll never find your soulmate. You’ll never find that half who makes you whole and that goes for everything. Just because you fail once, doesn’t mean you’re gonna fail at everything. Keep trying, hold on, and always, always, always believe in yourself, because if you don’t, then who will, sweetie? So keep your head high, keep your chin up, and most importantly, keep smiling, because life’s a beautiful thing and there’s so much to smile about.” 

 

“She was a girl who knew how to be happy even when she was sad” ― Marilyn Monroe
RIP Marilyn
***edited to add some fun stuff I alway enjoyed and to say F*ck you Megan Fox.

1. Marilyn’s hero was Abraham Lincoln. She read everything she could find about him.

2. She loved Clark Gable so much she cried for days when he passed. She saw him as a father figure and would imagine him as her father.

3. She was rumored to have had a intimate relationship with Einstein who she openly talked about her attraction to him.

I could go on and on, but she was an extremely intelligent lady who hated being the labeled the Hollywood dumb blonde.

Popped my cherry throwing disc and banging chains

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Best day ever!  It’s like finding money in the dryer or a jean pocket, but the joy keeps going and you are constantly being uplifted. Yesterday was one of those days. No anxiety or panic, no sadness, no flashbacks, no racing thoughts, no tears, nothing over the top. Just a blank canvas day, that ended up a beautiful picture.

My blank canvas didn’t involve winning the lottery or anything of grandeur. It simply involved waking up to two beautiful kids who let mom sleep, started the house chores, and my oldest made breakfast without burning the house down. When I finally woke up, a bit foggy forgetting the kids were even home on spring break. I walk downstairs and head directly for the coffee pot. From the other room two little heads pop up, “Hi Mom! Good morning!” I yawn and think to myself how awesome of them to let me sleep and go on autopilot. Then almost as if they planned the timing together they asked, “Mom, is today the day you have your friends teach us to play Disc Golf?”  I responded with my normal noncommittal, “We’ll see, mommy needs her coffee first.” This is a protective response from me when I don’t want to let them down. Two reasons, I needed to make sure I wasn’t dreaming and second I knew this activity required a commitment from friends to teach them to play. I hate when I let down my kids, but to have someone else let them down physically hurts.

Bit of a backtrack, I decided months ago I needed to take back up a hobby such as golf. I was really good at one time and really remember it being fun and therapeutic. Then, I ran across Disc golf, I was immediately intrigued. Disc golf is where you throw a flying disc at a target like chained basket, the fun is scored like golf and based on precision and accuracy on a 18 basket courses. Win, win for me, no hauling balls or golf clubs, just a bag of various discs. I loved it instantly and quickly became obsessed with the concept and game. This was going to be my new sport. I shall master it and shared this with my kids. Who watched Vine and YouTube videos that a friend had sent, over and over. They wanted to learn too!

Back to best day ever, “We’ll see” I tell the kids and I sent text to my friend. He’s, a disc golf junkie and jumped at the opportunity to teach the kids and myself. We meet at the park, I knew instantly his passion and obsession with the sport made him the perfect guy.  Plus, he was a bit of a kid himself so the kids loved him and the sport.

Peter couldn’t figure out if he was left or right handed thrower. This took some time since he is ambidextrous. Eventually, he threw it, just somehow backwards each time. When advised to run into it and throw, Peter literally ran 25ft forward then threw. Peter, always the one to look for the cheat.

Turns out Rowan was really good! She was a natural. Not only did she throw really well, she was noticed by some of the local disc golf  players in the league who encouraged her to join the league and play in a tournament next month. They said she probably win. That was really cool and a huge encouragement for her. She sometimes needs encouragement and this came from one of the best female players locally.

As for the mad woman, well I threw, but kept getting my butt kicked by my daughter and dodging Peters crazy Ivins. Try to not scare our new friend with our multiple personalities. Not only did we learn to play. My daughter found something she loves. Peter was still frolicking tossing, then came home to tell stories to his friend about how he plays disc golf like a boss. I found my new hobby and made great friendships.

In retrospect today, I had a day without let downs, a day away from society. It was therapeutic. It was the perfect day. I was again, a new “normal” for the day.

See, it’s not always crazy.

The dreaded cone of shame!

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My cat is a narcissistic psychopath and my dog is a drug addict.

Let me introduce you to Lucy, my Portuguese Water Dog since I’ve already given you a glimpse into my cats troubled mind. But before you say, “Oh you have a Obama dog” I’ll stop you, I had Lucy long before President Obama. But as I was saying, Lucy my PWD has humorously vet diagnosed anxiety issues that lead to Irritable bowl syndrome. I think she has undiagnosed borderline personality disorder and mild schizophrenia. I certainly think the animals in my life were destined for my family because any other would have been a death sentence.

My whole life I’ve had stray dogs, mutts and rarely had health problems. But this beautiful little fluff ball wooed me, the promise of a hypoallergenic, and that they didn’t she’d sealed the deal. Within a year, health problems began manifesting, skin allergies would trump all her mental disorders.  Aside from all that, we love the nut. We loved her enough to recently fix a sudden onset of health problems, a blood hematoma in her ear, skin infection from allergies, double ear infection, and an eye infection, when it’s all said and done it damaged my checkbook by nearly $2000. But here’s the fun part, the cone of shame and she’s now a drug addict. Yes, a drug addict that is currently slapping the shit out of me with the big plastic cone begging for Tramadol. BEGGING!

The big damn plastic cone of shame is her weapon. She will slap the walls, bump into everything, knock things over more than the psychopathic black cat. She makes her presence known and will go to the kitchen to beg for her pills. Sunday, we finally gave her the last dose.

Monday was withdrawal hell! At times I think the dog is dying, she trapped the cat with her cone. In my head, I imagined a conversation from the dog, “Cat go knock the pills down or I will eat your black heart.” My kitchen is very narrow and each time I walk near the kitchen the dog rolls onto her back in submission for her pills. Then when she sees I’m walking away, up she’ll bolt and knock into me over and over and over with the cone. I tell myself, It’s only for three weeks and I spent so much I have to leave the cone on her. Last night, midnight…plastic scraping drywall, back and forth.  She’s learns this get a response from me. I kick her out of my room only to have her torture my children.

We survived the night. Tuesday, I think I was going mad, had to take my own anti-anxiety medication. The plastic scraping along the walls. She is taunting me back and forth raking the walls like nails on a chalkboard. Even the cat walks by and hisses at her. Even the cat has had it with the cone. The dog constantly flips over on her back begging for her Tramadol. I swear I saw her purposely trip down a couple steps and limp in hopes I’d get her more pills.

It’s morning now, I hate the damn cone. I snap at every clumsy move the dog makes now. She’s somehow knocked my coffee over twice. I think I’ve found myself a trigger. Hello Benzodiazepines!

I’m now walking around singing “Sunshine, lollipops, and Rainbows” by Lesley Gore. If you don’t know her songs google. You can thank me later for the songs on repeat in your head. As if it wasn’t already crazy enough, this too shall pass. I’ve planned myself a mommy night. No family, no pets, just me and a quite corner in a bookstore, coffee shop. I’d even settle for hanging out in Target for a couple hours without, “Mom, can I get this?” Maybe I’ll go have a meal and glass of wine.

My family can see the black dog coming, literally!

Yes I am obsessed with your blog!

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I found myself reading blogs like novels! Yes, probably your blog too. I may possibly be stalking you. *Maniacal laugh…… I do really like to read, expecially with my new medication (new doc, hahaha she gave a stimulate to a bipolar who was rapid cycling, I’m chasing squirrels right now) I can concentrate, until it ignites mania and then it’s back to mind numb forgetfulness. But I read a lot of blogs and yes I do love your blog. I think I’m going to start showcasing mental doppelganger bloggers of the week.

I read, heard a long time ago when you read books, papers, or articles you absorb a small part of that author. It really made me a bit picky about my choices in literature. Hemingway will always have my heart. He wrote with such conviction, blood emotion, and experience. I instantly feel in love with a dead man who suffered from the same mental flaw I am fighting. I never knew Hemingway was bipolar until recent years. Once I  reread his works with my new understanding of his mind it really explained my analysis and sometimes unorthodox synopsis of his stories. I read them with a bipolar mind and he wrote it with a bipolar mind. It really is beautiful to admire his beautiful mind. I don’t discount the darkness, He lived with sickness, Hemingway himself and put a shotgun in his mouth in his finest Chinese robe in his door hallway. He saw the sunrise one last time. He knew his story had ended and he was determined to write the ending, not a  sequel. He knew his ending which is a very sad statistic for those who are  diagnosed bipolar. 

It’s a bipolar thing, we like to write our endings. My challenge is to bring back the sequels. A story doesn’t have to end with the story book,  Prince meet princess and they have beautiful children and live long prosperous lives and die without regret, pain and have a long legacy. I can say with certainly those handsome narcissistic princes you meet along the way will always satisfy their needs even thought they have beautiful princesses. I’m around it everyday, it’s really sad the poor girls/guys who accepts the repeated infidelities of a narcissist, because they feel they have a trophy husband or trophy wife. I am sad for their delusion of happiness and infidelity. It’ll never stop, it’s a cycle. It makes me sick how many people live such a fake life or repeatedly try to reinvent and change their lives….until they get drunk again a cry to listening ears. Until they gey the attention from the assfish who circle them. Those people are DUMBASSES!

I am happy to admit I’m flawed, possibly worse than the abusive narcissist married to a dumbass. I love deeply and  I crave a happy ending. I love to satisfy emotional and physically. I am hurt very easily when my affections aren’t returned. Sometimes all you want is to be held, hugged, touched, and cuddled. It makes me so happy that I have someone who loves me, holds me, satisfies me, touches me, and holds me and I know they aren’t that narcissistic person or playing me a fool. They know all my demons and still love me.

I HOPE and pray sometimes I relay the true depection of the emotions of my mental health in words that help someone. The comments and messages I receive give me great hope you hear and share my musings.

I hope you love me because I’m writing a tragedy, but you know it ends a love story. It’s that crazy Nicolas Sparks novel! No one dies or gets sick, those books and movies are just full of heartbreak. I’m surrounded with heartbreak everyday right here on wordpress. Except I can interact with the characters, the real people and real stories. Unless your one of my fictional writers or poets. Then I’m probably just obsessed with your way with words. I love the poets!

I think eventually in a lifetime you get it right and your soul can rest.My soul needs to rest and this is my nutty story…….I love your blog!

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How to lose friends and piss off people.

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 “When we deny our stories, they define us. When we own our stories we get to write a brave new ending.” Brené Brown

 
In the most inopportune times my illness takes the wheel and steers me into the ditch.  In the ditch, I’m not reliable, I’m not consistent, and I’m constantly having to reschedule or delay planned activities, because of the grip of anxiety and an overwhelming fear that is unexplainable and inexcusable. I forget birthdays of even my closest friends and family. I’m the definition of a flake, but only because I hide behind a mask everyday. What most people don’t know is that I don’t intentionally flake. If I had a choice, I’d be the outgoing, helpful, and reliable girl they love to be around everyday. The life of the party, dance on the table fun girl, the girl who volunteers as much time as she can to help others. It hits me like a sledgehammer, usually a slight trigger but many times no warning. I know I’m not getting depressed, I am intimate with depression.  I’m suffering the suffocation of anxiety and PTSD. I have a sudden lost of all control of my emotions. On top of everything,  I realize I have won the jackpot of mental illnesses. This one much harder to treat, memories have become the enemy. 

Unlike my superpower bipolar, Post traumatic stress disorder is normally in my community associated with military members who have given their mind to our country and suffer the wounds of war internally. Their wounds aren’t always visible. It’s definitely not a superpower and has no benefits. It’s become a mainstream topic and given credibility because of the media coverage and the fact that more doctors are recognizing it as a serious condition. So being around the military, I rarely talk about my own PTSD as not to take away from the service members. I hate being asked if it was caused by my service. Earning the title Marine was and is still one of my greatest achievements. My PTSD has absolutely nothing to do with my service to my country. Many of my symptoms are the same as my Bipolar disorder, except I’m haunted at times with nightmares and sudden anxiety. Triggered by the memories of near death, trauma, and lost a precious baby boy. I’m not sure I can write anymore about the cause, the trauma is something my mind can’t fully accept. I never talk about the nightmares and sudden overwhelming fears. It hard to balance being bipolar, being stable, and uncontrollable anxiety. I hide it well and it is exhausting, sometimes I am amazed I survive day to day.

So you might ask how do you lose friends and piss people off?  You don’t tell them you can’t leave the house, you just cancel plans without reason. You are embarrassed to let anyone see you cry and trust me, it isn’t something that can be controled. You just don’t show up and withdraw from society. The fear of sitting or being in a group and starting to cry terrifies me, the circling of strangers asking if I’m okay and rubbing my back trying to help me and I know I can’t explain myself or my actions. It’s the fear of unwanted attention. It’s like choking and not being able to talk. You voice is muffled, when you do talk is that of a gasping hiccup. It passes like a storm, but when the dust has settled and the rain has stopped. You find yourself alone, because you decided to protect them from yourself. You cancelled, you didn’t show up, you flaked. You couldn’t bear the embarrassment of being perceived in any other way than person you chose to show the world.  Turn out this pisses people off, who knew? 

In my pursuit of normalcy, I realized I segregated myself from an incredible support system. It was only once I was honest about my mental health did people understand. Many times once I opened up they opened up about their own struggles with mental health. Some of the strongest people I know had their own demons. Like myself, they hid that they relied on similar drugs. The stigma, It’s the whispers, the people who try to help, and the embarrassment of being a very professional outgoing extrovert who crashes into a barely functional introvert.

So my laundry is piled, sink is full of dishes, and I just want to be alone, the battle has begun. I will not be a flake and a prisoner to my mind.  I’ll start today by going to the grocery store and I’ll cry in aisle three. I’ll let a stranger comfort me and accept the embarrassment that is only in my head. We all need to be more open about mental health.  

It’s the clean up in isle three that can be just as scary.

Cats and narcissist

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Cats are narcissist, self gratifying creatures. My love for cats is never hampered. I still love the creature that needs me to feel loved and cared for daily. I know the cat is beautiful and can survive easily if cast aside to the wilderness. I admire the the cat.

What bothers me is if I’m cast aside would I survive? Cats have this natural instinct and narcissistic attitude. The people who I am drawn to are usually representative of a narcissist cat. They would seek self approval, if human wod post over and over again their perfect lives to a social media format. When in reality cats will kill without cause or need, breed with multiple mates, and turn on you and love you in the same moment. They will hurt you and make it your somehow your fault. I love my narcissist cat. But I’ve learned there are people who are like cats. They eat us alive. They feed on our weakness to care, to love unconditionally, and the need to be loved. They look for someone who will say, “your amazing” “your beautiful” daily to them, someone who constantly reinforces their egos. Someone who merely says thank you. Someone we imagine to be like that of friendship in Hollywood movies. These people know we will do anything for them. They know it the day they meet us and continue to accept and fluff our self-esteems until we are completely obsessed. It then they start to show their true natures. But for us, we have invested, we have loved, we just want to be loved back. We don’t want to walk away from the beautiful creatures that once told us they loved us, it rare someone could love someone like us. We certainly come with our own flaws, like the narcissist, but we never hurt to make ourselves feel better.

We invest, we love, and we grieve because we attract those who love our bipolar, anxiety, and depression. Some people are drawn to us, because in a very sad way they are using us to feel better. They don’t face there own narcissism. They are self serving and need those who will pet them, feed them, and scoop their shit.

I have all that with my cat! Why the hell would I put up with someone who emulates animal behavior (unless it’s only sex related, then maybe)? My cat metaphorically is constantly taking selfies of her amazing social life, her amazing vacations, and just her selfies of herself,  she’s the Kim Kardashian of black cats. I’m scooping her shit while she’s at club med.

Dammit, I love my cat even though she doesn’t love me, I love her. She stays with me, provides me comfort with her presence. It makes me feel good she occasionally purrs on me……I know she wants something, but it’s affection. I crave affection. She meows, she talks to me….I know she wants something and I reward her. I pet her, I tell her she is the best cat in the world, she’s the perfect cat. I love narcissist cats! I recognize narcissist people because of my psychotic narcissist cat.

I guess my point is those who suffer from lows, wherever it be on the bipolar depression anxiety spectrum, remember narcissist will feed on you. You will and probably already fluff their egos daily on various social media’s such as, Facebook, instagram, or twitter to hang on to thier love and approval. Stop promoting that behavior and look at those friends who need your attention. I’m guilty of ignoring those who needed me for narcissistic people. I learned my lesson years ago, but it took my cat to put it in perspective.

You can cast a cat aside, they’ll survive to exist.  Cast me aside, I’ll survive because I existed.

Today the Muse has the Wine Flu, but the nut got out!

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As I walk around trying to unravel and piece together my night with the wine flu today, I’m constantly finding little notes to myself. I know when I drink too much I don’t remember, it’s like I’m on a break and that “nut” is on the loose. So sometimes I leave myself notes so I don’t forget the epiphanies. She must have been dying to break free.

The nut certainly took over from my estimates around 10:30 pm based off emails, blog post, text, drawings, and notes all over the place this morning.

The sticky notes….
As I walk down the stairs I immediately notice yellow sticky notes everywhere. On each one it read “This doesn’t belong here” stuck on shoes, toys, books, dishes, and random object that should have been put away. Oh that’s right, passive aggressive nut must have been cracking herself up last night over the sticky notes. So I dig further, I knew I blogged last night, but hadn’t really read what I wrote, but I remember writing it so it can’t be that bad so I move on to my text messages.

The text messages….
Have you ever been up at night and get a text from a strange number and they immediately text back, “I’m sorry you must have the wrong number.”? Well I did that a couple times, but then tried to engage in conversation with, “Oh I’m sorry. How are you doing then?” Guess the nut was lonely. Those went nowhere beyond that, but I chuckled thinking what those poor people must thought. Not too bad, let’s check sent email.

The emails….
I open my email and click on the sent folder. “Dammit, she emailed!” She actually was doing pretty good. Replied pleasantries and general responses to many emails that needed to be addressed. So far, not too bad, until I scrolled to the one to myself. As I read it I forgot this was actually written by me to me for me. I am completely delusional and really engaging. I wrote myself about all my memories and past lives (saving that gem for it’s own post). It was awesome and I’ve rarely write to myself with such details. It was really making me think I had tapped into the universe somehow…….until I start telling myself it was critical for me to get a pet skunk and name her Petunia. I laughed and moved on unraveling my night.

The drawings…
After checking everything else and breathing a sigh of relief I see I had my journal next to my seat on the couch. I open it to read and to my surprise I had drawn hobbit houses with my ink pen. Pretty cool, but rather sloppy for my work. I knew I was better than that and under the journal were some really impressive pencil drawings. I was pleased with the nut.

I was indeed very pleased with the nut, but unfortunately she needs to be locked back up. I need to learn to bring her out without alcohol and teach her to be productive. She has ruined me for the day when I desperately need to be productive. Hangovers are hell, but in combination with my medications they are even worse. I know I shouldn’t do it be we all need to howl at the moon ever so often. I just wish she would have cleaned, she does that sometimes. Always a gamble with her.

Oh I  played the song lost boy by Ruth b a million times too.

“Passive aggressive” *insert maniacal laugh

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  Some people have writers block, but I always have another problem…..touchscreen keyboards. Yes, other than my evil nemesis the black cat, it’s touchscreen keyboard. My hands have a tendency to sweat all the time. To me it’s gross, discussing, and has caused me social anxiety my whole life. I alway think, “My god, they are reaching for a handshake” and I roll in for the inappropriately timed hug. Sometimes it’s normal and sometimes with anxiety they drip with water. I’ve learned to control it a bit over the years, but it drives me bonkers using an iPad or touchscreen device. I toss them in frustration, and you’ll hear a snicker and laughter from one of my kids, “Mom must be trying to write with wet hands again.” My kids are hilariously times and know how to make me laugh. Sometimes, my oldest who likes to be a bit sassy, will see me getting upset and walk by ever so causally and say, “E—-eeeeeeyore” in her best Eeyore voice and we both laugh. Her best is when I’m talking and anytime I am passive aggressive and she hears it she will say loud enough for me to hear,”Passive aggressive!” It humorous and she knows her boundaries. She usually snaps me out of my aggressive or depressive behavior. 

So as I was trying to type and tossed my iPad and went in search of my laptop this morning. I heard a little voice in my head and smiled. Then in the search for my laptop I asked passive aggressive questions in my head and heard that little voice in a sigh say, “passive aggressive.” There on her bed my laptop, battery dead. This time I don’t ask, “Who took my laptop and forgot to replace it?” This time I leave a note that reads in bold, “Passive Aggressive!, I heard your voice. Love you so much for keeping me cool.”

So next time you find yourself asking passive aggressive questions, hear a voice like that of a maniacal muppet like that of my conspirator Uncle deadly saying, “passive aggressive” and smile remembering the honesty of child who lives with parents who just isn’t right sometimes. 

P.S. The Lego image and why Legos? All parents can relate it a huge source of passive aggressive behavior at night in the dark when barefoot.

Who is the mad woman?

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 “A man’s face is his autobiography. A woman’s face is her work of fiction.” Oscar Wilde


I’m sure some curiosity is stirring about the person behind the blog. I use to be completely normal. That statement seems funny now, because I am a new normal. So how is it normal isn’t the same now? Now I’ve learned to embrace my genetic flaws. Society would probably never labeled me as normal, society puts labels on mental disorders such as crazy, depressed, or sickness. The doctors over the years have added labels such as Bipolar disorder, General anxiety disorder (GAD), post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), and Depression. Overtime I’ll share the stories behind the labels. Life happened and my brain just stopped making certain chemicals and wasn’t able to deal with trauma or stress. The big label is Bipolar disorder. In combination, I am a physiological mess and a real pain in the ass to treat. Treating bipolar takes priority, because the medication for others can create chaos, mania, and manic episodes. On occasion my doctor will give me something to help with the others, but with mania and depression under control I maintain the quirky new normal. I started a blog to share how it’s not crazy. I share my ups and downs, stories that somehow pop in my head, and if you’re lucky occasionally lunacy, drunken rantings, and delusions. I write those just before the fast acting antipsychotics start working. 
I can be very normal in appearance. It is exhausting when I have fake it all day. Those around me may never know that I suffer a daily battle in my head. I hid the deep depression as the flu for years, but rarely could I hide my mania or psychosis. I know some old friends and acquaintances are reading this right now thinking, “I KNEW IT!” In reality, I hear the whispers and for whatever reason someone always unbeknownst to them remind me how people love to talk and gossip, It’s human nature. They talk about my “illness.” I never confronted them and they never knew they hurt me so deeply when all I needed was help, friendship, and acceptance. Being bipolar is unfortunately very lonely and you hurt the people you love most, you hurt yourself. So I became very open and own my “sickness” instead of fueling speculation. 
I’m not sick, I am bipolar. I am very intelligent, some may say gifted and very artistic. I can remember the placement of every object in my house, even junk drawers, a convenient superpower. I’m generous to the point of giving what I do not have to give. I have an almost obsessive need to learn talents and skills. I absorb things and like to be independent. I start hobbies or even sports at random. Once I’m satisfied with mastering the activity I move on to another. Over the years I’ve become like a human Google of useless information and skills. My daughter asked me just yesterday, “Mom, how do know everything?” My response, “Because I’m bipolar.” I realized I didn’t say sick, crazy, or just because, I said bipolar, It’s my superpower. It’s never going away and makes me the person I am today. 
So that doesn’t sound bad at all, does it? Let me share some demons. I’ll only share a few but you’ll get the point. When manic, I am reckless, sexy, and entertaining. I am a child with no rules. I do what makes me feel good. I don’t think about others emotions. I lash out at those who try to help. The racing thoughts and rapid speech are the first sign of  my mania. I will ramble my theories and musing, draw my thoughts on paper. I have visions and see things that aren’t real. The night sky is colorful, It’s absolutely beautiful with color. The moon hums to me. I refuse to sleep because I’m not tired. I have no need for sleep anymore. I’m delusional and will recount a story from a book as my own and truly believe the storytelling. I’m extremely compulsive in all areas. I am self-destructive physically. It’s never a happy ending, the cycle concludes with me crying for days, depressed, guilt ridden, hurt, embarrassed, suicidal, and no way to explain my behavior. Sometimes I feel like it wasn’t me, but this other person who ruined my reputation. If only I could stop this identity thief who used my body and mind. I am reminded by the scars and the scars I’ve caused others. I swear to give everything I’ve got to redeem my soul as I cry in bed begging to be normal.
Now here’s the catch, I miss my delusional mind. Yes, I miss the sensations and delusions. I was invincible, I had no fears or worries, no sadness in my world. I miss the colors of the night sky. I’ve never seen the Aurora Borealis, but it’s close to how I saw the night. Sometimes, the humming that radiated from the moon would cause it all to flow in perfect sync. On full moons, it was the strongest, hence I was a lunatic. Sometimes so strong it would draw me out of my house and keep me from self-destruction because I would sit out all night under the stars. I never understood why everyone wasn’t staring at the sky. I miss seeing such beauty. I gave up my colorful night to be normal. Sometimes I will try hard to see it and cry because my night was no longer colorful, It’s dark now, it’s normal. I gave it up to be a better mother. To be an example to my children and friends. I gave it up to save my life. My days are now colorful.
I’m a normal, sometimes a bit more extreme almost childish parent. We all like to win and screaming, “boo yah” to a group of kindergartens when winning a game is my normal and they love seeing me being one of the kids. I’m the cool fun mom who is coloring the wall. I’m goofy and tell the kids fantastic stories. I give the pets voices and narrate what the pets are thinking in those voices. I have an ongoing saga with the cat that even causes me to laugh aloud. My husband is my best friend and incredibly strong to have stuck around for 18 years caring for me. It’s not easy being a caregiver to someone who fights you daily at times. I have led charitable and professional organizations successfully. I am able to volunteer for organizations and even maintain a pretty impressive resume. I may be a pack rat and sometimes a complete disaster. I am flattered by the response to my blog and just knowing I’ve helped one person heals my scars. I hope if a story touches you that you share it so it helps someone else. It was medication and good doctors that helped me, also reading other blogs and seeing others surviving that really helped me. You’re not alone even when you feel there is no way anyone feels the way you do, I guarantee you there is a post not far down the feed to prove you wrong.

Synopsis: in case you have an attention disorder and can’t finish the whole story.

I am here today, I’m pretty damn cool and I am bipolar. 

 
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Unexpected outcomes

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Sometimes I just get this crazy obsession for a certain foods or spices. Today it was for Thai food, it’d been at least two weeks since I had had a meal from my favorite local spot. It was a hidden gem I’d run to and was always amazing. So excitingly, I load up the kids and we are on our way for the most delicious Thai food. I didn’t care if the kids were arguing or my 11 year old feels she is the enforcer and boss of my 6 year old.  Today, I was not going to scream “Stop” a million times. Today was my treat! Today would include delicious food porn on my blog, it will not be crazy!

As we arrived and parked, I made sure the rules were clear, “BE good, NO fighting, mommy needs to be fed!” Walking towards the door something was off and they appeared closed. From my side, my little man Peter says, “Mom, I’m pretty sure they are closed for good” And sure enough, a real estate sign, It was closed forever.  Then the kids had a brilliant idea, “Mom, let’s go to your favorite Korean restaurant.”

“Yes!” That will do, so on the interstate we go, if you’re not familiar with Northern Virginia traffic consider yourself blessed. I-95 is hell going south or north on any given day, but I’m determined to eat out and now it’s just painful listening to the kids argue. “MOM!, make her give me to poop emoji pillow back.” “MOM! I didn’t touch him” and so on until we reach the exit.  As we pull into the parking lot to my favorite Korean restaurant something isn’t right and this time I spot the sign immediately, closed and another real estate sign. I lay me head on the wheel, quietly I say “Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

Apparently, not quite enough. Out of my Peter 6 year old mouth, “Mom, Chuck E Cheese now serves beer and wine” Did my kid just tell me the germ factory served alcohol? How did I not know they served alcohol? Heck, I know where I’ll have my next birthday, maybe even my 40th in many, many years to come, I’ve been 29-35 for several years. I could only laugh that my kids thought that I would get them pizza or the fact they knew Chucky Cheese was near the Korean restaurant. My kids had manipulated me into going to Chucky E Cheese with the suggestion they now serve alcohol.

Yes, I’m that mom drinking a beer at Chuck E Cheese getting her Chuck E Cheese photo ID’s made, playing games with no mercy before noon. Before you judge me, I drank one beer and kicked little kid ass for over an hour. I may have cheated and swiped some tickets from the little people. Just the ones who didn’t pay attention, life lesson kids, pay attention to the crazy lady. But overall, I got a squirt gun, sticky slappy hand thing, some silly puddy, and woopie cushion. All these these things are part of the plan for manic black cat of darkness revenge. You can use you imagination, but two can at play “sniper” cat, the game of surprise attack cat! It only cost me a little over $100 to eat and play games…..totally worth it for the entire family!

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The “Eeyore Effect” and the slow depression

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  To slowly slip into depression is worst than the episodes that can be linked to a trigger. But no trigger this time, slowly feeling it is like waiting for the unknown. Panic and anxiety start to sink in for fear of the unknown. Some people notice right away, others just realize they haven’t seen you, some miss the life of the party, and surprisingly very few ask, “Are you okay?”

I become what I recognize as delusional now, because I know it’s not true.  I call this the “Eeyore effect.” Eeyore is a character in the Winnie-the-Pooh books if you lived a sheltered childhood under a rock you may not know he is a gloomy, depressed, pessimistic old grey stuffed donkey. I certainly know depression is coming when Eeyore shows up. I tell myself I have no friends, no one cares and does anything really matter? Unlike Eeyore, I hurt those who do care and the angry  outburst become common. I cling to those who make me happy hoping to pull myself out before it happens. Eventually being clingy and needy will take a toll on the sane and they don’t want to sink with you so the abandon ship. Then you realize I am clinically  depressed.

So what is the cure for the “Eeyore effect?” I’ve found doing the one thing that is the hardest for me is key, talk to my doctor. Yes, hardest thing in the world is admitting I’m depressed to my doctor. I fear yet another medication. I fear the side effects new medications. I fear she’ll think I’m just lazy. I fear she will tell me it’s normal. But for the cure to the Eeyore effect, the key is talking about my fear to the doctor and family. Being brutally honest about yourself and your moods and behavior. Sadly having bipolar once I do slip it’s dangerous so Eeyore has to be balanced quickly.

The stigma of medication and mental illness is the only thing I wish we could cure. It’s okay to admit you’re sick. Antidepressants are OKAY! If it was your heart or maybe diabetes, you’d take the medication needed to make you feel better. I just heard my friend yell that at me in my head. It took me years for family and friends to convince me it was okay. Now I help others, talk, listen and I’m open about my illness. You’d be surprised how helpful it is for you to be yourself and they understand you can’t just snap out of it when you become Eeyore.

On the other hand, the “Tigger effect” is hard for me to talk about and deserves it’s own post for all its scandal, excitement, and embarrassment. You’d think depression would be harder to talk about but writing about something you miss because of medication is hard.

Feeling the sting of human behavior

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I’m not sure if many of you have read or been told the story of the scorpion and the turtle or frog in some stories.  I’ve heard the story in various ways with the cast of animals swapped in and out, but generally it’s a classic for reflection on human behavior and inherent vicious natures that cannot change. We all feel the sting, and living with my condition I feel I’m constantly both characters. Nevertheless, I wanted to share and pass along the story. It’s a story that’s been heavy on my mind as i’ve read through the diversity of the blogs here on wordpress. So here you go, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

A scorpion, being a very poor swimmer, asked a turtle to carry him on his back across a river. “Are you Scorpion mad?” exclaimed the turtle. “You’ll sting me while I’m swimming and I’ll drown.”

“My dear turtle,” laughed the scorpion, “if I were to sting you, you would drown and I would go down with you. Now where is the logic in that?”

“You’re right!” cried the turtle. “Hop on!” The scorpion climbed aboard and halfway across the river gave the turtle a mighty sting. As they both sank to the bottom, the turtle resignedly said:

“Do you mind if I ask you something? You said there’d be no logic in your stinging me. Why did you do it?”

“It has nothing to do with logic,” the drowning scorpion sadly replied. “It’s just my character.”
[Braude, 1965]

My love affair with Uncle deadly

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First, I should never watch “The Muppets” and go directly to bed. My dream of my life with the muppets last night was awesome. I’ll spare you the bulk of the lunacy but, I finally kill Mrs. Piggy. She messed with Kermit for the last time. I got away with the murder only with the help of Uncle deadly, you know the blue, reptilian-looking creature, also known as “the Phantom of the Muppet Show”and current costume guy and assistant to Mrs Piggy. 

Always my favorite muppet and now we were partners in crime (Insert Maniacal laugh). We dumped the pig at a local Smithfield farm. In my dream, Uncle deadly wanted to cook and serve up a pork feast to all the muppets. I remember thinking how messed up that was and suggested Smithfield processing. Well that’s not the crazy part….Uncle Deadly and I run away together. I fall madly in love with the evil muppet. Fast forward to a beach, like the one in movie “Cocktail” with Tom Cruise.  He’s slinging drinks behind a beach bar and I’m really sexy, sipping on a fruity drink with a big floppy hat. 

Today may be a little crazy… 

 

The Cat talked tonight

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The cat talked tonight and I am certain  she’s schizophrenic and thinks people and inanimate objects talk to her.

She came into my life over a year ago shortly after I swore I’d never own a cat. Little did I know this black siren would play my children and enter our family on a bet. We were visiting family in Kentucky and as usual in the country you’ll encounter the barn cats and stray dogs. They honestly balance things for children in the Appalachia. Many of my best friends and confidences were animals. It taught me about unconditional love, trust, and loyalty. You’ll never find friendship like that of animals or someone who gives you and expects nothing but love in return.

So the black siren came as we visited Mam-maw (grandmother) just over a year ago. The kids had played with the cutest litter of stray barn kittens.  Something I was happy they got to enjoy, something I cherished from my childhood in Kentucky.

The kids begged and begged for us to take one home. Of course, selfishly I wanted a black cat, always loved them because they shared a stigma. I said if a little black kitten comes tonight we’ll take her home tomorrow.  Within minutes, we see this lone black kitten running to the door. “Dammit”, I thought, but honestly I was probably as thrilled as the kids. She was perfect! Absolutely the perfect cat. I agreed, but said we will name her Trubul like trouble, because I’m certain she’ll be nothing but trouble.

Fast forward, she is trying to kill me. Trubul has now been with the family long enough to execute plans. She’s no longer pet, but captive. I am her captor. She is living out the “Unbreakable” story (she watched the movie with me, I saw her snap). She would guard her catnip mouses, plan sniper attacks, plot her escape.

I only knew the cat was as crazy as me when I saw her talking to herself. Yes, talking to herself. She would meow something and in another tone meow back. It would continue, she would fight her alter ego for the one mouse not hidden under a couch. Everyday I accepted my cat was a schizophrenic bipolar cat.

Tonight she turned on me. In retrospect, it was when I tried to meditate, but she turned (see previous post). I was the enemy and we had a battle.

Without it being an “offense worthy of commitment” the cat has the upper hand. I’ll never have a rabbit to chase down a hole, because Trubul will kill it and probably lay it on my pillow, like a horse head from the godfather movie. She runs the house, she has the love, she controls the dog……to be continued CAT……to be continued….

Meditation, play by play fail

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So I was told meditation is amazing to slow your mind, ease your worries, and soothe your soul. So hello google and youtube, I’m now a subject matter expert. Kids are in school and I need to learn to self soothe. Let’s do this!

Step 1: Sit or lie comfortably

I sit my pretty little butt down trying to not think. Then I start thinking, “did it say how I should sit or lie?”, “Is the door locked”, “I really need to be doing laundry” “I guess I could just masturbate”

Step 2: Close your eyes

Eye are closed, success! Eyes are closed! “Why is it so hard to keep my eyeballs from straining?” Suddenly dog jumps on me, “Stupid dog, go away I am f*cking meditating”

Step 3: Make no effort to control breath; simply breathe naturally.

I’m now laying, not sitting anymore eyes closed and thinking “Is this natural breathing?” “Why am I over thinking breathing?” “Keep your eyes closed and stop thinking….why the hell is the cat now rubbing and purring on me, ugh. Did you forget you hate me cat!?!?”  “Stop thinking about sex” “Focus!”

Step 4: Focus your attention, blah blah blah. Breathing more blah blah blah. Body movement and more breathing ramblings. This is basically the meditate step.

Cats gone, dog is in the floor. All is peaceful, I just might do this meditate thing. Eyes closed, I hear the sounds of regurgitation from the dog. I think, “meditate, ignore dog. Breathe naturally”. As I hear the dog move around room, obviously puking, the doorbell rings. At that moment, dog forgets about puking to run barking like a rabid dog to kill the door.

I open my eyes to see that the dog decided to walk around to puke, disgusting. Checked outside, no one is there. I clean up after the dog. Cat runs a sniper attack on my head as I clean and the phone is ringing. Yay, it’s the school nurse, I have a sick kid. I laughed as she talked and just told her I’d be there to pick him up soon.

My conclusion, meditation and the bipolar mind is nearly impossible. But you know what is soothing, involves bed, and eyes rolling back in your head. Yep, sex!

“Just don’t write about me”

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Blogging is an excellent outlet and surprisingly I enjoy writing about my lunacy. I love reading the comments it’s very therapeutic. Over the last week or so as word spread “the nut” was writing a blog, the common thread was “that’s awesome”, “Just don’t write about me”. It seemed people loved living the story with me, but somehow embarrassed for me to tell the stories. Guess what? I’m going to tell all my stories (*insert maniacal laugh). 

You can’t choose to ride the roller coaster and say you only walked by the ride. People tend to really enjoy a good shit show. I’m not a mean girl, so don’t start sweating. If I blog about you, you’re probably not going to notice, unless….. you’re a narcissist then all my post are about you and you’re ugly.

So let my story telling begin. I hope to help someone out there relate, understand a friend or family member who may suffer from mental illness. I am flattered by my following and really love to hear your thoughts. Who knows, you just might end up in my stories.

The people we all have within us…

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Everyone has four people inside them inside them.

1. The person your co-workers/neighbors know; you see this person day to day. Wave hello, share pleasantries, you share a common bond of existence. It’s work, business, and existence.

2. The second is the person your family and childhood friends know. They grew up with you. They know you on a deeper level. They know that girl/guy who they went to church, school, or summer camp. Lived in the same county or city. You probably went to high school together. They know the base that made you.

3. Then the person your friends knows…the person your friends open up too, professional friends, college friends, good neighbors. Those you open up too and trust. You probably hang out, drink occasionally, and feel comfortable. They are you day to day. In the now friends.

4. Then late at night when no one is around, the person that only you know.

Everyone’s forth person is a little dark, sometimes that fourth person gets out of control. That can be natural. But, if the fourth person is completely different than the other three, than that fourth person is a monster.

And if that forth person doesn’t correspond with one of the first three you’re a monster. You’re embarrassed, you’re  ashamed, you’re  scared the fourth person could define you, it scary.

The year I ruined Christmas….well technically

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I briefly lost faith that Santa, in my head was the guy above in the picture, the weird mall Santa, the bell ringer at walmart.

I was 8 years old and decided I’d catch Santa in the act of coming down the chimney and delivering our presents. My older brother who was 10 and my younger brother 6 at the time were already in bed asleep. And that’s when I had a BRILLIANT idea! Who needs to catch Santa in the act when you can manipulate the entire situation?

It was GENUIS, I woke up early and ensured everything Santa had brought….well the good stuff, was moved to my stocking. It was fail proof,  who’s going to question Santa? I’ll have a whole year to get off the naughty list. So I executed my plan and went back to bed knowing it’ll be the best Christmas EVER.

Morning came and everyone jumped up to rush to the fireplace. I smiled ear to ear delighted in how smooth my plan was has executed. As we checked our stocking, I was shocked I got everything. Simply shocked and delighted with my new things. My brothers both immediately shocked and couldn’t believe Santa gave me everything started to scream for Mom. I smiled and reminded them, I was the favorite and had been very good this year. Better luck next year, suckers!

Then enters Mom, barely awake and at a loss for words. Then Dad came into the room, I immediately knew I was in deep shit from the look in his eyes. As mom, created an excuse for Santa’s  mistake. I was taken and reminded what it feels like to have a leather belt taken to my butt. To this day on Christmas morning I can feel the sting of the belt. You don’t mess with Santa at any age. Pretty sure that was the last year he gave me what I wanted other than socks, shoes, or necessities.

For the record, I’m good now and ran into him on vacation at Disney world a couple years ago. This was the real Santa, not all his helpers, but good old Saint Nick from the Noth pole and the Macy’s Christmas parade. Turns out I’m permanently on the naughty list, but he did find it to be the best con ever.

Lesson: You just don’t mess with Santa, even his helpers.

Facebook and and schools of a** fish

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Disconnecting from Facebook tops the list of things you should give up or at least set a timer and only allow yourself an alloted time. It’s been liberating and I was once an addict.

So let’s talk a bit about Facebook. I had been on Facebook from the very beginning when you had to have a email address from a college email system before it became the creature it is today.

At first, it was really great because no one really had a cellphone and smartphones didn’t exist. The only picture was my student ID pic which for some reason was the best picture I had ever taken for an ID card. Everyone  would use it to rate and hook up with each other, much like tender today. It was also great for networking. As the years passed it grew in popularity and literally crushed MySpace. It opened up to everyone.

Now It gets interesting, you know those people who would never give you the time of day, the handsome jocks, old boyfriends, old girlfriends, the popular people, well they all loved me now and wanted to be my friend. At first, I became the ultimate stalker. The whores have now found Jesus, the jocks were now bald and fat, and surprisingly the average and geeky guys were sexy as hell. Honestly, I never dated a single person in High School. No one ever asked me out and I never went to dances or even prom. I was a tomboy, I enjoyed guns, hunting, outdoors. I played on the golf team, track team, softball, peddle briefly with volleyball, JROTC and all the academic or social clubs. I just wanted to stay busy because I was certain no one liked me. So back on track, I was popular on Facebook. I had thousands of friends.

It hit me about a year ago watching certain behaviors and analyzing what I noticed on other people’s accounts. ASS FISH, yes ass fish, the ones who circle around and eat the shit of other fish. Those who are repeatedly commenting on narcissistic people’s post. It was at first entertainment, but soon it became sad. The increase of the selfie or I love me post and again ass fish circled.

The sad thing is reality is not what you make of it, reality just is…. I spent so much time trying to compete with people who are competing with themselves developing lies to overcome their own sad existence. Throughout life they become so caught up in their destinations they forget to enjoy their day to day experiences. I am reminded of the story of the Yankee tourist who complained to the old hillbilly about how the tourist attraction was not worth the time. The hillbilly looked at him and told him the attraction was the drive not the destination.

I’m sure I’ll rejoin facebook one day, but right now I’m enjoying the drive.

Update: I recently return to Facebook to create a blogger page. I wanted to have a place I could communicate with my readers. I still strongly advise the breaks. It was wonderful. So with that said if you are on Fakebook please like and share my page. http://www.facebook.com/itsnotcrazytoday

The past and ghost that returns to haunt me

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In a moment, I close my eyes and feel a soul touching my own. I can feel the pinch of a corset rubbing my side next to my chest where I have a birth mark now. I suddenly itch like crazy from starched lace and wool. I can feel another lifetime in front of me and a warmth near my lips. Perhaps my lover has returned to kiss me while I’m in a deep trance. Suddenly, I shift from Renaissance to the roaring twenties, and again to possibly a war zone hospital. It’s the smell of this moment. The rusty smell of blood and burn flesh. Then just like that a kiss felt upon my lips I flush and open my eyes.

It made me think of something and maybe it’s pretty thought provoking. I haven’t spoke to anyone yet who suffers on the spectrum of bipolar disorder who hasn’t felt a pull to another era. There may be connection between old souls, past lives, and reincarnation and mental illness.

Let me explain my feelings, but before you ask….yes I took my meds. I feel my soul is tired at times. I’ll watch an old period movie and my soul will spring to life with excitement. I am drawn to the a couple periods in time. My dreams are also usually in these various  periods and rarely do I have a dream about my life now. I have trouble retaining memories in this lifetime, but I can tell you for certain I’ve experienced deja vu with places, things, objects, and people. Sometimes the connection is so strong it reminds me that my soul has not given up.

I wonder if my soul is just tired and failed to upload completely, I need a reboot. They say right before you die there is a single moment of rapid brain activity. Many believe this is the moment your life flashes before you, but what if thats the moment is your soul is uploading like a computer. Whatever your religious beliefs its doing something maybe uploading to heaven, hell, or just maybe you have another lifetime that you need to live before you reach the final destination.

It’s nice to have memories and dreams that don’t seem to belong to me and a ghost as a lover. In a musing of a mad woman way, it’s a beautiful mind.